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Plus, I’m not captain or even assistant captain material, and I know it. Everyone knows my main weakness is losing my head when we’re down. I’m aware of it. The fans are. The sports psych is, too. Apparently, my daddy issues plague me when we’re losing.

I’m working on it.

Tonight, though, we did go behind and I kept my cool. The stakes weren’t high. I came back with a sweet assist for TJ to score a beauty slap shot. Then I created and scored my own goal, backhanding the puck through the legs of Washington’s goal tender. It was reminiscent of the goal that put us ahead in the final Stanley Cup game last season.

But there was something different tonight. When the goal horn blared and the guys on my shift crashed around me to celebrate, I sought out Sienna, and seeing her cheer for me from the stands – even for a fucking pointless preseason goal – did something to me. As if I’d been whacked in the chest with a stick.

As I’m changing in the lockers after the game, Tray quietly says, “You looked like you were enjoying having your girl out there tonight.”

I shrug. “Keeping up appearances.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

I’m about to protest his sarcasm and tell him the loooooong list of super annoying things about Sienna, when my phone chimes.

Dad

Saw the highlight reels. Nice goal and assist. You were lazy for their goal. Need to sort your back-checking for season proper.

It’s the only thing he’s said to me since chewing me out for getting married on a whim, certain someone like Sienna couldn’t fall for me in real life.

I contemplate responding, then toss the phone in my bag, finish dressing, and head to the team bus. The players and coaches ride in one bus, with the equipment, medical and media teams in another. It means I can plug in my headphones and seethe in peace for the ride back to the hotel. Seethe about and stew over that turnover.

* * *

Given it’s preseason, the staff are turning a blind eye to the boys wanting to head out for a drink after the game. It’s team building. Or character building when we walk into our usual dive bar and immediately get chirped at by the Washington guys who’ve met us out.

I’m still sour though, not in the mood for socializing and not entirely sure why but I think it’s mostly to do with Dad’s message. On my back already and the season proper hasn’t even started. It feels like I can never do right for doing wrong.

Mostly, I hate that he’s right. I wasn’t quick enough on the back-check tonight and I need to get on the ice and work it out before it counts.

Someone knocks into my arm to alert me to a group of girls eye-fucking us along the bar. Ordinarily, that’s exactly how I’d bang my dad right out of my headspace.

For a split second, the autopilot me of a few months ago remembers that sex is a release for me. Then I remember that for all intents and purposes, I’m a married man now, and cheating is something I wasn’t made for, on or off the ice.

“I’m going to head off,” I tell TJ.

“You’ve not even finished one drink, yet.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to wake Sienna.” If anyone needs a rest, it’s her, and she’s likely tucked up in our cozy bed right now.

As I walk the short way to the hotel, I can’t resist replying to my dad:

Thanks, Coach.

Sarcasm sarcasming hard.

I open the hotel room door quietly, not expecting to see Sienna wearing a silk two-piece trimmed in lace, sitting on the chaise longue, lit by lamp light, cheeks shimmering but otherwise makeup free, her long hair in a knot on top of her head. It kind of takes my breath away. The unexpectedness, or that she’s so damn beautiful.

“Hey,” she says softly. “I didn’t think you’d be back any time soon.”

“I didn’t want to wake you and I didn’t expect you’d still be working,” I say, gesturing to the laptop resting on her bare, long crossed legs. The room smells of her perfume in a way that’s settling, like someone opening the pressure valve on my overly inflated brain.

“Always. Remember, I’m the workaholic no one can tolerate.”

She smiles but I suspect her ex has said something along those lines to her before. I make a note to be supportive, not beat her up for her work ethic. She deserves praise for her self-motivation, just a break, too.

She sets her laptop aside. “Great game tonight. We got some fab content for socials.”