Page 58

FIFTY-EIGHT

MADELINE

The Stars have a horrible game five in the Eastern Conference finals.

All the players had an off night, but Hudson struggled the most. Liam got pulled in the last minute of the third period, an act of desperation by Coach Saunders to do something to change the outcome, but Hudson let a puck sneak by him. The other team scored an empty net goal, and that was that.

Now they trail the series three games to two, and I can see the disappointment on Hudson’s face when he gets home. He shrugs off his suit jacket and tosses it on the couch. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs when he sits on the barstool in the kitchen, scratching Gus and Millie’s ears with an exhausted frown.

His shoulders are curved in, making him look small and weak. He’s hanging his head, and I can’t focus on cooking anymore. Not when he’s hurting, so I shove the cutting board away. I walk around the island, and I give him a hug.

“I’m sorry tonight didn’t go well,” I say gently, not quite sure how to navigate this situation. The Stars had the best record in the league, and they only lost seventeen games all year. The trouble the Detroit Owls are giving them this series is surprising. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” He squeezes my hip before pulling away, and I’m glad to know he’s still in there under all his sadness. I brush a lock of hair out his face, and he sighs. “But thank you.”

“You need to eat something.” I slip my apron over my head and tie it around my waist. I move to the fridge and pull out the rotisserie chicken I picked up yesterday. “And if you don’t tell me what you want, I’m going to decide for you.”

“That’s fine,” he mumbles, and I hate how defeated he looks. Like the loss is entirely his fault, and not the result of the team playing poorly all around.

“You’re going to get brussels sprouts,” I warn, and even that doesn’t make him laugh.

“It’s late. You should go to bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

“I really don’t want anything.”

“Too bad.” I grab the cutting board and my chef’s knife. “Cooking is one of the ways I take care of the people I love, so I’m going to put a plate in front of you, and you’re going to eat it. Because I love you, Hudson, no matter what the score was tonight.”

Knowing he’s watching me—he’s always watching me—I spin my knife in my hands, just how he likes. When I glance up at him, the hint of a smile pulls at his mouth, and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says.

“I’m not doing anything,” I say innocently. “I’m making you food.”

“You’re bossy.”

“I have to be when you’re being stubborn.” I pull the chicken apart and cut the meat into small pieces. “Do you want to talk about it? Or should we talk about something else?”

A soft laugh escapes him. “That’s what my mom would always ask after a loss.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. As for tonight… I’m disappointed. We had the chance to take the series lead, but now we’re going to be fighting for our lives. I should’ve been more aware of my surroundings. I should’ve tracked the puck better, and I should’ve moved left, like my instincts told me, instead of switching to the right.”

I nod and pretend like I understand what these words mean. “And Liam could’ve stopped the two goals the Owls had in the second period,” I say, and the ghost of another laugh falls out of him. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. You… you’re doing exactly what my mom would do with me after a loss.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. I have a habit of blaming myself when things go wrong, and she’d always pull out a piece of paper. She’d go through minute by minute and tell me all the other mistakes that happened during the game—the ones I didn’t make—and remind me I might’ve messed up, but I didn’t do it alone.”

I’m going to spend the rest of my life disappointed I’ll never get the chance to meet Sarah Hayes. If I could spend just thirty seconds with her, I’d tell her how good of a job she did as a parent. How strong and self-aware her son is without being cocky or overbearing.

I’d tell her how he loves everything in his life with his whole heart, and he holds himself accountable when the situation calls for it. I’d let her know he’s emotionally mature. Breathtakingly beautiful. Passionate and proud, humble and gracious in moments of defeat.

I set the knife down. I wipe my hands on my apron and walk to him. My fingers curl under his chin, and I tilt his head back until we’re looking at each other.

“I’m so proud of you,” I say. “That doesn’t change when you win or lose, either. I’m always going to be proud of you, Hudson. And so is Lucy. She even made you a card.”

“She did?” He perks up, and I tap the folded note to the left of his elbow. He opens it up, huffing when he finds a stick figure and the words GO HUDSON GO written across the top of the paper. “She’s a goddamn artist, isn’t she?”

“I like that you’re not wearing any clothes, but you do have on skates,” I point out.

“I love you.” He sighs again and rests his forehead against mine. “Thank you for the pep talk and telling me to get my head out of my ass.”

“I never said that.”

“No, but I heard the undertones.” He gives me his first real smile of the night, and all is right in the world. “I’ll be okay. When things like this happen, I forget who I am besides a hockey player, and it makes me think I don’t have anything else going for me. Like my livelihood is tied to wins and losses. Which, yeah, winning is nice. It keeps me here in DC and the paychecks coming in, but tomorrow I’ll remember it’s not the end all be all.”

“It’s funny you say that.” I nudge his hands out of the way and sit in his lap. “You see yourself as a hockey player. That’s, like, fifth on the list of ways I’d describe you.”

“What would be one through four?” he asks with a hint of amusement.

“A loving best friend. A gentle romantic partner. A teammate.” I take a second to collect my thoughts. “A father figure,” I add softly, and he wraps his arms around me. “The people who love you—me. Lucy. Maverick and the boys. Your dad. Your mom—we see you as so much more.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“You mean besides being the best guy in the universe?”

“Hush.” He rests his chin on my shoulder. “I’ve waited a long time for this, Maddie.”

“What? To have someone sit in your lap? Your Instagram DMs tell me you could’ve had this whenever you wanted.”

“I meant you. I didn’t know if my heart could take losing my mom. There were so many days where I pretended I was okay. Where I’d smile and laugh at practice with the guys then come home and cry myself to sleep because I was so fucking sad. I haven’t been sad since meeting you, though. You’ve… you’ve poured love into the cracks I’ve tried so hard to fill myself, and I think I’m finally whole again.”

“Maybe you weren’t ever broken,” I whisper. “Maybe you just needed someone who could help put the pieces back together. And I’m glad I could be the one to do it.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “For loving me. For lifting me up when I’m feeling down. This game won’t matter in twenty years, but you will.”

“I don’t know anything about sports, but this could be a turning point for you. You can gather all the emotions you’re feeling and turn into a beast on the ice. Is that a thing?” I ask.

“Maybe. They’ll call me the Comeback Kid.”

“Oh, I like that. But I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you, hockey guy. You’re not a kid anymore.”

“Shucks.” He kisses my throat, his lips warm on my skin. “I’ll think of something else.”

“Are you okay? We can talk about the game more if you want. I’ll nod and make it seem like I understand what you’re talking about.”

“No.” Hudson smiles and points at my knife. “I want you to do your trick again.”

I groan, pretending like it’s a big deal, but inside, I’m grinning. “Fine. But I’m going to need to hear the word please.”

“Please, Maddie,” he says. “For me?”

“I’d do anything for you,” I tell him softly. I spin the knife again, and I love how his attention makes me warm and happy. “And on your worst days, I’m going to be right here, whenever you need me.”

“I love you,” he says, looking brighter than before, and I’ll never get tired of hearing it.