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Why is she looking at me like that? Like she just got hit by a truck.

I try to flip through the conversation in my head, but I can’t figure out what shocked the hell out of Becca. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I’m great. Fabulous. Fantastic. That was an excellent FaceTime orgasm. One for the record books,” she chirps, her face getting pinker as she talks. “Thunder is scratching at the door, so I need to go. Where are you headed in the morning?”

“Tampa,” I murmur.

“Okay, well, safe travels. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, I guess. Night!”

“Wait, can we talk —” I begin, but Becca has already ended the call.

It’s at that moment I realize what I said.

“Fuuuuuck,” I groan miserably. “You dumb fucking idiot.”

I told her I love her.

After we essentially had phone sex, and she’s talking about bank accounts and paying rent, I drop the love bomb on her.

Excellent timing, Jax.

What should I do now? Text her that it was a slip of the tongue, that I didn’t mean it but really like her? Double down and say that I do love her, and I’m determined to make her love me too? Ignore it all and act like I never said anything?

Ding, ding, ding!

Option three is a definite winner. I’ll play the ‘I’m a dumb fucking idiot’ card and act like nothing happened. I could text her and tell her that we’ll talk about it when I get home, and remind her that I don’t lie, but I don’t want her to throw up her walls like she did when she realized I was also StickUM92. Becca needs time to wrap her head around things, and as much as I’d like to force her to communicate with me, I know I have to be patient.

Sighing, I climb out of bed. I groan as my left calf muscle locks up, and I lean down to massage it gently. The game tonight was very intense, and I pushed it more than I probably should have. As I walk into the bathroom, I decide to take advantage of the large soaker tub. We rarely get hotels on away trips that have an oversized tub this nice, so I might as well enjoy this while I can.

While the tub fills up, I grab a washcloth. Dipping it into the tub water, I carefully wipe my release from my stomach, grimacing at how quickly I fucked it all up tonight. Had we ended our conversation right after we both came, I’d probably be happily asleep right now. God knows Becca is probably spiraling, but I can’t call her back and talk her through it. Even though I want to. Fuck do I want to call her.

I remove my boxer briefs and slide into the tub, hissing as the scalding water covers my body. Leaning back, I close my eyes and relax. I can’t worry about the past now. Just need to hope I can act like nothing happened … and that Becca lets me do it.

The following morning, I check Becca’s location to make sure she’s at work. Yeah, I follow her location, and she doesn’t know it. It’s possible I’m becoming slightly unhinged about my wife. Considering she bolted when she heard the L-word, I stand by my less than trustworthy decision.

Satisfied when I see her location is at the station, I shove my phone in my pocket before climbing the outdoor boarding stairs at the airport. I do love that professional athletes get driven directly to a private hangar where we get on the plane. It’s not that I hate being in an airport. I just despise going through security.

“Surprised you didn’t bring the ball-and-chain with you on this trip too, Jax,” our goaltending coach, Ryan McNichols, teases. “Figured she was part of the Jax package.”

“Funny,” I reply. “She has a job that she loves. I’d never expect her to follow me around like a lost puppy.”

“Huh. That’s interesting. Most women stop working once they nab themselves a hockey star.”

“My wife isn’t like most women.”

“So it’s going well?” he asks, following me past where the coaching staff normally sit. “I mean, you got married pretty quickly, didn’t you? She still living by herself, or did you convince her to move in with you? Must be scary living alone in a big downtown like this. Her name’s Becca, right? She’s not knocked up, is she? Pretty little thing, your weather girl. Is she good in bed? Must be, to convince her to marry you that fast.”

I swivel around, dropping my bags to grab Ryan by the throat. “I’m not sure what you think you’re doing right now, McNichols, but keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth.”

“Jeez, man. Calm down. I was just making conversation,” he says weakly, his hands up in meek surrender. I notice they’re shaking slightly, and my eyes narrow.

“Who wants to know, McNichols? You aren’t asking for yourself. You couldn’t care less about any of our personal lives, so why now?” I squeeze his throat a bit more, and his eyes widen dramatically.

“N — no one.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I growl. “Frankly, I know who put you up to this. I just want you to explain what your connection is and how he got to you.”

“What does it matter?” he asks, and I grin wickedly. Dumbass just admitted he wasn’t asking just to make conversation.

“It matters, McNichols, because this can go one of two ways. You can tell me what you know, and maybe I’ll let you keep your job.” I’m not. I’m going to human resources about him immediately. How Becca’s brother got to him, I may never know, but clearly he can be bought, which is horrifying for our team. “Or, you can keep quiet, and I destroy you, inch by motherfucking inch, until there’s nothing left of you but a few skin cells and stupid memories.”

“Ry? Jax? What’s going on?” Levi asks nonchalantly as he comes down the aisle. “Probably should let him go, Jax, so we can leave. Coach will have your nuts if we don’t arrive in Tampa at exactly the time he marked on our itineraries.”

“He’s right,” McNichols rasps, his face turning a little purple when I squeeze tighter.

“Fine,” I growl, letting go to shove him backwards. “You think about what I said, asshole. Two choices. Make the better one.”

Gasping, he nods as he turns to hustle toward the coaching staff.

“The fuck was that?” Levi asks.

“He started asking all kinds of questions about my wife, and he knew she lived alone downtown before we got married. This has her asshole brother written all over it, and I told McNichols he better tell me everything, or I’d destroy him,” I explain as I shove my bag into the overhead bin.

“Uh, well, that is one violent way of threatening someone,” Levi comments.

I shrug. “I make no apologies for how I choose to protect my wife.”

“Very feral of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Wasn’t a compliment, Jax,” Levi says, scowling.

“Yeah, it kinda was. When you find your woman, you’ll understand. Someone fucks with her, they fuck with me. And if they fuck with me, I’ll finish them.”

“Who are we finishing?” Gabe asks as he walks down the aisle.

“Coach McNichols asked a question about Jax’s wife, so Jax threatened his life. You know, normal husband behavior,” Levi says with an exaggerated eye roll.

“What did he ask?” Gabe wonders.

“Wanted to know if she’d moved in with me yet, because he knew she lives alone downtown, and how scary it must be for her. Then asked if she was knocked up.”

Gabe scowls. “He knew she lived alone? Oh, yeah. I’d have gone nuts too. What the fuck was he thinking?”

Levi stares at us with his mouth hanging open in shock. “Seriously, you too? This is insanity.”

“Once you have a woman, you’ll understand.” Gabe looks at me and nods. “Someone threatens Cassie, I’m tossing this nice guy persona and taking them out. Done. End of story.”

I nod in agreement as Levi throws back his head in frustration with a growl. “This is not normal behavior, gentlemen. What the actual fuck?”

“Normal behavior?” Grant asks. “They aren’t normal, but what’s the issue?”

Levi quickly explains to Grant what happened, and he nods. “Oh, yeah. I can understand that. My last girlfriend … yeah, I’d have burned down the world for her if needed. What can we do, Jax? How do you need help?”

Levi groans, but I ignore him. “Clearly I’m getting McNichols fired, because he’s a risk to all of us if a relative of my wife can purchase him as a lookout. Then I’ll be calling my wonderful brother-in-law and letting him know that the buck stops here. Thought I made that clear the last time I spoke to the jackass, but I guess not.”

“What if he still doesn’t get the message?” Levi asks. “You can’t fight everyone.”

“Physically? No. Besides, I’ve got like five inches and fifty pounds on the poor bastard. That wouldn’t be a fair fight.” I’m not gloating. Well, not completely gloating. I’m stating a fact. Rodney Stephens did not get blessed in the genetics department like I did. But again, he underestimates what I’m capable of. “Sometimes you gotta fight fire with fire. He thinks he can come after me through hockey, so I’ll go after him through his family’s business.”

On the flight to Las Vegas when Becca fell asleep on my shoulder, I’d done a deep dive into her family’s money, their ties to Indiana, and what her brother would be capable of now that he controlled the empire. What started out as a car dealership morphed into Stephens Autos all over the state of Indiana and into western Ohio. That income allowed Rodney Senior to make a move into commercial real estate, where his net worth flourished. Within the past twenty years or so, he parlayed that success into a short stint in the Indiana State House of Representatives, running as a Republican, of course. After what I experienced in the short time I interacted with Becca’s brother and mother, and how they expected her to dutifully do as they told her, I’m not at all surprised to find out where their political views lie.

Having been involved in a scandal with a college debutante, Rodney Senior lost his representative position quite handily to a Democrat after only two years. I found this out on Reddit, but couldn’t find any actual news sources about it, which tells me the Stephens family somehow had the entire thing swept under the rug. Becca certainly didn’t tell me about it, and I wonder if she even knows.

Curious to discover if there could be any skeletons in the Stephens’ family closet, I fire off a text to an investigator friend I went to college with to see if he’d like to assist me in taking down Rodney Junior and all of his minions. He’s always been a fan of destroying assholes, so I’m not surprised when I get a very quick affirmative response, and I send him all the information I know about both Rodney Stephens’.

I text Becca good morning, even though I know she’s at work and probably won’t respond. I’ve texted her every morning without fail, and I’m not changing it now.

It is a long-ass flight from the west coast to Florida, crossing three time zones. By the time we land in Tampa, we go straight to the hotel for a nap, and then head to the arena for the game.

“Jax!” Coach Davenport screams. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Speaking of the game … I’m off mine. I can barely skate, I’ve gotten in two scuffles with Tampa Tide players, and I have zero points for the game.

“Do you need to be pulled?” Coach asks after I do an awful job of passing the puck to Daws at the start of the second period. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, so either get your head in the game, or tell me to pull you. Your version of amateur hour is not it.”

Don’t I fucking know it.

Becca never answered me, and I can’t move on from it. I don’t know what to do or say, and I don’t even know anyone I can talk to about it.

“You know what? Pull me. Put Brown in for me,” I answer bluntly. Ezekiel Brown is a rookie phenom, who will undoubtedly break records with this organization, but due to his immature attitude, he’s been benched a lot.

“You serious? You want to be pulled?” Coach asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. My line heads back on the ice, and he barks out an order for Brown to go as a replacement. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but my head isn’t in the game. I’m sorry, Coach. You can discipline me as you see fit. I’m not doing my best for the team, so I shouldn’t be on the ice.”

“We’ll talk after the game,” he says as he directs his attention back to the game.

A couple of hours later when we’re heading to the bus to take us back to the hotel, Coach motions for me to sit with him at the front of the bus. Usually I’m way in the back, either unwinding or hanging out with the guys.

“Talk,” Coach commands.

“Dang, Coach, take me to dinner first,” I mutter.

“Funny. I’m guessing the issue today stems from something to do with your wife. Correct?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“Nothing else, really. Well, something, but I’m not ready to talk about it.” Ryan McNichols is sitting two rows back, undoubtedly listening to everything I say, ready to report back to Becca’s brother. Which gets me thinking: Ryan has always been a really good guy. He was respected on the ice when he was our goaltender, and he’s transitioned to a coach well. How on earth did Rodney Junior get to Ryan, and what could that mean for all of us?

Standing, I swivel to Ryan’s seat. His eyes widen when he looks up at me, and I squat so we’re closer to eye level. “What did he threaten you with?”

“I — I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammers.

“Bullshit, McNichols. I’ve met the bastard. Blackmail is definitely in his repertoire. What did he threaten you with?”

Ryan studies me as he debates on answering. “I can’t say.”

I shrug. “Alright. Just know I’m going to human resources when we get home to make sure you get fired. Coaches who can be bought are kinda frowned upon, right?”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Guess it doesn’t matter, because if he does what he says he’ll do, I’m getting fired anyway.”

“Why?” I ask, noting Coach has turned around to listen to our conversation.

“This is so embarrassing. He has a video of me with a prostitute. I’m wearing Wolves gear. If it gets out, I’m done.”

“What is it with threats about inappropriate videos in this organization?” Coach yells. A prior teammate of ours, Luca Santo, was supposedly recorded on an away trip when his girl came to visit him. His girl just so happens to be Coach’s niece. “For fuck’s sake! Did you record yourself, McNichols?”

“No.”

“So you were recorded without your consent, but happened to be wearing a Wolves shirt?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s moot. You’re not getting fired for that. I’d like to understand why Jax would need to go to HR, though.”

Arriving at the hotel, Coach tells me and Ryan to come into his room. We explain the whole situation, including how heinous Becca’s brother is, and how I assume he’s doing some other illegal things in an attempt to fuck with Becca’s life. In a moment of poetic timing, my phone chimes with a text. I grab it quickly, hoping it’s Becca, and am only somewhat disappointed when I see it’s from my private investigator. As I read the screen, my mouth drops open. “Woah.”

“What?” Coach asks.

“I had an investigator look into Becca’s father and brother. Turns out they aren’t just nasty individuals. They’re straight up criminals.” Showing the phone to Coach, I watch as his eyes widen.

“Jesus. Good thing you got your girl out of that situation,” he comments.

“That dude is crazy,” Ryan says. “When he cornered me last weekend, I was honestly scared.”

The blood chills in my body. “He cornered you? Where?”

“Outside the arena. You walked out right in front of me, and you didn’t see him. The look of hate he gave you was scary enough.”

Fuck. He was in Denver, and we didn’t know. He could be there now. I look wildly at Coach. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? We have a game in Miami tomorrow. I won’t be home for thirty-six hours. He could be there now. Becca might be in trouble.”

Opening up the tracker app again, I breathe a very small sigh of relief when I see she’s in our apartment.

“Do you want to go home?” Coach asks quietly.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I shake my head. “Yes and no. I want to protect her, but I also know she might feel smothered and pull away even more. I need to get things lined up so I can take him down once and for all so she’s safe.”

Heading back to my room, I get undressed, ready to call Becca and see how she’s doing. I can play the nonchalant husband. Ask how her day was, and tell her about mine. Talk about Thunder and the pigs. But an alert pops up on my screen telling me I have every reason to be concerned. I’m close to two thousand miles away from my wife, and there’s nothing I can do to protect her.