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“I love you and the fact I get to make love to you forever and make babies. Becca,” I pause emotion nearly choking me. “I didn’t realize that I could ever be this happy until you.”

Basking in happiness and content with my world, I give her one long lazy kiss then slip off the couch to grab a washcloth and clean her up. When I return, her phone buzzes so she reaches to look at it. “Kinnon needs me to look at a stunt sequence for the high school coed team.”

“When do they compete? They’re coming here to Dallas, right?” I kiss her cheek then take her phone and throw it to the end of the couch. “Give me a few more minutes then I’ll heat up the pizza and you can show me. Maybe I can help. I am a great stunter, you said it yourself on the island.”

She rolls from one side to the other to face me. “You have given me the best gifts imaginable. You. A baby. And my own cheer gym. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“That's the thing Sunshine, you never need to. I’m happy when you’re happy.”

Overlapping kisses end the discussion and I get up and put the pizza in the oven to reheat then run upstairs and change into my lounge pants.

When I return she’s struggling to put her panties back on, so I kneel beside her and place her swollen feet in the holes and she dances until they’re in the right spot.

The night ends watching cheer routines on the couch.

Kinnon and Becca have done an amazing job and created a competitive, respectful atmosphere among the boys and girls.

What I’m not so sure about is the competition in Dallas since it’s the same week our baby is due.

But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

As I’m leaving for the arena, two days later, I grab my duffel bag and head for the door, the weight of the game pressing on my shoulders, hoping to cement a victory in my first year as captain.

Becca shuffles into the kitchen with one hand caressing her stomach–round and beautiful with our baby arriving in only a month.

But as I lean in for a kiss goodbye, she catches my arm.

“I’m not going to the game,” she says, avoiding my eyes.

My stomach churns with concern, mostly, because I hate the thought of her alone for an extended period of time, especially so close to her due date.

But there’s something else nagging at me, a faint suspicion that she’s holding back.

Not cheating, nothing like that, but like the secret she kept for fifteen years.

I search her face, wanting to ask, but the clock’s ticking, and I need to leave.

Still, that unspoken thing lingers, heavy as the bag in my hand.

“Please come. I need you there and there’s medical staff right there that can take care of you if you go into premature labor.” Taking her hands into mine, I bring them to my lips. “I’ll spend every moment worrying about you.”

Her eyes flit around the room. “Can you get me into the suite?”

“You hate going into the suite. You love being with the hometown crowd, cheering. Our fans adore you. But I’ll see what I can do. I have a car service coming to pick you up. So get ready. I’ll text you if I can get you into the suite, okay?”

“Okay.” She presses on her toes and gives me a chaste kiss. “I’ll be there.”

As soon as I leave, I text Oakley to ask if there’s anything Becca isn’t telling me. She went to the last doctor appointment alone. Is our baby okay?

Oakley: She didn’t mention anything, but said the appointment went well.

Me: Yeah. I’m sure everything is fine.

But am I?

She hearts the message and I tuck my phone into the inner pocket of my suit.

Negative thoughts nag at me through pregame warmups. I messaged Becca to tell her the suites are all overbooked and there is no way she can get in. I never even thought about the crowd being too much for her. Just two days ago she was cheering me on from her usual seat.

When the Rattlers and I take the ice, she’s not in her seat. I scan the arena looking for any of the player’s wives that she has gotten to know. I see Gail and Susanne but no Becca.

The seconds tick down and the game begins. The Glaciers gain control of the puck. And I need to get my head out of my ass.

Think about hockey. Hockey. Hockey.

Damn, how do married hockey players do this? How can I compartmentalize my personal life from my professional responsibilities? I just need to know she’s here.

My knees are bent low on the blue line, and the stick heavy in my grip.

I scan the ice as their forward charges down the wing while the puck dances on his blade, but I’m reading his hips, anticipating the move.

The crowd’s a dull roar, drowned out by my focus.

He fakes left. His juke doesn’t fool me, I slide to cut off his angle.

My skates carve into the ice, spraying, as I cut the distance between us.

He tries to dangle, but I’m there—stick sweeping clean, stealing the puck.

I pivot fast, firing a crisp pass to our winger streaking up ice.

The bench roars, and I reset, chest heaving, ready for the next rush.

I glance into the crowd, finding Becca in my red jersey and I can finally breathe easy.

But it doesn’t last long. Midway through the second period they change lines. Their forward glares at me as he skates around once before engaging the puck. The name on his back seems familiar, Madden. I chuckle to myself. The only Madden I know is the Madden Football video game.

The game is physical and brutal, bodies slamming against the glass every other second as we fight for every inch of ice.

I can already feel bruises forming on my skin.

The Glaciers' forward, Madden, is relentless, clawing for the puck in the corner. Elbows fly, and I match him shove for shove. When the ref’s back is turned, Madden plants a shoulder in my chest, leans in, his breath hot against my ear.

“I had Becca first,” he whispers, the words slicing deeper than any check.

For a split second, the rink is soundless—just the thump of my heart in my ears and Madden’s words echoing in my head. Rage flashes so hot through me I almost drop my stick right there. Through gritted teeth, I ask, or demand, “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” he cackles.

I rip off my helmet and grab him by the throat. I’m used to trash talking, but not one opposing player has ever said anything to me about Becca. The betting scandal, sure. And that’s fair game, but not Becca.

I take off my gloves and throw him onto the ice. “Tell me what you mean, asshole.”

“You wouldn’t fight with a Stallion would you. We’re brothers even though we didn’t play together,” he says with a look of self satisfaction on his face.

With my fist reared back, I hesitate and then it dawns on me that this is the guy from Becca’s freshman year. “You no good motherfucker, sexual predator.” I bloody his nose with a few punches to the face before Hawley and Freisz pull me off of him and the referee sends me to the penalty box.

My chest heaves and I’ve never been as close to wanting to kill someone as I am right now.

Becca has her hands over her face and it hits me that this is why she wanted to get out of the arena so quickly two nights ago and why she didn’t want to come tonight.

I’m trying to figure out how someone makes it to the league almost fifteen years later.

During the last intermission, I ask Coach, “Who is Madden and how did he make it to the professional ranks?”

Coach taps on his tablet. “Says here that he played for Kentucky and then a few years later moved to Sweden and started playing in the league just below the IHL and worked his way up. Two forwards got hurt on the Glaciers so they gave him a limited contract.”

I roll that tidbit around in my mind. What will I do? And do I care if I never play hockey again? It could be time to open a restaurant.

“Don’t you know him from college?” Friesz asks.

“No. He was gone the year I came.”

“So it wasn’t personal on the ice?”

“Oh it’s personal.” I tap my stick against the floor, stand up and tell my teammates, “I’ve had your back all season and tonight I need you to have mine.” I don’t give them specifics because it’s not my story to tell, but they rally around me .

“You’ve got it, Cap!”

“No one messes with our captain.”

I ask Coach if we can get security around Becca, but not close enough that she realizes why they’re there. I grab my phone and a text is waiting on me.

Becca: Are you okay?

Me: I’m fine. Why didn’t you tell me?

Dots bounce up and down for a while, so she must know that I’m referring to Madden.

Becca: Because this is your moment and I didn’t want you to worry.

Me: Don’t worry about me. I’m sorry I made you come.

Becca: It’s okay, big guy. I’m where I want to be. I’m not letting that poor excuse of a human being stop me from watching my man.

Me: I like it when you get all possessive.

Becca: I’ll show you tonight that you’re mine and all mine.

I smile at the phone like I can see her face. But the team and I have made a plan.

Win and then put that cock-sucker, Madden in his place.

During the third quarter, the game heats up.

My team shoves and checks Madden every chance they get while I stay squeaky clean, not wanting to get ejected and miss the first game of the conference finals.

We come out ruthless and our laser-sharp focus enables us to score two goals as we chase the win.

When the final buzzer sounds and we’re still on top, I don’t waste a second—Madden’s about to find out exactly where he stands. I catch him in the hallway leading to the locker rooms.

“Listen you sorry piece of shit. You’re not a Stallion. Stallion men don’t sexually exploit or abuse women. And I want every copy of the tape you have of Becca.” I’m a few inches taller than him but he is jacked so I press my chest against his. “And I want to know who the guy filming was.”

“Fuck off, Basilio. Or should I call you the Godfather?” He snaps back a satanic laugh.

“You better believe I know people that can fuck you up. My lawyer will be in touch. And I guarantee that my lawyer costs more than your measly little contract.” I grab his shirt, curling it into my palms. “Don’t contact Becca.

Don’t even look in her direction or they’ll be wiping your ass off the floor.

” I push him away as I let go. My teammates are standing behind me.

His teammates gather listening. I can see the distrust in their eyes. No one is on his side.

Madden looks around and says, “Whatever man. If you want a slut, you got one.”

Just when I’m about to pummel his face until it’s black and blue, Becca appears in my line of sight, closing in on me fast. “John, don’t.”

The last thing I want is to traumatize her more and this disgusting human being doesn’t deserve our attention so I drop my arm and grab Becca’s hand. “Let’s go Sunshine.”

I lead her into the empty locker room and let the fourth string Rattlers take care of him. I change quickly knowing my girl promised to prove to me how I’m hers. All hers. And she is mine.

Thanks for reading John and Becca’s love story.