41. Maddie
Maddie
For a second, I cannot hear anything except my own heartbeat.
The locker room is chaos around me—helmets banging, men yelling, Jasper still dramatically shouting about me ruining his chances—but all I can see is Dean.
Dean with his hands still warm on my waist.
Dean with that look in his eyes that says he would do it all over again without hesitation.
Dean who just kissed me in front of the entire team and called me his wife like he was claiming territory.
My husband. The thought still feels surreal.
Dean finally steps back enough for the room to come back into focus, but he doesn’t let go of me completely. His hand slides from my waist to the small of my back like he still needs the contact.
Luka is the first one to barrel over.
“What the actual fuck?” he bellows, ripping his helmet off. His eyes bounce between me and Dean. “You got married?”
Jake is right behind him, looking equally offended. “In Vegas? Without us?”
Grady shoves between them, his brows pulled low. Unlike the other two, his eyes land directly on me.
“You good with…all of this?” he asks, jerking his thumb vaguely between Dean and the room full of screaming men.
Something in my chest softens.
Because that’s Grady.
The loud, rough, slightly terrifying enforcer wrapped around the softest protective center.
I nod.
A smile pulls at my mouth.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m good.”
Jake studies my face for half a second like he is trying to make sure I mean it, then points at Dean.
“You hurt her and I’ll forget you sign my checks.”
Dean snorts.
Luka cracks his knuckles. “No, seriously. We all will.”
Jasper appears on my other side and sighs dramatically. “I cannot believe my media girl has been stolen by Coach. This is devastating.”
I laugh. Actually laugh. And the sound seems to release something in all of them because suddenly I am getting shoulder squeezes, quick hugs, muttered congrats, and a whole lot of chirping about Dean being a secretive asshole.
Big brothers. Every single one of them. Even when they are yelling.
Dean leans down by my ear while the room continues buzzing around us. “You okay?”
I turn my head enough that our noses almost brush. “Very okay.”
His mouth twitches.
He kisses my forehead once—softer this time, private despite the crowd—before the coach part of him takes back over.
“All right, enough,” he barks to the room. “We have a game to win.”
A chorus of groans and catcalls follow him as he stalks away. I watch him go for a second longer than I should.
My husband. Still cannot believe that sentence belongs to me.
I shake myself out of it when one of my coworkers jogs over asking if I still want to shoot bench-side. Normally I would. Normally I spend the game down near the glass, floating from tunnel to bench to media pit. But today feels too big. Too unreal. Too much.
I hand my camera off with a smile. “You guys cover it tonight,” I tell them. “I’m taking family section.”
They blink in surprise but nod. And honestly, I think I need the family section. Need women. Need someone to scream with. Need to tell someone before I burst.
By the time I make it up there, the Rizzolis and Websters are already packed into their usual loud chaos.
Penelope spots me first. “There she is!” she calls, scooting over to make room.
Addy’s eyes narrow the second I get close. “Why do you look like you swallowed fireworks?”
I laugh nervously and sink into the seat beside them. Because I do feel like fireworks. Like I might explode if I don’t say it out loud.
I glance down toward the ice where Dean is talking to the refs near the bench, then back at the women around me.
My women. My family. “I have something to tell you guys.”
That gets everyone’s attention instantly. Penelope straightens pausing halfway through opening a snack for Matty. Lennon leans in. Addy just stares at me like she already knows it’s going to be something huge.
I inhale. Then blurt—“Dean and I got married.”
Silence. A full two seconds of stunned, blinking silence. Then the section detonates.
Mia screams. Addy lets out a “NO THE HELL YOU DIDN’T” so loud two rows turn around.
Penelope gasps, clutching Matty tighter on her lap. Lennon starts bouncing in her seat.
And Lorenzo—poor sweet confused little Lorenzo—throws both his tiny hands onto my cheeks because every adult around him is losing their minds and apparently that means he should too.
His little face gets inches from mine. “Aunt Maddie!” he shouts.
I burst out laughing. “Yes, buddy!”
His eyes go wide. “YOU YELLIN’?”
That sends Penelope into another fit of laughter. “Yes, baby, we’re yelling,” she tells him.
Lorenzo gasps dramatically and joins in with a loud incomprehensible shriek just because everyone else is doing it.
I am laughing so hard tears spring to my eyes.
Addy grabs both my shoulders. “You got MARRIED married?”
I nod. “In Vegas.”
Penelope falls back in her seat clutching her chest. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Coach Dean went full psycho husband.”
Mia is wiping under her eyes.
Lennon grabs my hand. “Please tell me there was a chapel.”
“There was a chapel.”
That earns another collective scream.
Lorenzo, not wanting to be left out, smushes my cheeks again. “AHHHHH!” he contributes.
I kiss the top of his head while Addy narrows her eyes at me. “How long have you been sitting on this?”
“Since…” I glance toward the bench where Dean has now looked up and caught the entire women’s section visibly losing their minds. “…approximately ten minutes.”
Penelope follows my gaze to Dean and grins. “He finally told the guys, didn’t he?”
I nod. “By kissing me in the middle of the locker room.”
Addy slaps my arm. “That is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Mia points toward the ice. “Look at him.”
Dean is staring up at me. At us. At the chaos. His expression says he knows exactly what happened. I smile. And even from all the way down there, I see the corner of his mouth lift. Not hidden. Not stolen. Not secret.
My husband.
And now everyone knows.
I still cannot believe Dean did that.
Every time I think about it, I hear the roar of the locker room all over again. Feel his hands on my waist. Taste that kiss.
Eyes off my wife, kid. My husband. My insane, possessive, dramatic husband.
I honestly thought I would be mad. Thought I would at least be irritated that he blew our quiet little bubble apart in the middle of pregame with every single Mustang watching.
But…I’m not. Not even a little.
Because if I’m being really honest with myself, there was a part of me that was relieved he did it. Relieved I didn’t have to figure out how to sit everyone down and explain why Dean and I disappeared every night together or why there are suddenly wedding bands sitting on his dresser.
Dean did it the way Dean does everything. Big. Unapologetic. A little feral.
It has been three days since the locker room reveal and somehow the sports channels haven’t picked it up yet.
I keep waiting for ESPN Chicago or one of the local hockey bloggers to run with the headline that Coach Dean Kincade apparently made out with the social media girl before announcing she was his wife.
Nothing. Just silence. The guys haven’t said anything publicly either, which honestly shocks me more than the media.
Jake grinned and told me they’d keep it quiet for a little while if that’s what we wanted. Luka demanded to know why the hell he wasn’t invited to Vegas. Grady threatened Dean with bodily harm if he ever made me cry. Jasper asked if this meant he could stop pretending he had a chance.
So maybe they’re all behaving. For now. Tonight we don’t have practice. No game.
Just the annual Mustang fundraiser downtown where all the players, staff, spouses, and sponsors have to smile pretty and pretend they enjoy silent auction chicken.
Which means I need to get ready. Which means I need clothes. And makeup. And shoes. And all the things currently sitting at my apartment because despite the fact that I have spent every single night at Dean’s penthouse since Vegas, I technically still live somewhere else.
I hate it. I hate that all my stuff is split in two places. Hate that I still call it my apartment when it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Because home is wherever Dean is.
Which is such a disgustingly cheesy thought that I want to gag at myself, except it’s true. I’m standing in his kitchen pretending to look for coffee pods when really I’m just trying to work up the nerve to tell him I need to go there today.
He catches me, of course. Dean always catches me. I hear his footsteps behind me before his hands slide around my waist.
He presses his chest to my back and kisses the side of my head. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
His grip tightens. “Maddie.”
I stare at the Keurig like it personally betrayed me. “Nothing.”
He turns me in his arms. Lifts one brow. The one that says he is not buying a single ounce of my nonsense. “We don’t lie to each other, remember?”
I sigh. “It’s not a lie if I’m just… delaying.”
He snorts. “Try again, Baby.”
I rest my forehead against his chest dramatically. “I have to go to my apartment.”
He waits. I know he’s waiting for more. I groan into his shirt.
“To get ready for tonight,” I mumble. “And get clothes. And shoes. And makeup.”
Still waiting. I look up at him.
“And I hate saying my apartment because it doesn’t feel like my place anymore because there is literally no place I want to be if you aren’t there.”
The words tumble out in one embarrassing rush. Dean stares at me for half a second. Then his mouth twitches. Then he smiles. Full. Warm. Devastating.
“You are so damn cute.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m having an emotional crisis.”
“And I’m enjoying it.”
I smack his chest. He catches my hand and kisses my knuckles.
“I’ll take you.”
I blink. “You will?”
He nods. “I’ll ride with you to your house.”
My heart does a stupid happy little bounce. Then his eyes get that look. That very specific Dean look that means his brain is already six steps ahead of mine.
“But,” he says slowly, “I need to make a stop first.” He grabs a duffle bag from the counter.