Sutton
Chapter twenty-six
I smile as I make my way down the steps to my seat with the other wives and family members along the ice.
I’ve always loved watching the games from down here versus being up in the team’s box, but there’s something entirely different about watching a hockey game when you’re watching your husband, the man you’re falling in love with, because yeah, I’m falling for him.
“Hey.” Hadley greets me with a hug when I finally get down to the ice level. “How are you feeling?”
“Alright. Tired as usual. How are you? Not working tonight?”
Hadley works part-time for the Storm, stepping in as an extra photographer when we need her. Originally, it was a temporary way for her to bridge the gap in income when she first started her business, but it’s morphed into a more permanent, albeit part-time, role.
“Nope. They didn’t need me. So, you and Seb, eh?” Hadley asks.
Becca peers around Hadley, Hazel in her arms. “That was quite the show we walked in on the other day. Something you want to tell us?”
“Stop,” I hiss. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Becca scoffs. “Right, because what we saw the other day in your office was …?”
“Nothing. It was nothing.” I turn my attention to the ice, hoping that’ll be the end of the conversation. I need it to be. Because I don’t know how to answer her question.
Hadley leans closer to me. “It’s okay to admit you’re falling for him.”
I focus on the guys warming up. “I’m not.” Lies.
She pats me on the arm. “If you say so.”
Before I can argue anymore, Madison steps up to us holding Tate, who is dressed in a Storm baby jersey and jeans with a pair of noise-canceling headphones, which are too big for him, over his ears. Hunter skates over to the glass where we are and says hi to his son. Will I ever have that?
Bash spots me, nudges Wes, and the two of them make their way over to us.
I spin around to show Bash the back of my jersey with his name and number on, and his eyes light up.
I blow him a kiss that he pretends to catch and put in his pocket.
I know people are watching, but I ignore them.
We’re supposed to be happily married. We’re pretending.
But are we? Am I? Is he? He waves, and the three of them skate away.
“You two are so cute,” Madison whispers. “Doesn’t seem fake.”
I don’t know what to say, because I don’t know anymore if it is. We’ve never really talked about it. Sure doesn’t feel fake, but maybe I’m imagining that.
Holt comes over to say hi to Hazel, who claps her hands when she spots him.
“Dada,” she says, reaching for him, and he puts his hand on the glass. She grins, banging on the glass.
They’re freaking adorable. And then add in Becca, and they’re the perfect family. All of them are. Even the couples without kids are perfect.
I want that, with one particular man. My gaze bounces around the arena until I find him chatting with Wes by their bench. I want that very much with him.
The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of warm-ups, and the guys make their way back down the tunnel.
I take my seat while the pre-game ceremonies begin.
My thoughts drift to years in the future, what it’d be like raising a family with Bash.
He dotes on me, and I know he’d be an amazing father.
But does he even want kids? We’ve never talked about it.
Why would we? We’re fake. The bigger question is, how would he feel raising someone else’s baby?
Because at the end of the day, the child I’m carrying is not his.
Not biologically, anyway. Would that bother him?
Yes, he does take care of me and asks me how he can help me, but is that just out of obligation?
Hadley elbows me, and I realize everyone is standing for the National Anthem, so I get to my feet.
Eventually the game starts, and I get caught up in the excitement. The Storm are playing the Nashville Fury tonight, who have been a strong road team this season, so I know it’ll be an exciting game. And I’m right. Within the first ninety seconds, they manage to score a goal.
“Shit,” I mutter as the puck is dropped at center ice.
Then Wes gets called for high sticking and has to go to the penalty box. The two minutes of power play time, when the Fury have five guys on the ice and we have four, are the longest of my life, or so it feels like, but eventually the penalty expires with no goal for the Fury.
A few minutes later, Hunter, Elias, and another forward are on the ice with Wes and Bash on defense.
Hunter steals the puck, and the three forwards manage to get it down to Nashville’s side of the ice.
One of Nashville’s defenders takes a run at Hunter, slamming him into the boards.
From my vantage point, it sure seems like a hit to the head.
The play is blown down for an injured player since Hunter still hasn’t climbed to his feet.
“That’s not good,” Hadley says from next to me as the head trainer makes his way over to Hunter and kneels on the ice to talk to him.
Hunter finally climbs to his feet, and with the trainer on one side of him and Elias on the other, makes his way slowly off the ice and immediately down the tunnel.
“Fuck,” I hiss, glancing over at Madison who is clutching Becca’s arm for dear life.
Much to everyone’s dismay, no penalty is assessed, and Coach Weaver is clearly unhappy with the decision based on the way he’s pointing and yelling.
The ref skates over to the bench and says something, probably warning Coach to calm down or be assessed a bench minor penalty.
The ref skates away, and the puck is dropped just outside Nashville’s blue line with Elias winning the draw.
He tries to pass the puck across the ice to another Storm forward, but the Fury steal it, then there’s a turnover in the neutral zone, and the Storm regain possession, only to lose it a few seconds later.
That’s how it goes for the rest of the period, with no other goals scored. Thankfully. When the horn sounds for intermission, I sink back into my seat.
“I’m going to get a beer. Want anything?” Hadley asks me.
“Water, if you don’t mind.”
“You got it,” she says, getting up and heading toward the stairs to the concourse.
Becca gets to her feet, holding Hazel.
“Need me to hold her?” I hold out my hands.
“You don’t mind?”
I shake my head.
“Do you want to hang out with Auntie Sutton?” Becca asks her daughter.
“Yesss.” Hazel claps her hands together and reaches for me.
“Thank you. I’m going to run to the bathroom and check in and see if they need me …”
“No rush. We’re good, right, Haze?” I direct my question to the eighteen-month-old in my lap.
“Dood,” Hazel says, reaching for my face.
“I’ll be back as soon as possible, baby.” Becca kisses her daughter’s head. “If they need me …”
“Don’t worry about it. Between all of us, we can manage.”
“Thank you,” Becca says.
“Juice,” Hazel demands.
Becca laughs, scooting past me and heading toward the stairs that lead up to the concession level. “Okay, I’ll bring you a drink.”
“Are you enjoying the game?” I ask Hazel.
“Daddy.” She points toward the net, bouncing up and down and babbling.
“Your dad is out there playing hockey with his friends.”
Hazel claps her hands, giggling.
Madison leans over the empty seats, her sleeping son in her arms. “She’s growing so fast.” She tips her chin toward Hazel.
“I know. So is yours.” She nods, glancing back toward the Storm’s now empty bench. “Hunter’s going to be fine.” I tell her.
“I know. I’m just worried. That was hard to watch,” Madison says. “Never gets easier.”
Before I can say anything else, Hadley comes back, holding two drinks, followed by Becca, who also has her hands full of drinks and food.
“They’re still assessing him,” Becca says when she sits down. “He never lost consciousness.”
“Thank you for finding out,” Madison says.
“Of course,” Becca says.
“Want me to hold him?” Hadley asks, setting her drink on the ground and gesturing to Tate.
“No, I got him.” Madison shifts in her seat, gazing lovingly down at her son. And I can’t wait for that to be me with my little one.
Eventually the second period starts, and Wes and the defender that hit Hunter drop their gloves, fighting.
The other guy gets a few good hits in, but Wes uses his size and strength to get the upper hand and eventually drops the guy to the ice, and one of the linesmen steps in.
Wes is assessed five minutes for fighting and a match penalty for instigating.
“Fucking hell.” I shake my head.
So they’ll assess a penalty for that but not for the hit on Hunter that was clearly to the head. I can only hope the Player Safety Board reviews the play and maybe assess a suspension or a fine. Not that it’ll help with the situation we’re in now as Nashville has a power play.
The Storm kill it off with only two shots on goal, both of which Holt easily stops.
The rest of the game passes in a blur with a few more fights breaking out and the players on the bench on both teams barking at each other on and off.
The Storm take the lead late in the third period and win the game.