Chapter 21
Tuck
I sit behind the table with Rip and Roman, the three of us lined up like we’ve done this a hundred times before—because we have. Microphones crowd the edge of the table, logos shoved in our faces, reporters leaning forward like they might miss the quote that changes their careers.
Questions fly. We answer. Repeat.
It’s the usual post-game circus after a win, and normally I can run this routine on autopilot—smile here, joke there, give them something they can print without giving away too much. But tonight, for the first time in my life, I can’t wait for it to be over.
Why, you ask?
Oh, no big deal. Just the fact that I’m itching to get back to my hotel room so I can video call…home.
Home.
Yeah. That word hits different now.
Because ‘home’ isn’t just where I drop my bags anymore. It’s where a small ready-made family of three—or rather four if we’re counting Marbles and of course we have to count him—are living.
Temporary, of course.
But fuck.
Maybe I want to change that…
Another question gets tossed my way and I answer it, something about the third period, line chemistry, the usual hockey-speak, but my brain is not even here. Not even close.
It’s back at the house.
Maria had the WAGs over tonight to watch the game. I can picture it—her curled up on the couch, yelling at the TV, probably pretending she’s not emotionally invested while absolutely being emotionally invested. And I can’t wait to hear what she says about my goal.
My game-winning goal.
Christ.
I sound like a teenager trying to impress his crush. Which, if I’m being honest, might not be that far off.
“So, Tuck…”
Damn it.
The reporter who’s been digging a little too enthusiastically into my personal life leans forward, snapping me back into the room. “Still the NHL’s most eligible bachelor, I see.”
Here we go.
I’m already preparing to shut that down when she turns, flashing a grin at Rip. “I mean, we never thought Rip would get married before you. Or Roman, for that matter. Yet here we are—both off the market—and you’re still the single one.”
Rip nudges me, like he can feel the irritation rolling off me in waves. And yeah, part of me wants to shut it down. Hard. But I stop myself because this is part of the job too. The media, the fans, the image.
So I paste on a grin.
“No time for a family when it’s my full-time job keeping these two clowns in line,” I say, giving Rip a solid slap on the back.
Laughter ripples through the room right on cue.
The reporter smiles like she’s just getting started. “Maybe we can talk more about that later.”
Yeah…hard pass.
“Sure,” I say, flashing just enough charm to sell it, while mentally drafting a plan to pawn her off on Nicklas the second I get the chance. The interviews finally wrap, and the second it’s over, I’m on my feet.
We head out, but freedom is short-lived.
The hallway outside is chaos, fans everywhere.
Phones shoved in our faces. Jerseys. Sharpies.
And yeah…the occasional room key slipping into my hand.
I play it up. Smile. Flirt just enough to keep the legend alive.
When the crowd finally thins and I can breathe again, there’s only one thing on my mind—
Getting back to my room.
Getting my phone.
And calling home.
Once we’re on the bus, the noise settles into something softer—low conversations, the occasional burst of laughter, the hum of the engine beneath it all.
I sink into my seat and glance around, catching glimpses of the guys on their phones.
A few are already on video calls, grinning like idiots.
Wives filling their screens. Kids popping into the frame.
Home.
Judging by the backgrounds, some of the women are already back at their houses, and some are still at mine.
My place.
And for some reason, that hits me right in the chest.
Because Maria’s there.
And she’s not just there—she’s hosting. Laughing.
Letting people in. I like that. Hell, I love that.
Because for the longest time, she always felt just a little on the outside of this world.
Not because anyone pushed her there—but because of how she got here in the first place.
Connected to us through absolute bullshit.
Her ex-husband’s secret life. The affair. The baby with Gina—who, to make it even worse, had no clue the guy was married. A complete disaster wrapped in betrayal and collateral damage.
I can’t even begin to imagine what that did to Maria…or her boys. No wonder she packed up and left California like it was on fire behind her. No wonder she’s careful. Guarded. Selective about who gets access to their lives.
She let you in.
Yeah. She did. And I don’t take that lightly. Not for a second. Because the truth is…I tried. I really fucking tried to keep some distance. Keep it casual. Keep it temporary.
And I failed. Spectacularly.
I love having them in my space. The noise. The chaos. The way the house actually feels lived in instead of just…occupied.
And now that Maria is living—albeit temporarily—in a bigger place, she’s stepping into it, hosting the WAGs, building real friendships instead of hovering on the edges. Hosting was my idea. At first, she looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
But then I reminded her that everyone takes turns hosting. No pressure. No expectations. Just food, drinks, and people who get it. And when I mentioned she could cook—her love language—that sealed it.
Now she’s got a house full of women, her mom there too, probably making sure nobody leaves hungry. I grin to myself, pulling my phone out and turning it over in my hands. Running my thumb along the edge.
Is she waiting for me to call?
It’s not weird if I call…right?
I mean, I’ve got valid reasons.
I need to see how Josh did on his geometry test. That’s important. Academic support. Very responsible. And Marbles—sure, technically he’s their cat, but let’s be honest—I’m financially and emotionally invested at this point. That’s basically shared custody.
Yeah. Totally normal.
Dude. Just call her.
“Hey.”
I glance up to see Nicklas sliding into the seat across from me.
“What’s up, Nicklas?”
He’s usually riding the high after a win—already halfway to planning his next bad decision. But tonight, he seems quieter.
“You calling home?” he asks, nodding toward my phone.
And there it is. Something in his voice. Not teasing. Not curious. Something else.
“Yeah,” I say casually, lifting one shoulder. “I have to check on Marbles.”
He snorts, a faint grin breaking through, because he knows that’s total bullshit. “I still can’t believe you named your cat Marbles.”
“First of all, not my cat,” I correct. “And Lucas named him.”
That earns a small nod, but then he goes quiet again. Too quiet.
I study him for a second before asking, “You calling home?”
His gaze drops instantly. He leans forward, tapping the seat in front of him, his leg bouncing like he’s got too much energy and nowhere to put it.
“Nah,” he says after a beat. “Don’t got a ball and chain, you know that.”
The words are light. The tone isn’t. And it hits me then. I’ve never actually thought about Nicklas’ family before. He joined the team last year, fresh out of Boston College, all talent and swagger and zero backstory.
No one calling after games. No one waiting on the other end of the line. I frown slightly, leaning back in my seat as that realization settles in. Honestly, I’m the captain, it’s my responsibility to make sure my guys are okay—even when they pretend they are.
“Your family is still in Iowa?” I ask, carefully drawing him into conversation.
Nicklas nods, dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying to wipe something away. “Yeah.” That’s it. One word. Full stop. Not exactly an open invitation, but I push anyway.
“I meant to ask…do you have siblings?”
A small smile tugs at his mouth—quick, almost like it surprised him. “Yeah. A sister. Like you.”
“Yeah? She still in Iowa?”
He shakes his head, gaze drifting past me, out the window like there’s something written in the dark he’s trying to read. “Yeah, she’s…we don’t really talk much. Not like you and Kate.”
There it is. The thing underneath.
“I’m sorry, Nicklas.”
He shrugs, but it’s the kind that doesn’t mean nothing. “We were close when we were kids, you know?”
And just like that, he leans back, turns away, conversation over. A door quietly shut. I let it sit. Some things you don’t pry open—you just make a note they exist. My phone buzzes in my hand, breaking the moment, and I glance down.
Kate.
For a split second, I almost flip the phone over—hide the name, hide the ease of it. Because sitting across from me is a guy who just admitted he barely talks to his sister…and mine calls me after every game like it’s tradition.
Still, I swipe to answer. “Hey, Kate.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nicklas shift—subtle, but he’s listening. Not in a nosy way. In a missing something way.
“Great game tonight, Chucky.”
I shake my head, a grin pulling at my mouth. “You do know how to pronounce your T’s now, right? You can call me Tuck now.”
“No fun in that.”
“When you come visit, please call me Tuck. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. Don’t need you out here ruining it.”
She laughs. “A reputation? Please. When’s the last time you left your house for anything other than hockey?”
“You don’t know my life,” I shoot back, playing along.
“I will soon enough. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Same,” I say, meaning it. Then I hesitate. “Ah…listen, the house might not be as quiet as you were expecting.”
I can practically hear her sit up straighter. “Oh? Does this have something to do with Maria and her boys?” She’s teasing, but there’s a thread of something else under it.
“Yeah. They stay at my place when I’m on the road. You know…to take care of Marbles.”
Smooth. Real smooth.
“Oh, well, I can take care of Marbles while you’re gone if you want.”
“No, that’s not… I mean, I don’t mind them staying,” I say quickly. Too quickly. “I’ve got the space. It works.”
Silence.