Chapter 34 Fish
FISH
Life is good. Like, stupidly, disgustingly, annoyingly good.
Collette has been at my apartment every night since she got back from Quebec.
Technically, she still lives with Jo, but her toothbrush is in my bathroom, her shampoo has taken over my shower, there’s a drawer in my dresser that’s now hers, and her cereal collection has colonized an entire shelf in my kitchen.
She sneaks over after work and lets herself in with the key I gave her.
And when we have away games, she sneaks into my room and is gone before anyone notices.
It’s hot sneaking around, but I don’t know if I can keep doing this till summer.
Last night, she fell asleep on my chest while we watched some terrible dating show she’s obsessed with.
I carried her to bed, and she mumbled “Thanks, husband” against my neck, and I lay there in the dark grinning like a psychopath because that word still hasn’t gotten old. I don’t think it ever will.
Nobody knows, that’s the hardest part. At work, we’re colleagues.
On camera, we’re Fishette, the internet’s favorite maybe-couple, the ship that launched a thousand edits.
In the locker room, I’m Fish, the guy who flirts with everyone and commits to no one.
And at home, I’m Justin, her husband, the man who orders her coffee every morning, fucks her every night, and is so in love it physically hurts to pretend otherwise for eight hours a day.
But today I am just as excited because it’s Snow Classic day and New Year’s Eve. We will be playing in an outdoor rink, just like most of us did when we were kids. It’s going to be the biggest regular season game of the year, and the energy in the building is insane.
The locker room before the game is loud, the boys are hyped.
Bouch is blasting something French and terrible.
Nelly is doing his pre-game stretches in the corner, looking like a very flexible Swedish robot.
Sully is chirping everyone within earshot.
Evan is silent, focused, already in game mode.
Pierre is pacing back and forth, chewing his mouthguard, bouncing on his toes.
He’s always intense before big games, but tonight, he’s on another level.
“You good?” I ask, taping my stick.
“Fine. Great. Never better.” He says it too fast. He’s lying.
“You look like you’re about to shit yourself.”
“Thanks for that visual.” He glares at me.
Felix catches my eye across the room and gives me a look that says, ‘Don’t push it.’ Okay. Something is going on that I’m not in on. As long as it doesn’t mess up his game, I’m cool. Emmett walks through the locker room doing his captain thing, tapping helmets, clapping shoulders.
“Let’s play smart and win this thing,” he says as he continues walking around the room.
I finish taping my stick and think about Collette somewhere in the arena, probably rink side with the girls, camera ready, wearing her Mavericks scarf, my ring on a chain under her sweater.
My wife. At my game. I wanted her to wear my jersey, but she said that wouldn’t look right, but she did say I could fuck her later in it, so I’m all good.
The crowd is packed, with breath visible in the cold air, and the atmosphere is louder than any indoor arena I’ve played in. First period is tight. Both teams are trading chances, playing physically from the whistle. I pick up an assist on a play with Bouch, and the bench erupts.
Second period starts, and we come out hard. Pierre and Felix are on fire, cycling the puck, creating chances. Emmett is a beast in the center.
Then it happens.
Emmett goes into the boards. Hard. The hit is clean, but the angle is wrong, and his shoulder takes the brunt of it. He goes down and doesn’t get up.
Shit.
All I can do is watch from the bench. The bench is silent as the ref blows the whistle. The medics are on the ice in seconds. I’m standing at the bench, stick on the boards, watching our captain lying on the ice, not moving, and my stomach is in my throat.
“Fuck,” Evan says beside me.
“He’s tough. He’ll be fine,” I say, but I don’t know if I believe it.
They help Emmett off the ice. He’s holding his shoulder, face twisted in pain, and the crowd gives him a standing ovation as he disappears into the tunnel.
The game continues without Emmett. The team has to adjust without our captain, but the boys step up.
The third period is a grind. We’re up by two and playing smart, protecting the lead.
Pierre is everywhere, playing like a man possessed.
With two minutes left, he gets the puck off a turnover, cuts to the middle, and rifles a shot into the top corner.
The crowd erupts. Pierre slides on his knees, arms up, and the boys pile on.
The buzzer sounds, and the Mavericks win the Snow Classic.
The locker room afterward is chaotic, with music blasting, and everyone screaming. Except Emmett’s stall is empty, and the sight of it takes the edge off the celebration.
“Cap’s got a Grade 3 AC joint separation,” Sully tells us. “He’s out four to six weeks.”
The room goes quiet for a moment, then Bouch raises his water bottle. “We won this one for Cap.”
Everyone cheers, it’s what teams do. You hurt, you rally, and you play for each other. That’s hockey.
Collette: Amazing game. You were incredible.
Fish: Thanks, babe. How’s the mood up there?
Collette: Jo went to check on Emmett. Everyone’s getting ready for tonight.
Pierre asked everyone to join in on a special celebration he has planned at the end of the game, he asked everyone to dress up.
The team is gathering, and everyone has changed out of their gear into their New Year’s Eve outfits.
I spot Emmett off to the side with Sully, arm in a sling, face tight with pain, but present.
The man won’t miss a team event even with a separated shoulder.
Then I see Collette, she’s in a black dress that makes my brain short-circuit, her hair is down, and she’s wearing heels that make her legs look like they go on forever.
I want to drag her into the nearest closet.
She catches my eye and gives me the tiniest smile.
The one that’s just for me. I give her one back and then look away because Pierre is ten feet away and I value my life.
Felix appears from somewhere, talking to Issy, leading her toward the outdoor rink, which has been transformed.
All the lights are off, and hundreds of candles line a red carpet that leads to the center of the ice.
Standing in the middle, surrounded by candlelight, in a suit, looking nervous and hopeful, is Pierre.
“Holy shit,” I breathe out, he’s proposing, as I watch Pierre drop to one knee.
“Did you know?” Evan asks.
I shake my head. “No.” I can’t hear what he says from where I’m standing, but I don’t need to.
The look on his face says everything. Then Issy nods, the sky explodes with fireworks, the snow starts to fall, the crowd erupts, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen at a hockey rink, and I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things at hockey rinks.
I look at Collette, she’s crying, tears streaming down her cheeks, hand over her mouth, watching her brother propose.
And I know something nobody else in this crowd knows, the woman crying at the proposal is already married.
To me. With a diamond ring on a chain under her dress, and a plastic ring from a convenience store that sits right beside it because she refuses to throw it away.
While Pierre is proposing to his girlfriend, he has no idea that his sister is already someone’s wife.
Everyone rushes to congratulate them. I hang back because this is a family moment, and I’m not part of the family.
Not publicly. I watch Collette hug Pierre, watch Jo hug Issy, and watch Felix clap his brother on the back.
This is their world, the St. Pierres, they’re loud, loving, and fiercely protective of each other.
And I married into it without any of them knowing.
Collette eventually finds me in the crowd, she’s still teary-eyed, her cheeks flushed from the cold.
“Did you know?” I ask her.
“Of course I knew.” She wipes her eyes. “Jo and I have been helping him plan it for weeks.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” I whisper to her.
“It wasn’t my secret to tell.” She gives me a look. “We’re good at keeping secrets, remember?”
“Fair point.” I want to kiss her so badly my teeth ache. “You look beautiful when you cry.”
“Shut up,” she says, slapping my chest. “The engagement party is at the Rose Hotel. Behave yourself tonight.”
Stepping forward and leaning in, I whisper in her ear, “When do I not behave myself?”
“Do you want that list alphabetically or chronologically?” she teases.
“You will pay for that, wife,” I say under my breath just for her.
Her eyes flare. “Can’t wait.” She pushes herself from me and goes to join her family.
The party is in full swing. Music, dancing, and champagne flowing. Pierre and Issy are the center of attention, they’re glowing, wrapped around each other. Everyone wants to see the ring and hear the story. I’m at the bar with Evan, Nelly, and Bouch, nursing a whiskey, watching the room.
“Was a nice proposal,” I say.
“Yeah. He went all out,” Nelly adds.
“Candles. Red carpet. Fireworks. Snow.” Evan takes a sip. “Bit much.”
“You’re not a romantic, Evan?” Bouch teases.
“I’m Russian. We don’t do romantic. We do efficient.” He deadpans, which makes Bouch spit out his drink.
I watch Collette across the room, she’s with Jo and Harper, laughing, with a glass of champagne in hand.
She looks happy and relaxed, and every few minutes she touches the spot on her chest where the ring hangs under her dress.
She doesn’t realize she does it. But I notice.
This earns me an elbow from Evan, which pulls me back into the conversation with the boys.
I notice Collette saying goodbye to her sister.
It’s strange that she is leaving her brother’s engagement party, it’s only eleven.
A few minutes later, I catch Collette’s eye across the room and raise an eyebrow.
She gives me a head shake, and I continue watching my love from across the room. It sucks.
The countdown starts, and the whole room gathers. Pierre and Issy are in the center, with Felix and Harper beside them. The team, coaches, and families all gather with their loved ones, champagne glasses in hand.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
I’m standing with Evan and Bouch. Collette is across the room with the girls. We’re twenty feet apart, surrounded by people, and I can’t kiss my wife at midnight.
Seven. Six. Five.
She looks at me, and I look at her. The room is counting down, and we’re having an entire conversation without saying a word.
Four. Three. Two. One.
“Happy New Year!” The room explodes with champagne, cheers, and confetti. Couples are kissing everywhere. Pierre dips Issy, and the crowd goes wild.
My phone buzzes.
Collette: Happy New Year, husband. I wish I was kissing you right now.
Fish: Happy New Year, wife. Meet me in the hallway now!
Collette: Justin ...
Fish: East corridor. The one by the coat check.
I excuse myself from the boys. “Bathroom,” I tell Evan, who gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me but won’t push it.
Thankfully, the east corridor is empty. The music from the ballroom is muffled through the walls.
I lean against the wall and wait for my wife.
Thirty seconds later, she rounds the corner, champagne glass in hand, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“We have about two minutes before someone notices we’re both gone,” she says.
“Then let’s not waste it.” I pull her to me and kiss her.
My wife. At midnight on New Year’s Eve, in a corridor of a hotel, while her brother celebrates his engagement on the other side of the wall.
She tastes like champagne and happiness and home.
Her hand cups my face, and I feel the cold band of her ring through the chain she’s pulled out from under her dress, and everything in the world is right.
“Happy New Year, Lettie,” I whisper against her mouth.
“Happy New Year, Justin.”
“This year is going to be our year,” I tell her.
“I know.” She kisses me one more time, quick and fierce, before she has to go. She slips back into the ballroom. I wait sixty seconds, straighten my collar, and follow.
Evan is exactly where I left him. He takes one look at my face.
“Bathroom, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“You have lipstick on your collar.”
I look down. Fuck. I rub at it with my thumb.
“Happy New Year, Fish.” He smirks, raising his glass.
“Happy New Year, Evan.”
We clink glasses, and I watch my wife across the room, laughing with her brothers, wearing my ring where nobody can see it, carrying our secret into a new year.
It’s going to be one hell of a year.