Page 69 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband

"My performance has been excellent this season," I say through gritted teeth.

"Has it? Because I have documentation suggesting otherwise. Missed team meetings. Declining focus during practice."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Is it?" Harrison opens another folder. "Would you like to review the performance metrics?"

My hands clench into fists under the desk. "What's your point?"

"My point is that successful athletes understand that personal complications can derail professional opportunities. The Bruins are offering you everything you've ever wanted, but they expect total commitment. Total focus."

"And you think I can't provide that because I'm in a relationship?"

"I think relationships create divided loyalties. Especially relationships that violate organizational policy and put both parties at professional risk."

"What if I told you the relationship makes me a better player? Better leader?"

Harrison laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Then I'd say you're thinking with the wrong head, Kingston. Great players compartmentalize. They understand that sacrifices are necessary for success."

"Sacrifices like what?"

"Like choosing between a career-defining opportunity and a temporary distraction that's already caused more problems than it's worth."

The casual way he dismisses Tessa makes my vision go red. "She's not a distraction. She's?—"

"She's what? The love of your life?" Harrison's tone is mocking. "Son, that's not love, that's infatuation. And infatuation doesn't pay the bills or win championships."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? You're about to throw away the opportunity of a lifetime for a woman who's already cost you professional credibility. A woman whose presence in this organization has created nothing but complications."

"Tessa's done nothing wrong."

"Oh, really? Boundary violations, compromised professional judgment, inappropriate relationships with players?—"

"Stop." My voice comes out like a growl. "Just fucking stop."

Harrison's smile widens. "There it is. The emotional volatility that proves my point. A focused player doesn't lose his temper in management meetings, Kingston. A focused player makes strategic decisions based on facts, not feelings."

I force myself to take a deep breath, to unclench my fists. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"I'm proposing you take the Boston offer. Clean slate, fresh start, no complications. Just pure hockey excellence with the resources and support to achieve everything you've ever dreamed of."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you stay in Chicago with a reduced contract offer, continued scrutiny of your personal choices, and the knowledge that you chose temporary satisfaction over permanent success." Harrison closes the folders with finality. "The choice is yours, but I'd choose wisely. Opportunities like this don't come around twice."

I stare at the contract again, at those impossible numbers, at the word "Captain" printed in official team letterhead. Everything I've ever wanted, handed to me on a silver platter.

Everything except Tessa.

"I need time to think about this," I say finally.

"Of course. You have until Thursday at noon. After that, the offer expires." Harrison stands up, signaling the end of ourconversation. "And Kingston? Whatever decision you make, make it with a clear head. Don't let emotions cloud your judgment about what's best for your future."

I walk out of his office feeling like I've been hit by a Zamboni. Boston. Captain. Seven years. The words keep echoing in my head as I make my way through the facility, past the observation windows where Tessa usually watches practice, past the equipment rooms where we've stolen moments together.

My phone buzzes with a text from Jamie: