Page 139 of Sin Bin Daddies
He sees me, tosses a can my way. “Beer?”
“Yeah,” I say, catching it and cracking it open. “Thanks.”
“Sit,” Logan says, nodding toward the table.
I drop into the chair across from him. The beer tastes like water.
He studies me for a beat, expression unreadable. “How are you holding up with all this?”
I stare into the can. “Does it matter?”
He shrugs. “You tell me.”
I let out a low breath. “All I care about is her. That’s it. Madeline. The babies. The rest can fall apart and burn to ash, and I’ll still be here if she needs me.”
He watches me for a second, then gives a small smile. “Yeah. I get that.”
My phone buzzes. Unknown number. No. Wait. Not unknown. I squint and feel the air tighten around me. Coach Ace.
I glance up at Logan and answer. “Coach?”
“Turn on the TV,” he says, and then he goes quiet.
“What?”
Logan grabs the remote and flips on the screen.
My beer hits the table as the news broadcast blares to life.
There they are. The whole team. Standing in front of the press room banner. Deke. Ryder. Beau. Hunter. Mason. Even the rookies.
And in front of them, a mic, already lit.
I lean forward, not sure what I’m watching until the anchor starts speaking.
“The Miami Icemen have released a joint statement this morning in response to the suspension of players Asher Hart and Ford Hale, and the firing of assistant coach Leo Vega. In a unique show of team solidarity, the Icemen have declared that unless the decisions are reversed immediately, they will boycott the remainder of the league season.”
My stomach lurches. “What the hell is this?”
Logan smirks beside me. “Keep watching.”
Ace’s voice cuts in, now on the screen. “Yes, the men had a unique arrangement in their personal lives, but that arrangement is their own. The league has no business dictating the private lives of consenting adults.
“We are here to play hockey. That’s what we signed up for. Yes, relationships with fellow staff is frowned upon, but it is not to be blown out of proportion like this has been. This was nothing but a blatant intrusion of their privacy.”
Then a reporter asks the question I’ve been bracing for. “And what about Leo Vega, who was a coach and not a player?”
Ace stares straight at the cameras. “Since when is a man not allowed to be with his wife?”
My jaw drops. I sit straight up. “What?”
I bring the phone back to my ear. “Coach. What the hell? We’re not married.”
He grunts. “According to Daisy, Logan is legally certified to marry you. You can be married by tonight.”
I look at Logan. His beer’s halfway to his mouth, but the way he’s grinning says everything.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
