Page 136 of Sin Bin Daddies
Leo crosses the room in two steps and shoves him against the wall, camera clattering to the floor. “You think you can sneak into her hospital room? You think this is entertainment?”
The guy stammers something, but Leo doesn’t wait. He punches him. Once. Twice. I step forward, pulling Leo off just before a third.
Ford grabs the camera and smashes it against the wall.
The nurses come running. Security follows. The guy is hauled out, bleeding, protesting that we assaulted him. We don’t say a word.
By the time the sun starts to dip behind the hospital parking lot, the official statement drops.
Leo Vega: Fired. Ford Hale and Asher Hart: Suspended for the season.
Just like that, it’s over.
No time to fix it. No space to breathe. Every headline is a knife.
THE FALL OF THE ICEMEN’S STAR LINE.SECRET BABY SCANDAL ROCKS NHL.THREE ATHLETES, ONE GIRL—WHO’S THE DAD?
The locker room chat never even happened. Coach Ace didn’t need to speak. The organization made its call.
And maybe we deserve it. Maybe that’s what you get when you fall for the same woman, when you touch her like she’s yoursand forget the world is watching. When you choose her over the game.
But fuck, I’d do it again.
Inside her room, Maddie is sitting up now. Quiet. She watches us come in and reads everything from our faces.
She starts to cry again. Not sobs. Just quiet, painful tears that soak the collar of the hospital gown she’s still wearing.
Leo leans forward and kisses her forehead. Ford squeezes her knee. I climb in beside her, pulling her into my chest.
We don’t say anything else for a while.
Because now everything is real. Public. Ugly.
But she is alive.
And she is ours.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Madeline
The beeping.
That’s what pulls me back.
Soft and steady. A machine somewhere near my head. Lights overhead, too bright. Air too cold. The sheets are scratchy.
I blink, then blink again. My throat is dry. My body aches like I’ve just run a marathon in stilettos.
I turn my head and see Asher. He’s still in his hockey gear, jersey clinging to his chest, pads halfway undone like he never finished taking them off. His hair’s a mess, sweat-soaked and sticking up in places.
Ford’s here too, slouched in a plastic chair, tape still around his wrists. His eyes are closed, but his jaw’s locked like he’s ready to jump at the slightest noise.
And Leo. Leo is asleep at the foot of my bed, long legs hanging off the edge.
He’s got one hand on my ankle like he needed the contact. Like he wasn’t going to let anyone take me while he rested. His hoodie is bunched up around his shoulders, and he looks… wrecked.
Shit.
