“Fuck you both.” Fensby sneers. “Won’t be so cocky when one of you is traded.” And he must see the worry cross my face because he stands. “Rumor has it Coach has been shopping around for a new goalie. You really think you could screw with team dynamics and get away with it?”
“Did you?” I lean forward. “You think we don’t know what you did?”
He eyes me, clearly confused, but I’m done with not saying anything, and if the trade rumors are true, I have nothing to lose.
“Jessica told us everything. Including how she was using you.” I pretend to cringe. “How embarrassing for you to go for my ex-girlfriend and my position on this team and then fail at both.”
“Dumbass Dex at it again. No one will believe that shit.”
“They don’t need to.” I wink at him, not letting his taunt get to me. “We know what’s up, big guy.”
“You say that like it matters. As far as anyone is concerned, you two are trouble. Good luck with your”—he uses air quotes—“marriage.”
I slap Tripp’s ass. “Come on, hubby. Let’s cool down and shower. We’ve got drinks with our names on them.”
And before he can respond, someone clears their throat behind us.
I jerk around to see Coach standing there. He doesn’t say anything, just cocks an eyebrow, gives us all a pointed stare, and then turns on his heel and heads for his office.
Fuck.
We were told no more drama, and here we are bringing it to the locker room.
Tripp and I share the same concerned glance.
We might have just sealed our fate.
One of us is getting traded.
Thirty-Two
TRIPP
Dex has been freaking out since Coach witnessed us in the locker room having it out with Fensby. He’s convinced one of us is about to get a call that could tear us apart, and so he keeps staring at his phone as if willing it to ring—like if he looks away from it, they might call me instead.
He’s also had the sports channel on the TV nonstop in case news breaks there first. Most teams are good at telling the players they’re traded before announcing it but not always.
Fensby said the rumor was about me, but I don’t believe a word that comes out of that douche’s mouth.
The only reprieve we’ve had was when my parents flew in for a few days and took us out for a “really married” celebration dinner.
I take the spot next to Dex on the couch and squeeze his leg in reassurance. We had a light day today, weight training this morning but no practice skate until tomorrow, so he’s had all the time in the world to obsess over this trade.
“Hey, whichever one of us it is, LA could be a fun place to live. They have the beach, Hollywood … Ooh, actually, I hope it’s me. I could use my free celebrity pass if I were to ever run into Zachary Quinto.”
Dex frowns. “Zachary Quinto? I thought you were obsessed with Ryan Reynolds.”
“Yeah, but Zachary Quinto is gay. I have to go with the odds.”
“That’s cheating.”
“No, it’s not. He’s my free pass.”
“I mean picking someone you only kind of like as your pass just because he happens to be queer and therefore you have a bigger chance of getting some. And also, stop talking like it’s going to be you. I told them to trade me.” He lowers his voice and murmurs, “It has to be me.”
I grip his hand and hold tight. “Like I said, whoever it is, LA won’t be too bad. It’s a forty-minute flight. Four hours in the car. Ooh, maybe Anaheim could want one of us too. We could both move to the beach and have sex with Zachary Quinto.”
Dex screws up his face. “You can have sex with him. I’ll have sex with Jennifer Lawrence.”
I shake my head. “Dude, go with the odds. Pick someone single.”
“It’s Hollywood. She’ll be single again eventually.”
“My husband.” I touch my heart. “Believer in forever and true love.”
Dex gets me in a headlock. “I believe it when it’s you and me.”
I push him off me. “Which is why, no matter what happens, you and I will get through anything. We can make LA work. And if it doesn’t, how long have you got left on your contract? I’ve only got one more signed year, though Damon started negotiations after we made it to the Stanley Cup final last season. Maybe I retire or—”
“If it comes down to that, I won’t re-sign. My contract’s up for renewal this season.”
I lean back against the couch. “Wow. Retirement. That’s scary. What would you do instead?”
“Well, if we’re in LA, I’m obviously going to stalk Jennifer Lawrence.”
“Obviously.”
“I’ll go to the beach every day while you’re skating and paying my way. Being my sugar daddy.”
“Shit. Can we take it back? I’ll retire first.”
“Nope. Too late.” Dex grins, but it quickly falls. “You know what would be better than all of that?”
“Not being traded at all,” I say.
“Exactly. I love it here. There might not be a beach, but there’s, you know … gambling and debauchery.”
“Always fun things to have.”
“I like the home crowd here.”
“Me too.” They’ve mostly supported us through this whole thing.
“I don’t like change.”
“I know.”
And as if hearing our conversation, the people on the TV announce a trade for Vegas. My attention snaps to the screen so fast my neck protests.
“Oh, fuck.” I thought that maybe, possibly, it wasn’t going to happen—that the threats would eventuate to nothing. I guess I was wrong.
“They haven’t called,” Dex says, lifting his phone to his face again.
“Vegas will be losing a center forward to Winnipeg.”
Center forward. Dex.
Winnipeg. What?
LA to Vegas long-distance is doable. Vegas to Nowhere Canada?
Zen and peace. Zen and fucking peace.
Then a photo of the last person I was expecting pops up on the screen next to the news anchor, and I’ve never known such relief.
“It’s not you,” I say.
“What?” Dex lifts his head.
“They didn’t trade you. They traded Fensby.” I would celebrate and cheer, but I’m still trying to process it.
Dex doesn’t have that problem. He jumps out of his seat. “Yes! Holy shit, this is amazing.”
“I don’t think it means we’re in the clear,” I point out. “Though our fans have been loyal and more supportive than ever, so maybe we are?”
Apparently, the public thinks the way we got married as best friends and then found more is adorable.
Dex dances around the coffee table while I laugh.
He pumps his fists in the air, singing, “We don’t have to move to LA. I don’t have to hunt down Zachary Quinto and commit first-degree murder.”
“Hey! Now that would be cheating. You can’t kill my free pass to prevent me from sleeping with him.”
“What can I say? I don’t want anyone to touch my husband but me.”
Is it possible to melt into a pile of goo? Because I think that’s what I’m doing. “No one touches me, huh?”
He approaches and pulls me up off the couch. “No one.”
“Mm,” I hum. “I like possessive Dex.”