CHAPTER SEVENTEEN MARSHALL
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MARSHALL
I wasn't sure I would ever get used to reading about myself on the internet.
Three articles had been published in the last week.
One was from a Boston Sports Blog, "Hayes Leading the Enforcers' Playoff Charge".
Then there was a thorough analysis of my stats and where I was going with the team.
There was another article from a national outlet that was running a feature of this season's top rookies, and my name was in the second paragraph.
They also included a photo of me in mid-celebration after my goal against Tampa.
There was also another piece from a hockey analytics site that broke down my skating speed, shot accuracy, zone entries, and on-ice impact using metrics that I barely understood.
I sat at the island in the kitchen eating scrambled eggs while I scrolled through each of the articles.
I'd worked for this, to see my name in articles, written by other people.
But I wasn't used to being looked at, and it made me uncomfortable.
Back home, before hockey, no one cared who I was or what I did as long as you showed up and did the work.
Your handshake and your follow-through measured you, not your follower count or your analytics.
Here it was different. People had their opinions of me, and I'd never met or spoken to them.
They were strangers, and they were writing articles about my career and my future as if they knew me.
Jeremy had warned me about this when I first arrived. I still remember when he leaned over to me while we were having dinner after practice, one of my first nights here.
"The attention is coming, Hayes. You're too good for it not to, and when it does, enjoy it. It will feel weird at first. When it's good, enjoy it, and when it's bad, because there will be bad, ignore it and never ever read the comments."
I didn't listen well, apparently, because I was now sitting reading the comments.
They were mostly positive, but it made me suspicious, like I was getting praised and waiting for the "but" at the same time.
Every once in a while the comments made me laugh they were so crazy.
One guy had written a four-paragraph breakdown on my wrist shot and how it would never work at the playoff level, he even included diagrams he'd made.
At least people were passionate about something, even if it was wrong.
My phone buzzed, and I saw a text from my mother pop up.
Mom: Your father printed the article, and I put it on the fridge. He is pretending he only printed it out for me, but I've already caught him reading it four times.
I smiled and texted back.
Marshall: Tell him I say hello and that my wrist shot is fine.
Mom: He knows your wrist shot is fine. Who said otherwise?
I heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to see Lillah walk into the kitchen in nothing but my t-shirt, her hair messy from sleep.
"What are you reading?" She asked, moving to the french press and pouring herself a coffee.
I turned my phone toward her so she could see my screen. She took the phone from me and scrolled through the article. She read it and when she was finished she looked at me and smiled.
"Marshall Hayes: Boston's breakout star!" She smiled. "Look at you."
"It's just an article, Lillah." I said.
"I've seen others, many others, and they are all saying the same thing. You're good, which I already told you because I've watched you play. You might be a big deal, Hayes." She said, smiling.
"I might be a big deal, huh?" I questioned, looking at her as she laughed, noticing the way the morning light hit her face and turned her brown eyes an amber color.
She looked sexy as hell with my t-shirt hanging off one of her shoulders as she stood there smiling at me. She held her mug with both hands and took a sip of coffee.
"Well, while I might be a big deal, you might be a lot more important."
"Shut up." She giggled, rolling her eyes.
"Come over here."
She walked over and stood between my legs. I grabbed my phone, pulled it back, and held it up.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking a picture of the sexiest woman I know."
"Oh no, I don't have makeup on and my hair is a mess." She said, spinning around to walk away.
I grabbed her, pulling her back against me, her back to my chest.
"You look beautiful, freshly fucked if I say so myself." I said, holding my phone out in front of us and taking our picture.
She stood against me as I looked at the photo. We looked so happy together, and I wrapped my arms around her stomach and kissed the side of her neck.
"I can't believe you took that." She giggled, stepping away, moving back over to her coffee.
I opened my Instagram, and posted the photo with the caption: Me and my beautiful lady.
The moment she heard the post notification, she turned and looked at me, her eyes going wide. "Don't tell me you posted that?"
I smiled and nodded. "I did."
"To what…wait, how many followers do you have?"
I quickly checked the number and shrugged. "About seventy thousand and growing."
"What???? Seventy thousand people are going to see our photo. They are going to see me in your t-shirt with no makeup and messy hair."
"You look sexy as fuck."
"Not the point."
I knew she was freaking out because of her ex and how he had trained her to be invisible with him, but that was going to stop now. I refused to let her be invisible with me. I wanted to show her off to the world.
"Is this going to be a problem?" I asked.
She was quiet for a moment, and I could tell she was thinking about it.
"No, it's not a problem. I just…you want the world to know about us?" She questioned, almost as if she couldn't believe it.
"Yes. Without a doubt in my mind. I want everyone to know that you are with me. I want your name to be next to mine. I want people to see us and I want them to know that I am the luckiest guy in the world."
"Okay, well, now you are being ridiculous."
"I'm not. When people look at me, I want them to wonder how the hell I ended up with you because that is what I think every single morning."
She walked over and kissed me, and then pulled back to look at me.
"You are so cheesy."
"I will take that as a compliment."
She laughed as she climbed onto the stool beside mine, and we drank our coffee together while Cooper ate his breakfast. I'd brought over a plate of cut-up fruit when my phone started buzzing with notifications.
"What is going on?" She asked after the tenth notification sound as she took a slice of apple and dipped it into almond butter.
I grabbed my phone and smiled when I saw the string of text messages from the guys.
Jeremy: About damn time you showed her off.
Ashford: Bro, she is way out of your league. Congrats.
Hawthorne: Us boys are celebrating and Briggs liked your post. FUCK ME! brIGGS LIKED YOUR INSTAGRAM POST!
Aiden: When is the wedding? I call best man.
I chuckled and then turned my phone around so Lillah could see the texts. She read each one of them with her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. "Coach Briggs liked it?"
"Apparently."
"The man who yells at you all the time?"
"That man has many layers." I said.
She grabbed my phone and then opened the post and scrolled through the comments.
"My goodness, the likes are climbing and the hearts are accumulating. It's insane."
"You've got to love public attention."
"This is crazy. I'm an interior designer from Texas. I'm not a public figure."
"Babe, you're my girlfriend, which, like it or not, makes you a public figure."
She looked at me, the realization hitting her.
While we'd said it between us, we had said nothing to anyone else, and now here we were talking about Instagram, notifications, hearts and likes.
Having this out in public gave it a different weight.
It made it real in a way that differed from it being said between the two of us.
"I can handle it." She said. "I can handle being public."
"You can handle anything." I said, pulling her close to me.
She rolled her eyes and giggled. "Oh boy, here we go again."
I grinned and placed a kiss on her lips and then took a drink of my coffee.
The morning stretched into the afternoon.
We stayed in, curled up on the couch, and watched movies the entire day.
After the last movie, we were sitting on the couch, and I was reading through the team's upcoming schedule.
I was going to be gone for a brutal five-game stretch over eight days.
We were traveling to Detroit, Minnesota, and Winnipeg, then we came home for a quick back-to-back against Montreal and Ottawa.
"What are you thinking about?" Lillah asked.
"Just the upcoming schedule. I'm going to be gone most of next week."
"I know. Tara filled me in on how it works when Matt is gone.
They have this whole system where they have scheduled facetimes, morning texts, and a shared calendar that tracks every game and travel day.
It sounds a little intense to be honest, but she mentioned it's nice to have, especially when playoffs hit. "
"It does, but it will also be way more intense in February and March, so I'd rather put a plan in place so we know we can handle it."
She leaned against my shoulder. "I'll be fine. Cooper and I will hold down the forts. I've also got the boutique project to keep me busy and a new client consultation on Tuesday."
"Oh, I know you'll be fine. That wasn't what I was worried about."
Lillah looked at me, questions in her eyes. "What are you worried about then?"
I put my phone down and turned to look at her. She'd gone from neighbor to opponent to lover to the center of my everything in three short months.
"What is it?" She asked again.
"I'm falling in love with you in a way that's going to make leaving for these trips feel like shit.
Every time I'm on a plane or in some hotel room, I'm going to be staring at the ceiling thinking about you instead of reviewing game plans and plays.
Then I'll end up calling you at midnight because I can't go to sleep without hearing your voice, and then hearing you will make me miss you so bad that I won't be able to focus on morning practice. I'm questioning if I'm built for this."
"Built for what?"
"For wanting someone this much and having to leave them every other week for most of the year."
She placed her hand on my chest, and I could feel the warmth of her through my shirt.
"Babe, you're built for this." She said, her voice calm. "You're built for hockey and you're built for us. They aren't competing. I don't need you to choose between your career and me; that isn't how this works."
She moved her hand up and cupped the side of my neck, her thumb tracing my jaw.
"I'll be here when you come home. That is my job.
Your job is to go out there, play the best game of hockey you can, and come home safe.
My job is to be here, waiting with the porch light on and Cooper standing in the doorway.
I'll have dinner in the oven, or maybe a pizza on the way, and then I'll remind you that no matter how many cities you've been to or how many games you've played, this is where you belong. "
I pulled her onto my lap and held her against me, my face in her hair and my arms tight around her.
"I love you."
"I love you too. I'm not going anywhere, not for five games or eight days. I'll be here long after this season is done. I'll always be here until you no longer want me."
With my hand in her hair, I kissed her, slow and deep.
"I could never imagine not wanting you."