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CHAPTER 14

GUNNAR

Emerson is still sacked out when I stop home after morning skate, so I don’t get a chance to talk logistics with her until lunchtime. Tonight’s the home opener, and she’ll be there cheering with my family. The idea makes me happier than I have any business being, and this morning, I was on fire on the ice, blocking shots like it’s my job.

If this keeps up, it will stay my job.

After our team meal, I look around the locker room, realizing I’m going to have to phone my fake wife within earshot of my brothers and, worse, the team.

Sighing, I shoot her a message before I head in for my massage, and mercifully, she calls when I’m alone in the therapy room. “Hey.” I keep my voice low and realize I sound really husky. Whatever.

“Hello. Thank you so much for…Well, I assume you carried me to bed. I hope I didn’t injure your spine.”

There’s a genuine note of concern in her voice that I try to bat away immediately because Emerson is the perfect amount of wife. “You were utterly conked out, Salty. And I barely noticed lifting you.” I hear a small, appreciative sound, and I sit up, swinging my legs around so they’re dangling off the padded table. “I was checking in with you about the game tonight.” Emerson is going to sit by the ice with my family for tonight’s game against Detroit. I offered to set her up in the fancy box with the other PAWs, but Dad convinced her she’d enjoy herself more by the glass.

“I’m ready whenever,” she says. I hear the sink turn on and a clatter of dishes, and I frown. I don’t like the idea of her doing my dishes. I guess some of them could be hers, but I really wish she’d leave them for me to take care of. I like taking care of her, darn it.

I scratch my chin. “Mom wondered if you were in for the double header or just wanting to go for the Fury. She’s planning to pick you up.”

“Oh, I can take the bus. I don’t want her to go out of her way to?—”

“Emerson. You’re my wife. You’re not taking the bus.” I grip the padded table so hard I might have torn through the vinyl.

“Gunnar. You’re my husband. I have taken public transportation my entire life.” There’s an aggressive-sounding clunk, and I hope she didn’t crack my giant breakfast bowl.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and explain, “Em. Apart from the fact that I don’t want you riding an unfamiliar bus in a strange city, you have to think about what the press would do about Gunnar Stag’s wife showing up at the arena on a bus.”

She sighs. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“Right. So…Mom can either grab you?—”

“What do you mean double header? Are you playing twice?”

“Nah. There’s a women’s exhibition game first. Trying to drum up support for the new pro league. You don’t have to go…”

She inhales audibly. “I want to! I want to see the women play. I didn’t know there was a league for women.”

I scratch my head and jump off the table when I hear the therapist and the next guy arriving for their rub down. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Okay, so Mom will grab you in…” I look at the clock. “Oh, shit. Like a half hour. Is that still good?”

“Yep. I’m ready. I’ve got my G-Stag shirt and my face paint, and I am ready to go.”

Now I’m dying to see her all dolled up with black and gold face paint. I send a quick note to Mom to bring a spare hat and blanket for Emerson, just in case, and head off for my warm-up, excited to show off for my wife.

I wish I could see my family during the women’s game, but we’re sequestered for film and nutrition, so I have to rely on Dad sending me periodic updates on the women’s team goalie—competent, Uncle Tim’s mood—pissy, and my gorgeous wife—enthusiastic AF. I chuckle at a picture of Emerson pressed against the glass, roaring. I can just make out the gold G STAG letters on the back of her black jersey, which she has on over a turtleneck.

Seeing her amped up like that for hockey, when I know she grew up totally repressed in a house that literally only cared about music…is really doing it for me. Coach glares at me as I slide my phone into my pocket, but I’m feeling more focused and ready than I was a week ago, and this intriguing woman is a big part of that.

For the first time since I joined this league, I’m burning to go when we finally line up in the tunnel to take the ice. I don’t usually do a lap—my gear makes that awkward as hell, and I prefer to get set up in the net. But my girl is sitting by the blue line, and I have to flash her a grin. My girl…I need to stop thinking that way. She’s not mine to keep. But she’s sure as hell mine right now. I wave at her and damn near do a back flip when she blows me a kiss.

The camera crew notices, too, because I catch sight of her up on the jumbo screen, dancing and waving and having the time of her life. A small nugget of worry digs into my gut that this will wind up in a tabloid somewhere and make things even more difficult for her with her parents. Still, all of that is overshadowed by the caveman-esque delight I take in having her sitting with my family, cheering for me. Sure, she’s excited to see my brothers, too, I guess. But it’s me she’s locked eyes with as I stretch.

When the puck drops to start the game, I tap into the same focus as always. The world disappears apart from the puck, the hips and skates of the opposing team, and the sounds of blades and sticks on ice.

I’m blocking shots like a solid wall, not noticing the time passing, barely feeling the sweat I know is soaking my hair and running down my legs inside my heavy pads. I’m acting without thinking, but now that’s expected of me.

When the lights begin to flash and the foghorn blares, the crowd starts screaming “STAG, STAG,” and I know one of my brothers scored. Fuck yeah.

Eyes back on the puck, I send every ounce of my energy into deflecting shots. Our defense is outstanding, making my job easy today. I almost can’t believe it when the game ends and I haven’t let a single biscuit by.

“Hot damn, Gunny!” Alder pounds me on the back as Tucker approaches on the other side to pull my helmet off and kiss me on the cheek. Camera flashes explode in the stands as we celebrate together. This is what it was all for, I realize. My family is here watching me celebrate the game we all love. The fans are happy with a win that our city will celebrate.

The three of us make our way to the boards, and Coach is, while not exactly smiling, decidedly not angry. He grunts and nods, a massive seal of approval from him, I’m learning. The team manager tugs at her collar and shouts over the din. “Media! G Stag, Cappy, Dallas. Go!” My brothers make eyes at me and give me a few more shoves as I hobble back to the locker room in my skates.

I’m a little surprised to see a blonde woman in hockey gear leaning against the wall. “Are you from the women’s team?” I take my place beside her, waiting for the reporters to kick into high gear.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes. I’m dying for a shower.”

My face contorts in horror. “They made you wait this whole time?”

She shrugs. “I might have taken my gear off and put it back on after the third period of your game…”

“Shit. Sorry. That’s really rude.” I extend a hand toward her. “Gunnar.”

She smiles, returning my shake. “Ashley.”

And then we’re swarmed. The Fury PR lady, I think her name is Kehlani, whispers that we’re doing a joint interview with the women’s team goalie since we both had shutouts, and that’s part of the deal in cross-promoting with their league.

“Okay, but did they really have to make her wait two hours to shower?”

Before Kehlani can answer me, the reporters are in our faces with cameras, asking the typical boring questions about how it feels to get a win. I’m all ready to talk about my shutout, proud of how I worked toward that this week, when the reporter pulls a U-turn and asks Ashley about her husband. “He’s a starter for Boston, isn’t that correct?”

Ashley’s brow furrows, and she nods.

“And you play for Pittsburgh. How is that working for you two? The distance?”

Clearly uncomfortable talking about her relationship, Ashley says, “It’s definitely my goal to be signed with a team in the same city as my husband, but for now, we work it out. We’re both very dedicated to our teams. It’s a fantastic opportunity to?—”

“Are you able to support your husband at any of his games?” The reporter interrupted her to ask about her husband when Ashley is here to talk about her own game. This blows.

I reach for the mic, seeing red. “Hey, I notice none of you have asked me about my spouse yet. But that’s okay because I’m happy to tell you how awesome she is. She’s a musician.”

There’s silence as the reporters seem to absorb my nonsequetor. Ashley’s chest shakes a bit with silent laughter, so I turn to her. “Do you listen to music before games? I personally don’t because it’s too hard to deal with those little earbuds once I start gearing up.”

Ashley nods, pursing her lips. “I do, actually. I have a playlist. Helps me focus. But I do okay with the earbuds.”

“You must have been pretty focused today. You had a shutout.” I grin and hold up my hand for a high five.

She returns the gesture. “Yeah, you, too, Gunnar.”

The reporters don’t seem to know what to make of the goalies taking over the interview, and they all sort of drift away. Eventually, Kehlani claps her hands and dismisses us.

“Hey,” Ashley says before she waddles out of the locker room on her skates. “Thanks for that.”

“Yeah. Any time. You’ll have to send me your playlist.”

She beams. “I’ll do that.” She gives me a salute and slips out the doors just in time for half the guys on the team to strip naked.