Page 31 of Season's Schemings

I shouldn’t have been all that surprised when the coaches divided us up to run drills and Fitzpatrick hollered, “Okay, let’s have married guys on my left, unwed on my right.”

Which, of course, made all of the guys scratch their heads as they split up to their sides… until I wearily skated to coach’s left, and all freaking hell broke loose.

Even Torres looked amused by the guys’ howls as I was forced to spill the beans that I had, indeed, gotten hitched last night. Add the crippling hangover to the equation, and let’s just say that I couldn’t wait for the damn practice to be over.

When I got back to my hotel room, totally exhausted, Maddie was gone. And I need to get ahold of her, stat, so that I can prep her for the insanity that is about to break loose in T minus one hour when our plane departs Vegas for Atlanta. We swapped numbers this morning, so I’m praying that she looks at her phone soon.

As if in response to my thoughts, my phone vibrates on the bed. I reach for it with reflexes I barely knew I possessed… and I’m a professional athlete.

Who, sorry?

Kidding. What’s up, you miss me already?

I snort.

Nope, I actually want my robe back.

Which reminds me, are you dressed right now? Because if you’re naked again, we probably shouldn’t be talking. Rule number two, remember?

Oh I remember, boyo. And you can breathe easy, ‘coz I’m fully clothed. In a turtleneck and long pants.

Phew. Now that I am no longer suffocating from desire… just thought that we should probably turn up for the plane together. What’s your room number? I can pick you up and we can ride to the airport.

1301.

Cool. Also, so you know, everyone knows and they’re very excited to meet you.

WHAT?!

Oh, boy. It’s gonna be a long flight.

Twenty-five minutes later, I’ve collected my wife—who was full of questions about my teammates’ reactions to our elopement—and we are pulling up to the FBO by the airport. Perks of flying private: you can turn upwaylater than when you fly commercial and walk right onto the plane; no lines.

I tip our driver, and then retrieve both Maddie’s and my own bags from the trunk. The rest of the guys and the staff are already here, boarding the plane, and all of their heads seem to swivel in our direction at once.

Maddie and I share a long look.

“Ready?” I ask, tilting my head towards her.

“Nope.”

“Me neither.” I love my teammates, and I love the pressure of performing on the ice with all eyes on me… but I’m not sure I like being the center of so much attention when it comes to my personal life.

Goodness knows what Jimmy’s gonna say to her.

We greet the staff and I hand the bags to the ground crew. Then, we walk towards the plane.

With every step, my bravado seems to leave my body, leaking like jet fuel all over the runway, and being replaced by a very unsettling, foreign, anxious feeling.

Can I really do this? Can I really make this look believable—play the part of “husband”?

I’m sweating as I climb the stairs behind Maddie, but right before we step into the cabin, she turns around and reaches for my hands. Her small, slim fingers slip through mine, cool to the touch. I look at our joined hands, then up at her, and she offers me a smile. “Gotta make it look believable, right? Just doing my part.”

My eyes widen at how she suddenly takes charge of the situation. While I was enjoying making her flustered this morning, somehow, the tables have turned and she is now the calm, cool, and collected one.

And I’m glad for it. Her composure right now calms me. Reassures me.

This is the right move.