Chapter 13 Boone
“So, how was your weekend now that you’re a married man?” Lochlan asks, his tone dripping with curiosity and suspicion.
I get it. These guys are not just my teammates, but my best friends and the people I tell everything to. I consider them family, and I know it was a surprise to find out I got married to a woman none of them have met without anyone knowing.
I flash him a grin, keeping it casual. “It was great.”
The reality is that it was far from great. Moving into Rosie’s guest bedroom this weekend had been a slow and lonely process. Most of my stuff is still at Penn’s place. I told him I’d move things over gradually and that since our old place is closer to the stadium, I wouldn't rush.
That’s true. But mostly I’m dragging my feet because in three months, after I inevitably get divorced, I’ll need somewhere to go and moving back and forth is a pain in the ass.
Rosie’s apartment is… interesting. It’s feminine, polished, and unmistakably Upper East Side chic meets lawyer. Everything has its place in her apartment, and it was tidy with matching patterns and expensive furniture.
I was tempted to snoop around, maybe get some insight into her life beyond the surface of what she’s been willing to share with me, but her bedroom door was shut. And even if it hadn’t been, I’m trying to respect her privacy.
So instead, I spent the weekend stuck indoors thanks to the snow, catching up with my agent about a new line of wool socks that I’ll be promoting, reviewing contract language, and meeting with my financial planner. It’s a quarterly ritual I never miss.
It was a productive weekend, sure, but let’s just say I’d rather have spent the time doing anything else—like celebrating real nuptials inside of my new wife the way everyone thinks I spent it.
But, of course, you have to be actually married for that kind of thing.
“Jill said Rosie was really cool,” Lochlan presses. “Where’d you find her, and why didn’t you tell us about her?”
The guys have already grilled me nonstop over text message, but I told them I was too busy to chat and would fill them in later.
Apparently, later means during this grueling two-hour long practice, with pucks flying at our faces. At least practice is almost over. Coach has already left the ice for the interview room, leaving us with strict instructions to do suicides on the ice until further notice.
Which, of course, we’re ignoring entirely. Our next game this weekend is huge, and I don't want to exhaust my legs anyway.
“Met her at the museum. You know I love going there to look at all the artwork,” I say smoothly. It’s not a total lie. I do enjoy a good museum solo date. Which makes it slightly more believable.
“I was admiring a painting that she was also looking at.”
More like admiring her body.
“And despite my inability to touch the artwork, it was nice to see it from a distance.”
And feel it against my body when all I wanted to do was palm her soft curves.
“It was bizarre, really, because she didn’t seem into me at first.”
Or at all, considering my buddy had paid for the dance and she looked like she would have rather been anywhere else.
“But damn, could she move.”
On stage, like she was born for it and on my lap, grinding against my cock. I should have known she’d professionally danced in the past.
Lochlan’s brows lift. “Move? What was she doing moving around in the museum?”
And just like that, I realize I’ve veered way off script.
“Yeah,” I backtrack. “Well, afterward, we went dancing, and I pretty much proposed that night.”
Fuck, I hate lying to my friend.
“Oh, damn, man. That’s super sweet.”
“It was love at first sight.”
I think it might have been.
He nods, eyes soft with nostalgia. “I felt the same way about Jill. When you know, you know. You know? What’s the point in waiting?” He tugs off a glove to flash his wedding band with a proud grin. “Four years this year and I never take this thing off.”
A pang of jealousy hits me square in the chest. I’m happy for him, but damn if I didn’t think I’d be four years deep into a marriage of my own by now with Anastasia at one point.
Trust me, I have no regrets over ending things with her but it's still a harsh reminder of the way everyone else's lives have moved forward. And for a long time after I ended the engagement, I didn’t care about that. I was happily single. But marrying Rosie seems to have poked on old wounds I didn’t know I had.
“Love you and Jill, man,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder.
Before he can respond, Kensington, one of our youngest recruits, skates up beside us, grinning like he’s just scored a game-winning goal. “Man, I can’t believe the Mayhem’s most eligible bachelor got married.”
“Guess you’ll have to keep all the puck bunnies for yourself now,” I quip.
He smirks, his ego inflating as he skates off. “I think that’s how it’s always been, Tremblay.”
I shake my head with a chuckle, turning back to Lochlan because I haven't messed with the puck bunnies in years and they all know that.
“Awe looks like the new wifey showed up for practice today,” he says, nodding toward the stands.
I glance up and to my surprise spot Rosie in seat sixteen, head bowed, fingers flying over her phone like she's telling someone off.
She’s the only one here—none of the other wives made an appearance and I wonder how long she’s been sitting there watching. I can’t tell if this is part of the script or if she’s here to drop some bad news. But like a magnet, she must feel my gaze, because her eyes slowly lift to meet mine.
She stands, slipping her phone into her pocket before offering a wave and a smile that looks like she’s genuinely happy to see me.
“Boys!” Coach’s voice booms from across the rink. “Interviews. Now. Tremblay, you’re up first.”
“Dammit,” I mutter, skating off the ice. Post-game interviews usually come after showers and a change of clothes, but today they want us in full practice gear to sell the whole we’re committed-to-the-win narrative.
I don’t need to sell anything. I’m always committed to winning.
I kick off my skates as soon as I step off the ice, swapping them for a pair of slides. Tossing my gear into my bag, I zip it up and sling it over my shoulder. Down the hall, I head toward the interview room, pausing to knock.
“Come in,” someone calls from the inside.
I step inside, grab a bottle of water, twist off the cap, and take a long chug.
“Thanks for joining us, Boone,” one of the reporters says, smiling. He’s wearing black rimmed glasses, perfectly styled brown hair and looks like he’s never covered sports a day in his life.
“We’ll go over a few quick questions, then let you get on your way.”
“Sure,” I say, settling into the chair across from him.
He waves at the camera man behind him to get started.
"So, to start off, we're well into January now and the Stanley Cup play offs begin in just a few short months. How are you feeling about how you and the team have been showing up on the ice?"
"Great. We've been winning our games, putting up great scores and working well together as a team. I don't have any complaints. I've been feeling strong on and off the ice and focusing on the goal: Winning another tournament for the city."
The interviewer nods, "And how has that focus been maintained while courting your now wife? That was a surprise to all of us in the media to find out about this weekend."
I take another swig of my water to stall because Caleb and Coach both advised this was going to be the main topic of the interview today.
“Yeah, I figured it might come as a bit of a surprise, but it wasn’t a surprise to us. Rosie and I have been keeping things private for a while now. She’s not one for the spotlight, and I respect and admire that about her.”
The interviewer smiles, pen poised over their notebook. “It must be quite an adjustment, though, balancing such a high-pressure career with married life. How are you managing that?”
“Well,” I begin, choosing my words carefully, “Rosie’s incredibly supportive.
She understands the demands of my schedule, and we’ve been working as a team to make sure both of our careers get the attention they deserve.
I think that’s the key to any successful marriage. Teamwork, on and off the ice.”
He nods again, clearly eating up the answer. “And was the decision to get married mid-season a spontaneous one, or had this been in the works for a while?”
“Let’s just say that when you know, you know. Timing wasn’t conventional, but life doesn’t always wait for the perfect moment. It felt right for both of us. I’m a big believer in following my gut.”
There’s a pause as he glances down at his notes, a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I have to ask—has Rosie been to many of your games before? We haven’t seen her in the stands until recently.”
“She’s been to a few, yeah,” I say with an easy shrug, surprised by how well that lie rolled off my tongue because ask me that a week prior and I would have tripped up.
“Like I said, she’s not big on the spotlight, and has her own career that's demanding of her time.
Having her here when she can come, means a lot to me, but it isn't an expectation.”
“Okay, looking ahead to the playoffs, do you think having this newfound stability in your personal life will impact your performance on the ice?”
“Absolutely,” I say, my tone firm. “Having someone in your corner, someone who believes in you, it always makes a difference in your confidence. Rosie gives me that extra push to keep striving for the best version of myself, both as a player and a person. She makes me better.”
And strangely, that's the truth.
The interviewer smiles. “How about a quick word with your new bride?”
My eyes cast to the doorway where I notice Rosie’s standing, smiling, her hip leaning against the frame watching me.