Page 12 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"You don't know that."
"Tessa." I reach out, my fingers barely grazing her wrist. "I know."
She shivers at the contact, and I can see her resolve wavering. For a moment, I think she might close the distance between us. Might let me kiss her the way I've been dying to since I saw her in that locker room.
I want to tell her that I don't give a fuck what the team thinks. That I'd rather stand in this equipment room with her than play hockey. But I can't. Because she's right. We have rules. Boundaries.
Even if they're killing me.
"See you around, Dr. Bennett," I say, and walk away before I do something we'll both regret.
Later that day, Jamie catches me in my bedroom doorway, arms crossed, wearing the expression he gets when he thinks I've lost my mind.
"Dude, what the hell are you doing?"
Jamie's been my roommate since we were rookies five years ago, back when we were both too broke and too overwhelmed by the NHL to figure out adult life on our own. What started as a practical arrangement—splitting rent on a shitty apartment near the training facility—had somehow evolved into this. Even after we could both afford our own places, we'd gotten a housetogether in Lincoln Park. Jamie claimed it was because he was a disaster at remembering to pay bills, but really, neither of us was good at being alone.
The arrangement worked. Jamie handled the social calendar and made sure there was always food in the fridge. I handled the practical stuff—lease agreements, insurance, anything that required reading more than a paragraph. We'd become a package deal, the kind of friends who knew each other's routines so well that Jamie could predict my behavior better than I could.
I look up from my dresser, where I've been folding the same t-shirt for the past five minutes. Jamie is standing in my bedroom doorway, arms crossed, staring at me like I've developed an unhealthy relationship with laundry. "Packing," I say, like it's obvious.
"You're folding clothes like you're about to meet the fucking Pope. Since when do you care what you wear to Detroit?"
Since my wife will be sleeping in the room next to mine, and I'm apparently a masochist who thinks looking good will somehow make this easier. "I'm just being organized."
"Organized." Jamie steps into the room, picking up one of my perfectly folded shirts. "Dax, you have color-coordinated your underwear."
"That's not color-coordinated. That's just... organized."
"It's arranged by color. Literally. Black, gray, navy, white. In perfect little rows." He stares at me like I've grown a second head. "Are you having some kind of breakdown? Do I need to call Dr. Bennett?"
"Don't call her."
"Why not? She's supposed to help with mental performance issues, right? And you're clearly having some kind of mental performance issue if you're organizing your underwear drawer like Martha fucking Stewart."
My phone rings, saving me from having to explain my sudden descent into domestic perfection. The caller ID makes me smile for the first time all day: Mom.
"Hey, Ma."
"There's my boy," her warm voice fills the room. "How are you, sweetheart?"
"I'm good. Just packing for Detroit."
"Oh, that's right. The road trip." I can hear her moving around the kitchen—probably making dinner for Emma and the kids. "Your sister's been asking when you're coming to visit again. She says you actually seemed relaxed last time you were here."
"I'm always relaxed around you guys."
"Mm-hmm." There's the sound of a pot clanging. "You know, you called me twice last week. Twice. Usually I'm lucky to get one call every ten days."
I pause, trying to remember. Had I called her twice? "I was just... checking in."
"And you listened to Emma's entire story about Jake's science project without changing the subject to hockey once. That's a forty-minute conversation about volcanoes, Dax. You hate science."
"Maybe I'm expanding my interests."
"Maybe you are." Her voice gets that knowing tone mothers perfect. "Or maybe something's got you in a good mood lately. You've been different on the phone. Lighter."
"I'm fine, Ma. Same as always."
