Page 100 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
TESSA
The universe has a sick sense of humor, and apparently it's been taking notes from the most sadistic romance novelist alive. Because three days after our secret marriage explodes across every sports network in North America, we're sitting in the team meeting room staring at playoff brackets that look like they were designed by someone who enjoys psychological torture.
"Boston," Martinez announces, and the word hangs in the air like a fucking guillotine. "First round. Best of seven. Home ice advantage goes to us."
I watch Dax's jaw clench so hard I'm surprised his teeth don't shatter. Beside him, Jamie lets out a low whistle that sounds like air escaping from a punctured tire.
"Well," Jamie says cheerfully, "this isn't going to be a complete shitshow at all."
"Torres," Martinez warns, but there's no real heat in it. We're all thinking the same thing.
"Coach, with respect," Cole speaks up from the back, "every major sports network is going to lose their collective minds over this matchup. Kingston versus the team that wanted to make him captain? The guy who chose love over money? This is going to be a fucking media circus."
"Language," Martinez says automatically, then seems to realize the futility. "Actually, fuck it. Cole's right. This is going to be intense. More intense than anything we've dealt with this season."
I'm scribbling notes on my tablet, trying to look professional while internally screaming. The irony is so sharp it could cut diamond. Dax turned down Boston twice—once for the original trade, once for the sweetened offer—and now we have to prove that choice was worth it by beating them when it matters most.
"Dr. Bennett," Martinez turns to me, "I need you to prepare the team for unprecedented media attention. This isn't just hockey anymore. This is a goddamn narrative that's going to be dissected by every talking head with a microphone."
"Already on it," I reply, proud of how steady my voice sounds. "I'm scheduling individual sessions with anyone who wants them, plus team meetings focused on maintaining focus despite external noise."
"What about you two?" Alexei asks, his Russian accent making the question sound more pointed. "This affects Kingston most, yes? Former dream team wants to crush dreams they rejected?"
Dax finally speaks, his voice low and controlled. "It affects all of us. But yeah, it's going to be fucking personal." He looks around the room, meeting each player's eyes. "Question is: are you withme on this? Because I need to know my team has my back when Boston tries to get in my head."
The response is immediate and unanimous.
"Hell yes," Jamie says.
"Ride or die, Captain," Cole adds.
"Boston can eat shit," Zack growls, which gets a round of approving nods.
"We got you, man," Kevin says quietly, and the sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight.
Martinez clears his throat. "Alright, enough group therapy. We've got three days to prepare for the most scrutinized playoff series in recent memory. Dr. Bennett, I want specific protocols for handling media questions about personal decisions. Kingston, you're going to get asked about regret, second-guessing, divided loyalties—all the bullshit designed to get under your skin."
"Bring it on," Dax says simply. "I've never been more sure of a decision in my life."
The meeting breaks up with players heading to practice, but Martinez catches my arm as I'm gathering my things.
"How's he really doing?" he asks quietly. "This can't be easy, facing down his childhood dream team while the entire hockey world watches."
"He's processing," I say carefully. "But Tom, I've been studying him for months now. When Dax is completely certain about something, when he's fighting for something he believes in? That's when he's most dangerous."
"Good. Because Boston's going to throw everything they have at us. Their media, their fans, their psychological warfare team—all of it designed to make him question his choices."
"Then they're about to learn something about the man they couldn't convince to join them," I smile, feeling fierce pride surge through me. "When you try to break Dax Kingston, he doesn't bend. He destroys."
Two hours later, I'm in my office reviewing game film when my door opens. Dax fills the doorframe, still in his practice gear, hair damp with sweat and expression unreadable.
"How bad is it out there?" I ask, gesturing toward the windows that face the parking lot where I've been watching news vans accumulate like vultures.
"Romano's back, plus about fifteen other reporters. They're asking about everything—our marriage, Boston, whether I'm going to choke under pressure." He steps inside and closes the door, his presence immediately making the room feel smaller and more electric.
"And what did you tell them?"
"That my wife is the best mental performance coach in the league, my team is ready to prove Chicago hockey is championship-level, and Boston's about to find out exactly what they missed when they couldn't convince me to join their organization."
