Page 85 of Season's Schemings
Those brows pull together. “Well, I have to say that you’ve surprised me, Slater. At the meeting yesterday, I wasn’t sure how this was going to go.”
“My hesitation yesterday has nothing to do with the team or the contract itself, sir. I’m all in with this team.”
Like my wife is all in with me.
I can’t help but smile as I think back to our conversation in the gardens last night. At first, I wasn’t super pumped to hear that her “yes” came with a condition, but when she explained her reasoning to me, it just made me love her even more.
She doesn’t want us to continue with the spousal green card, because then, our marriage will always be linked to my career. And to our original agreement. But my new contract with the Cyclones will give me US immigration status of my own accord, and so, we can continue our marriage driven by nothing but our love for each other.
Choosing each other, every single day.
I never considered myself to be much of a romantic, but let me tell you, that was the most damn romantic thing I ever heard.
Torres considers my words for a few moments, and then nods. “You wasted no time coming to that conclusion, Slater.”
I grin at him. “You have my wife to thank for that.”
This earns me a chuckle. “Whatever she’s doing, tell her to keep it up.”
“I will, Coach. I’m glad to still be a Cyclone.”
Coach offers me a rare smile, one that makes his lined face look ten years younger. “And we’re glad to have you, Sebastian. Now get your ass on that bus. We’ve got a game to win.”
* * *
I step onto the bus to a chorus of whoops and cheers—apparently, word travels fast when it comes from the mouth of Dallas Cooper. Although the story of what he witnessed between Maddie and me in the car has devolved into something considerably more debauched than what was really happening.
“Watch it! That’s my wife you’re talking about.” I smack Colton upside the head as I walk to my seat—retaliation for a particularly lewd comment.
After everyone finally calms down from acting like a bunch of fourteen-year-old hormonal man-children, I sink into an empty row behind Aaron, who’s engaged in his usual pregame ritual. His tongue pokes out the side of his mouth as he attempts to wield a delicate crochet hook in his huge hands.
“Whatcha working on today, Marino?” I ask. In response, he holds up a crocheted pattern of a puppy in a basket. I grin. “Nice.”
Way back in high school, Aaron helped his grandma with a crochet project the same day as an important game… and then proceeded to have the game of his life. It’s been his ritual ever since, and he swears by it. Hockey players are generally known for their crazy superstitions, so everyone takes Aaron’s crocheting in their stride, and would never dare make fun of it.
While I respect other players’ little oddities, I’ve never been superstitious myself. But I can certainly think of a few pregame rituals I’d like to adopt that involve Maddie…
I spin my wedding band around my finger, thinking about the conversation I just had with Coach.
Whatever she’s doingisworking. I can feel a change within myself. And last night, she showed me how much she believed in me, believed in the best version of me when she convinced me to sign my contract.
But the whole thing has got me thinking. Because in doing this, she’s effectively given me everything I ever wanted… and more. Now, I know that I wasn’t ever actually searching for the perfect contract, I was searching forher. Hockey is just the icing on the cake, the extra.
She’sthe actual entire freaking recipe.
There were so many things she wanted, when it came to falling in love, that she didn’t get because of the way things happened between us. We met and were married before we even really knew each other. And it was only after we were married that we had the whole romantic experience: the flirting, cuddling, dating, exploring each other…
One thing she never got was that dream wedding.
I turn around in my seat to face Lars Anderssen, two rows back.
“Hey, Lars! How’s the wedding planning going?”
The goalie grins, all big white teeth. “I have no idea—Lena does all of it. I turn up for suit fittings, and when she asks my opinion on something, I agree with hers.”
Randy Allen, another married guy on the team, laughs. “That’s a good strategy. Happy wife, happy life, I say.”
“I don’t know,” Triple J says with a sigh from a few rows up. “If I got married, I’d want to help plan the whole thing. Little pigs in blankets, an arch made of white roses, and those centerpieces on the tables with floating candles…” He trails off as the entire bus breaks into peals of howling laughter. Up at the front, in the bus’s rearview mirror, I see that even Coach Torres’ mouth is twitching.