Page 76 of Lucky Puck

She laughs and gives me a hug. “You’re crazy. They’ll pounce on you. You’re the biggest media darling since I don’t know when. Your name and face are plastered everywhere on social media these days.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “So far it’s been working out.” I look down at my oversized Brody Holden jersey, grateful for the cover. None of the sports reporters have made any snarky comments about my weight or nerdy looks yet, and I don’t look too closely at the social media posts—i.e., I don’t look at them at all.

“Other WAGS will be downstairs,” Marie says. “Link’s wife, Delaney, and Chase’s wife, Emery, like to wait outside the locker room.”

“In the media pit, you mean,” Cherry says. “I don’t know why the media doesn’t use the perfectly good press room. Emery and Delaney like to be there so they know what’s being said firsthand. And to get a good read on their husbands’ moods—their words, not mine.”

I nod. “Makes sense.” I’ve only met these women at a formal event as an agent, not as a player’s wife, and it’s hard to imagine sharing the same space with these women who are all gorgeous and confident and really married to their husbands.

A fresh wave of nerves shudders through my entire body, but I keep the smile on my face—I think. Act confident. Act the part. Be the wife. I stretch my smile.

Cherry leans in and says, “I think Brody may be at the top of the media’s list today for a possible controversy.”

My smile wavers. “I think you’re right. I need to hear what the reporters have to say firsthand.” Is it weird that I feel more protective than usual about a client? He’s not really my husband, but the idea of the press—and even the coach—being hard on him makes me mad, and if I’m honest, it makes me hurt for him.

I squeeze Cherry’s hand and whisper, “How do you do this every game? I mean, I know he’s a big boy and can take care of himself, but I hate the idea of anyone bringing him down.”

“It’s part of the public persona. Most of the time people are positive if that helps.”

We make our way to the elevator when Henry returns, and we decide to go down to the rink level—to the media pit. I can hear the familiar mayhem of the scene before the elevator doors slide open. Cherry loops her arm through mine, and we follow Henry and Marie into the fray.

Marie and Henry greet the security guard checking IDs, addressing him by name. With a nod, he lets us all past the rope barrier. I stick with Cherry, and we follow the Dumas family.

Marie was right about finding Emery Chase and Delaney Lincoln waiting in the hallway outside the locker room known as the Whalers media pit. They’re hanging back from the crowd of press around the locker room door. Marie leads us straight to the two women, and everyone exchanges hugs until they face me. Cherry introduces me officially as Brody’s wife, and I smile valiantly to hide my inner cringe.

“We’ve met,” I say, nodding as the two gorgeous women smile at me.

“We met you as the professional agent, but now you’re one of us—a hockey player wife,” Delaney says. “Welcome to the club.” She gives me a hug, almost like one of the bro-hugs, quick and solid.

Then Emery opens her arms to me with such empathy in her eyes that I step into her embrace like she’s a cozy blanket on a cold night.

“Any time you need anything or want to talk, you call me, okay? I know how stressful the spotlight can be, and you’re getting a brighter than usual dose of it.”

“Thank you.” I’m torn between wanting to soak in their dishonestly earned warmth and shrinking back in honest shame. But my professional agent persona reminds me that I’m doing a job, and I need to act the part no matter what, for my client. Brody.

“Sabien and Brody are taking their time in the locker room,” Delaney says, “and the press is chomping to talk to them. Coach has been closed-mouthed on the question of what he’s going to do about Brody’s defiance staying on the ice for that last shift.”

I nod, grateful for the status update. I’m about to ask what they think when the crowd of reporters, photographers, and cameramen surge forward, shouting all at once.

“It’s Sabien,” Henry says; he’s taller than the rest of us and has a direct sight line to the locker room door. “He’s with Brody. They came out together and they’re joining Coach.”

We move, and I find a spot where I can see through a seam in the crowd. Brody looks okay, and I smile reflexively, feeling relief and a bubble of pleasure. Which is absurd since I’m getting ahead of myself if I believe his flirty promise about the hat trick means anything. If Coach handed down some kind of punishment, he won’t be in the mood for… whatever, no matter if he looks okay right now.

Plus, I should be more concerned about how his behavior will affect his professional image since he’s my client first and foremost—wait—he’s only my client and nothing else.

Well, nothing else except my lover.

Claiming that role and owning it, I allow my smile to widen and my chest to expand.

Cherry nudges me, chuckling. “You should see yourself. You look like such a newlywed.”

One of the reporters shouts, “You stayed on the ice to get a hat trick. Are you trying to prove something? Who are you trying to impress? Your new wife?”

Some people laugh, but most people listen for Brody’s answer. Like me. Because the reporter’s question hits too close to the bone—and it’s the exact question I both dread and desire to hear the answer to. Holding my breath, I stifle my ridiculous urge to run to his side and… do what? Throw a death stare at the poor reporter who asked the question?

Brody’s professional demeanor flickers, and I narrow my eyes in search of the guilty reporter.

I know better than to get ruffled by reporters instigating athletes with controversial questions to get a spicy quote. But I never experienced it up close and personal until the NHL All-Star weekend in Vegas. Now it might very well be a regular feature of my life—at least while I’m still fake-married to Brody.