Chapter 21 - Mel #2
“Yeah, for a good cause,” he said dryly. “Something’s happening right now at the park, the same one we went to. Asher kicked it off during drills this morning, and the guys jumped on it like fire catching in dry grass.”
My pulse kicked. “What is it?”
“A photo shoot. You and me with the team and the WAGs. Fun, casual, sunset backdrop, group shots, couple shots, goofy stuff. There’s a photographer there now.”
“What for?”
“To shift the narrative. I want those pictures everywhere—your feed, mine. Me with you. Hell, they have to know.” His words came fast and edged. The headline had picked a fight with the wrong man, and he was furious.
I stared at him. This absurdly thoughtful, intense, and strategic-as-heck man already had a plan in motion.
“You trust me, Mel?”
I took a slow breath, stepped close, and leaned my cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt. “Yes.”
Because when an entire NHL team rallied with your boyfriend for a photo op to defend your honor, you say yes. Now, everyone would know I was officially Coach Murphy’s girlfriend. Officially off the market—and not quietly.
Sean slid his hand around me. “This? This is the prelude to clawing our way to a win. You, me, and the Stanley Cup within shouting distance this weekend.”
My brows lifted. “Always coaching, huh?”
He grinned. “Occupational hazard. Are we ready?”
“Yeah.”
We drove around the arena to the lot by the park, and before I could process anything else, three women approached—Sadie, Reena, and someone new.
“Olivia,” she said with a smile, offering her hand. “You’re Mel, right? Let’s get you photo-ready.”
“See you soon,” Sean said, before they whisked me away between two SUVs.
I blinked at the whirlwind. The women were dressed in relaxed, stylish looks—flowy jumpsuits, soft linen tops with simple jewelry, wrap skirts, worn-in denim and sneakers dusted from the grass. It was casual with a touch of flair, the kind of effortless cool that looked good in golden hour light.
“Think laid-back summer editorial,” Reena said with a grin. “A little vintage, a little modern.”
Sadie handed me a change of clothes. “Let’s break the shutter count,” she said with a wink.
I stepped into the mobile changing area with a laugh: a lightweight boatneck blouse with gathered sleeves and a patterned wrap skirt that hit just above the knees, flattering, and surprisingly me. The outfit nailed the throwback vibe, playful and polished all in one.
Olivia clipped a barrette into my hair, the orange details tied the look of the outfit together.
“Team colors,” she said with the confidence of someone who knew how to make a moment count.
“Let’s go have fun,” I said.
We walked into the open field, mellow light spilling everywhere, wrapping the grass, the trees, even the air in a soft haze. The low sun kissed everything with that fleeting, perfect hour where the world looked more forgiving. I felt it on my skin, a gentle heat that made the breeze seem cooler.
Ahead, the guys looked on, taking us in as we came to meet them.
The look Sean gave me had my skin prickling with tingles, mixed with the excitement coursing through the air.
I took in the full setup and couldn’t stop smiling.
Olivia wasn’t kidding—the whole scene framed like something out of a vintage magazine.
Most of the guys wore jeans with polos or white tees under open plaid shirts or denim jackets—the relaxed, coordinated mix landed somewhere between a Ralph Lauren summer ad and a GQ weekend spread. A modern take on Americana.
Red, green, and blue bicycles were propped nearby, waiting for their moment.
We started with group photos, each couple striking a different pose.
Asher piggybacked Sadie while she laughed, one hand lifted in mock triumph.
Porter and Reena linked pinkies and leaned in for a near kiss.
Dane dropped onto the grass, propped on his elbows with a flower tucked behind his ear, and Olivia perched sideways on his back with a half smile.
The solo guys, like Paxton and Colton, leaned on the bikes with mock-serious poses between the couples, all enjoying the moment.
Then it was our turn, I had no idea how Sean and I would pose. He stepped behind me, lifted me onto his shoulders with zero warning.
“Sean!” I laughed–half startled, half thrilled.
“No hiding now,” he said, looking up at me with a grin that disarmed every ounce of my self-preservation.
His hands steadied my thighs, and I was very aware of how visible I was to the entire team, the photographer, and, soon, the media. I was pretty sure my face matched that red bicycle, but I threw one arm out and laughed.
The photographer called out “Hockey Season,” and the group burst into laughter as the shutter clicked away.
Then came the couple photos. Sean helped me onto the red bike’s handlebars, crouched beside me with one arm draped around my waist, the other on the handlebar, pretending to ride into the sunset.
My WAG baptism, apparently. I’d expected a hazing ritual, maybe a rhinestone tiara that pinched my scalp, but this was way less painful.
I loved every moment of this intro-by-photo-shoot.
We took more poses, some dramatic, some silly, a few where I looked straight into the lens and laughed my heart out, with nothing to prove.
Which, for once, felt true. Everyone was trying so hard not to fall out of their poses.
It was silly, and strangely empowering—I hadn’t laughed this much in ages.
By the time we wrapped, I was flushed, a little breathless, and surprisingly proud. I’d shown up. Not just for the headlines, for me too.
When I glanced at Sean, the pride in his expression was so steady, so unshakable, it sank into me deeper than the sunset light. He wanted me seen, and he wanted me to believe I belonged here.
People gathered their things, said goodbye, and scattered. Sean and I walked back to his car and drove to mine, the unbelievable whirlwind of what just happened holding us in a shared intimacy.
When we arrived, he got out and leaned casually against my car, one hand braced on the roof.
I gazed up at him. “I still can’t believe you put me on your shoulders.”
“You belonged up there. You have no idea what that meant to me.”
He gently twisted a strand of my hair around his finger and the look in his eyes sent a shiver straight through me.
All the time I’d hidden in the background, he pulled those moments into the light and stood steady beneath me—not to show me off, but to remind me I wouldn’t fall.
“You should wear this look more often,” he said, his hand grazing the hem of my blouse before settling at my waist, pulling me closer.
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You like the vintage style then?”
“I like seeing you happy,” he said simply.
Then he kissed me slowly and deeply, and I kissed him back.
My toes curled, my pulse tripped into a now familiar rhythm—him.
My body tipped forward on its own, my breath stuttered, soft sounds slipping out before I could catch them.
His fingers ghosted along my ribs in slow dizzying circles, as if he were mapping every place I came undone.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a line flickered: Kiss me dizzy under the moonlight. Check. He’d just done it.