Chapter 43
forty-three
SEBASTIAN
We’re competing for the Cup. We’re competing for the Cup. And I’m dating Indie Bloom.
Is this real life?
“All right, men, listen up.” Coach Fry claps his hands as he strides into the center of the locker room, his expression serious. “This is it. What we’ve been working toward all year. Hell, since last year when I took over. We’re only four wins away from claiming the Cup and making this city proud.”
Every man in the room sits up taller. Chests puff out, chins rise. Coach surveys it all with dark brown eyes that catch everything. We’re lucky he took over as head coach after everything happened with Lexi’s dad. Mike Fry is ten times the coach and man Coach Cross was.
“I know how much you all want this. You’re hungry to prove to the rest of the world what I already know.
You’re champions. Warriors. Brothers. I’m proud as hell to call myself your coach, and I know you’ll do whatever it takes to win tonight and for the next three games.
” Fry runs a hand over his tight fade as he makes eye contact with every single one of us in turn.
“Your families are watching tonight. The world is watching tonight. Let’s show them what the Rogues are made of, shall we? ”
A cheer rises up as everyone shouts a variation of, “Yes, Coach!”
My heart thunders in my chest, joining the cacophony, even while my mind is calm and quiet.
My family is here watching tonight. Indie’s in the family box with Lola and the rest of the ladies. I wish my parents could have made it, but they’re hosting a massive watch party at their house with all the extended family.
Coach Fry claps a few of the guys on the back before leaving us to finish getting ready. But his speech had the desired effect. He electrified the atmosphere in the locker room and stoked the hungry fires in our bellies.
“You’re a wall,” Maddox says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re impenetrable. No one will make it past you tonight.”
“They won’t,” I agree. Mentally, I run through hundreds of possible plays and saves. I block shot after shot in my mind, visualizing the outcome I want for tonight’s game.
We’re going to win this. For us, for Coach Fry, for the people who have sacrificed everything to support us.
I’m going to win this for the woman I love.
“Let’s go to battle, boys,” Maddox says as the clock ticks down the time until puck drop. “Time to kick some Shark ass!”
Sweat drips down my face as I stop another shot attempt. My muscles burn, but I could do this all night if I needed to. Because we’re fifteen minutes away from taking the first game of the series.
The crowd cheers as I slap the puck to Ryder, who works with our other defenseman, Javier, to get the puck out of the defensive zone and over the center line.
Florida fights like hell to keep us on the defensive, but Maddox, Griffin, and Logan swoop in and move the puck down the ice, through the neutral zone, and into the offensive zone.
It’s pure synergistic beauty, and I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.
We’re not only playing like we have something to prove. We’re playing like we were made to do this together. Like this team—this line—was divinely appointed.
Maddox and Griffin pass the puck back and forth while Logan positions himself in a coverage gap.
Florida’s defensemen are so focused on the game of keep-away Madds and Griffin are playing with them, they don’t notice they’ve left Logan wide open until Griff chips the puck through the gap without even looking and straight to Logan.
He draws his stick back and lets it fly.
Time slows, the barn goes silent, then when the puck hits the net with a sharp thwack, the crowd roars loud enough to almost drown out the buzzer. While the guys celebrate down by Florida’s net, my eyes wander up to the family box.
I can just make out Indie and the ladies screaming, hugging, and jumping around. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen.
“Did you see that beauty of a shot, Bashy-cakes?” Griffin shouts before barreling into me in celebration. “Slick as hell.”
“Now we just need a few more.” I slap Griffin on the back, and he throws his head back, laughing, before skating back to center ice for the face-off.
“Yeah. A few more. You got it, boss.”
We don’t manage to sink a few, but we do score one more goal, winning the game three to one. The arena is so loud, my ears ring while I shower and get dressed before talking to the press with Coach Fry, Maddox, and a couple of the other guys.
“Is there anything you think your team could improve on for game two?” a reporter from a local paper asks Coach Fry. “I’m sure the Sharks will play like they have something to prove.”
Coach Fry nods. “They’re not the only ones. This is the biggest game in hockey. We all have something to prove. My guys played a solid game tonight, and I’m proud as hell of them. There are always things we can improve upon as a team, but as of right now, it’s just tweaking and tightening.”
Reporters raise their hands, shouting and jockeying for attention. Coach points at someone from one of the larger sports networks.
“Are you worried about external distractions during this series?” The reporter directs the question to Coach, but his eyes stray to me, and I stiffen.
“You’ll need to be more specific than that, Joe. What distractions should I be worried about?” Coach asks with a frown.
“Well, everyone is talking about the relationship between Navarro and Indigo Bloom. Not only are her parents the center of a media circus, but there’s speculation that she’s actually a well-known romance author.”
Coach Fry does not look impressed. “And?”
The reporter clears his throat, clearly not getting the kind of reaction he was hoping for.
“Well, as if all of that isn’t distracting enough, there’s growing conjecture that Indigo Bloom wrote fan fiction ten years ago about herself and Navarro.
It’s a trending topic in the bookish community, and it’s gaining traction in sports circles. ”
My stomach drops. Not because I’m worried about Indie writing fanfic about us ten years ago—hell, I love that—but because the last thing my girl needs to deal with is more scrutiny.
Coach Fry looks my way, offering to field the question or let me handle it. I give him a nod. This one is mine.
“Why should it matter what my girlfriend may or may not have written ten years ago?” I ask the reporter.
He shifts in his seat but maintains his composure, even under the weight of my disapproving glare. “With the stalking situation that recently occurred involving Byrne and his girlfriend, are you not concerned that you’re dating a woman who’s been stalking you for ten years?”
Blood roars like a flooded, violent river in my veins until it’s all I can hear.
How fucking dare he?
Leaning forward in my seat, I glare at the asshole I’m going to get banned from future post-game press conferences. “Are you accusing Indigo Bloom of stalking me?”
The reporter clears his throat. “No, I’m simply asking if you’re worried that she could have been.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Look. I don’t know if Indie wrote a story about us ten years ago, but if that’s true, I’d be fucking tickled. I’ll have to ask her to let me read it if she did, not that I’d confirm or deny it one way or the other for you.”
The reporter looks confused. Good.
“As far as the ridiculous stalking accusations? If one of us was stalking the other for the last ten years, it would be more accurate to say that I was the one borderline stalking her.”
The room erupts in murmurs. Coach Fry shakes his head, but Maddox covers his mouth to stifle a laugh.
“I met Indie when we were fourteen, and I’ve been obsessed with her ever since. We lost touch the summer after senior year, and I’ve spent ten years looking for her. So, no, I’m not worried that Indie could have been stalking me.”
“So you just recently reconnected?” the reporter asks, trying to save face.
“Look, I’m going to say this only once. Leave my girlfriend alone.
My relationship with Indie is not open for discussion, nor is it available for public consumption.
I won’t answer any more questions about her, and you are all going to back off and give her the privacy she wants and deserves. Do you understand?”
The reporter has the good sense to appear sheepish, muttering a quiet apology. The rest of them share a look before hands rise in a flood, the questions swinging back to hockey, our performance, and the series.
“You did good,” Maddox says in my ear, quietly enough that none of the mics should pick it up. “Do you think she really wrote a story about the two of you?”
“Is it weird to hope she did?” I ask, smirking.
He chuckles. “Hell, no. That would be cute as shit. You going to ask her tonight?”
“Obviously.”
“Keep us posted in the group chat.”
I side-eye Maddox. “I’m not telling you guys shit.”
He just laughs.
“Oh my god.” Indie buries her face in my neck when I pick her up and hold her close after the press conference. “I can’t believe you guys just won game one of the finals, and reporters are asking you about my teenage fanfic.”
My chest rumbles with laughter, shaking us both. “Baby, are you saying you did write a love story about us?”
“Find me a hole so I can crawl into it and die,” she whines.
“Is it spicy?” I ask, laughing.
“Shut up, Sebastian.” The words are muffled against my neck.
“I want to read it.”
“Oh my gooooood.” Indie pushes her fingers into my hair and tugs, which makes me laugh harder.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Griffin asks gleefully. You’d think she wrote a fanfic about him, he’s so excited.
“Fuck my life.” My poor girlfriend wiggles out of my hold and crosses her arms over her chest. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and she looks like an angry little kitten.
I want to throw her over my shoulder, take her home, and fuck her senseless.
“What platform is it on? Wattpad? AO3?”
Indie gapes at Griffin. “How do you know about those?”
“I love romance, duh.” He looks around at the rest of us. “I thought that was a well-documented fact by now?”
“It is, hubby, don’t worry.” Mira pats him on the chest. “But maybe Indie doesn’t want everyone reading her story.”
“Is it still online?” Griffin asks Indie.
She shuffles her weight from one foot to the other before leaning against my side. “Yes…”
“Then she can’t mind people reading it that much,” Griffin says with an impish grin.
“Ugh. Whatever. I’m not telling you where it’s published, but if you can find it, you can read it.”
“Oh, I’m gonna find it, Quinny, just you wait.” Griffin pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps away on it, a look of intense concentration on his face. “My favorite author wrote a fic about one of my best friends. It’s like fuckin’ Christmas.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Maddox says. “I can’t believe my sister married you.”
“I’m ridiculously awesome. That’s why. And I have a ridiculously large dick.”
“Dude. Why?” Maddox pinches the bridge of his nose before giving his sister a pleading look.
Mira giggles and shrugs. “He does have a huge dick.”
“I’m telling Mom,” Maddox grumbles.
“That my husband has a huge dick? Weird, but okay.” Mira laughs when her brother makes a gagging sound, but their back-and-forth is enough to have Indie finally relaxing beside me.
I wrap my arm around her waist and press a kiss to her crown. “Don’t think I’m too distracted to remember that you wrote a story about us. I want to read it tonight. Maybe we can act out the sex scenes.”
“What makes you think there are sex scenes?” Indie asks with her chin in the air.
I arch an eyebrow at her.
“Fine.” She blows a breath out between pursed lips. “There are sex scenes. But I was still a virgin when I wrote them, so they’re not very imaginative.”
My dick hardens, and I discreetly adjust myself. “That’s okay, Rosebud. We can act them out, then I’ll give you some new inspiration to draw from for your next books.”
“Oh, god,” she whispers to herself.
Grinning, I link our fingers. “We’re out. See you guys later.”
“Wait,” Griffin says. “You’re not going out with us?”
“Nope.”
Their laughter trails us out the door.