I jump for him, but the guys are holding me firmly, fists locked around my arms.
"She didn't want to do this," I whisper my crime against her, head low.
Rod's brow furrows. "What?" His voice cracks, stunned.
"I backed her into a corner," I admit, barely above a breath. "Told her I'd leave if she didn't agree."
Rod's face hardens, disbelief giving way to something colder. "Tell me you didn't do that, you heartless jerk." He leans in, fisting my shirt. “Kingston, I regret hurting Cassie. Truthfully, I do. It's wrecked my marriage. But she willingly agreed to it. I didn't force her. Melly's nothing like Cassie. She's softer and gentler. If Cassie had been more like her, I'd never have risked it. Melly's not built for this. How do you not see that, when everyone else in the league does?”
The guys hold us apart, tense and watching. A few nod in agreement, but no one meets my eyes. Some drop their heads, others look away.
Anger surges in me. I'm furious with myself for being such a pathetic excuse for a husband, and with Rod for ever planting the idea in my head. And then it hits me—he wants my wife. He engineered this.
“You two-faced piece of crap! You want Melly! You set me up—deliberately,” I snarl through clenched teeth and drive my head into his chest. “You used me, Rod. To get to my wife.”
Rod doubles over with a grunt, coughing, his face twisted with fury. “No, Kingston, I didn't,” he spits. “I had no idea you'd do this to her. There's nothing I could've done to stop you. You had it in your head, just waiting for an excuse, for someone to tell you it'd be okay.But you should've listened to your wife because you sure didn't listen to your heart.”
We are still butting heads roughly when the coaching staff arrives. With a clap and a nod, they start down the line.
“Let's go, fellas. Knock it off, Kingston, Halvorsen. Formation time,” orders Coach LaRiche. “Remember, this is a benefit game for the kids. We're playing under NHL rules, but since it's a charity-friendly event, keep it clean! I don't want to see any blood.”
We snap to attention. Rod and I exchange one last heated shove before pushing off. The announcers' booming voices cut through the crowd's roar, pumping up the energy.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the annual charity showdown,Blades for Hope!”one of them calls out, his voice smooth and captivating.
“And that's Dylan Price getting things started, folks,” the second announcer chimes in, his voice a bit deeper. “I'm Mason Kincaid, and we're thrilled to be here with you. All proceeds from today's game support pediatric cancer research and treatment, along with the brave kids and families currently facing this fight.”
“We also want to thank all the volunteers who helped make this event possible.”
“Now, speaking of volunteers, are you ready to meet the stars of the ice?”
The crowd erupts in response. The arena rumbles as fans stomp their feet in unison.
The lights dim. A spotlight hits us, lined up at the mouth of the tunnel. The team captains lead the way.
“We've got two great powerhouse lineups for you guys today,” Dylan booms dramatically. “Leading the Polar Storm onto the ice is Thunder Bay Titans' team captain, Rod 'The Tank' Halverson. Followed by Jaxson Kingston and Connor McKinnon, also from the Thunder Bay Titans. Rounding out the Polar Storm are Vince Sorenson and Alex Volkov from the Glacier Wolves, with Tyler Grant from the Iron Vultures protecting the crease.”
“Aaaand captaining the Frozen Fury is none other than James Raddison from the Steel Port Ice Hawks. His lead defenseman, Sebastian ‘Bash' Duchesne, is missing tonight, much to the disappointment of the fans who look forward to the rivalry between Duchesne and Kingston. When those two are on the ice together, it's explosive. Joining Raddison are Markus Lindstrom of the…”
The announcer's voice fades beneath the roar of the crowd, just a hum in my head as I step onto the ice. I shift focus, zeroing in on the puck drop.
Head in the game, Kingston. Head in the game.
The third period ticks down, and I'm exhausted from the debauchery of last night and the intensity of the game. My knees tremble, and sweat runs down my back. The crowd roars as the PuckCam swings overhead, flashing between live fan shots and game replays.
The arena buzzer blares, signaling something significant on the PuckCam. It cuts through the noise and pulls everyone's attention to the giant screens. I'm caught mid-play, so I don't react at first. But when the familiar theme music of a celebrity gossip program blasts through the speakers, I freeze and look up.
The show host, a beautiful brunette in a sleek dress, cuts in, loud and polished, her voice echoing through the suddenly quiet arena. “Good evening, I'm Pinella Russo, coming to you from CenterStage Live with an exclusive that's sure to rattle a few cages.”
The video cuts in, and there I am, wearing my robe on the hotel balcony. It appears to be a shot from this morning. Mandy and her friend, both nude, are pressing themselves against me. Their body parts are blurred, but their hands aren't. I'm struggling against their grip as they tug my robe off. Though the moment appears incriminating, I know I was trying to get them to leave me alone at the time.
The segment ends with all three of us, naked, moving back into the hotel room together, the girls clinging to me. It reads like I'm joining in. At that point, though, I had already decided I was done with this lifestyle, but I'm guilty because I spent Christmas Eve chasing empty distractions instead of being with my wife.
The silence is interrupted by shouts from the crowd.
“Cheater!”
“Two-timer!”
