Page 93 of Pucking Strong

Shae jostles her, holding up her phone. “Smile for the camera, Teddy!”

Wishing I could sink right through the floor, I do the lamest possible thing and press my left hand flat to the glass. My wedding ring glints under the arena lights, making my stomach flip.

Henrik only waits a beat before he slips his glove off and presses his hand to mine. There’s no ring on his finger. It shouldn’t bother me, right? The guys all have to take their jewelry off when they play. I know he’ll put it back on the moment the game is over. When he’s with us off the ice, he’s always wearing both rings. I shift my hand, lining it up with his.

“I don’t have a lot of time.”

“It’s fine,” I say, feeling breathless.

He glances over my shoulder. “This is your family?”

I groan. “Yes, but—”

“We’re his sisters.”

“And his nieces!”

They push in behind me, all trying to talk at once.

“I’m Jayla, and this is my husband, Rafael.”

“Hey, man.”

“And I’m Natalie, but you can call me Nat—”

“My name’s Winnie!”

“Will you all cool it?” I try to wave them back. “He has, like,twoseconds. He’ll meet y’all later.”

“Doctor O’Connor, look this way please!”

I turn to see one of the media guys over on the stairs, holding up a big camera.

Oh, shit.

“Karlsson, up here! Big smiles!”

Before I can even blink, he’s flashing his camera at us, snapping pics. Then a whistle blows, and Henrik drops his hand away from the glass. “I have to go.”

“Okay.” I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say in front of a crowd of hockey fans who are actively piecing it together that the player they’ve been watching for over a decade is currently outing himself as gay and married to a Black man. Mentally, I’m prepared for them to start booing. I mean, thisisstill the NHL.

Henrik is about to skate off when I shout, “Hey!”

He glances over his shoulder.

“I need you to score a goal tonight.”

He chuckles. “I’ll do my best, babe.”

Ignoring my sisters’ obnoxious cooing sounds, I press my hand back to the glass. “No, like, Ireallyneed you to score a goal. It’s a WAG thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

He skates closer until he’s right on the glass again. Up and down the plexiglass, fans pound their fists, trying to get his attention. But he looks only at me. “What did you do?”

I just shrug, flashing him a smile.

His eyes narrow on the glint of silver at my wrist. “I’ll want that watch back.”

I laugh, wrapping my hand around it. “Score a goal, and we’ll see.”

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