“That’s why I didn’t call, Maximus. I wanted to come to the game and watch my husband play. Not come and check out the team I own. There’s a difference,” I tell him, silently willing him to understand.
“That’s where you’re wrong, kid. There’s no difference. It’s two sides of the same coin, and you’re going to have to learn how to balance it. Married or not, you’ll always be a Kingston, Madeline. You’re a shareholder in King Corp. An owner of two of the biggest sports teams in the country. You won’t ever be just a player’s wife. The press will never leave you alone.” His tone is short but not mean. Not exactly loving either. But hey, at this point, it’s a start.
“And as a Kingston, you need to start acting like one. The press is going to follow you when you show up to a game. You know this. They’ve been doing it since you were a teenager. And that was before and after the Olympics.”
Yup. I’m still, apparently, a disappointment. “Listen, I think I understand what you’re saying. And I’ll try to handle it better. In my defense, I haven’t exactly been married to a player before, and this is all new to me. But that advice goes both ways. If I’m willing to try to see your point, it would be really nice if the family could try to see mine.”
“Everyone loves you, kid,” he tells me, like that makes it better.
“But that’s the problem, Max. I’m a grown woman, not a kid. You all seem to forget I’ve had the benefit of watching you all go through hell to get your happily-ever-afters. You also forget that I’m very good at math, and I have an excellent memory. Your wife was twenty-three when you met her. And you were older than my husband. So you may want to back off.”
He sits quietly on the other end of the phone while I roll down the window of the town car and watch the people all file out of their cars and into the arena. “Listen, Max. I’ve got to go. The game’s going to start soon.”
“Point taken.”
“What?” I ask him, confused.
“You’re right. Daphne was twenty-three when we met, and not everyone was onboard with our relationship.”
“And did you give her up?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“If I had, we wouldn’t have Serena.”
“Nope. You sure wouldn’t, big brother. Think about that while I’m thinking about what you said. I really do have to go though. I want to catch some of the warm-up.”
“Love you, Madeline. You sure you don’t want me to get you into the box with the staff?”
“No, thank you. I got myself a ticket right by one of the nets. Talk soon.” I end the call, and for a brief moment, I think maybe, just maybe, there’s some hope with my family.
That’s forgotten the minute I get out of the car and a million flashes go off in my face.
“Madeline, look over here.”
“Lindy, is that Easton’s jersey?”
Lindy, are you pregnant?”
“Did you have to get married?”
Lindy. Lindy. Did you marry him to get him traded?”
Questions fly at me from every direction, and the security at the VIP gate ushers me through. Shit. It’s never been like that before. I show the guard my ticket and lanyard. Max thinks he’s the only one capable of making a call. But there was no way I was going to my first game, watching my husband play for my team, without pulling a few strings.
I’m escorted through the cavernous halls and brought to the Revolution’s bench, where Brynlee stands with Mason, the head physical therapist. Her face lights up when she sees me, and I rush over to hug her.
“I’m so excited you made it.” She points next to herself. “You know Mason, right?”
“Yes, we’ve met.” I smile at Mason and offer him my hand.
“Nice to see you, Miss Kingston.”
“Actually, it’s Hayes now,” I correct him with such a giddy smile, I can’t hold it back when I look at Bryn.
Her eyes widen, and she turns to Mason. “Do you mind if I . . .” She points to me.
“Go ahead. We’re fine. Just don’t go far.”
She takes my hand and moves down to the other end of the bench behind the sin bin. “Umm . . . okay, Mrs. Hayes. I think you need to spill the deets. Does this mean everything went well last night? I mean, I read the Kronicles this morning, and the pictures they had of you two last night looked hot. Like seriously hot. But when I didn’t hear from you all day, I wasn’t sure.”
I look out onto the ice and immediately find Easton stretching. “Oh yeah. Things went really well. It was amazing, Bryn.”
“Amazing enough to introduce yourself as Mrs. Hayes? Does that mean you’re done asking for an annulment?”
“I remembered everything, Bryn. Everything. So yeah, no more talk of annulments.”
She links her arm through mine and looks out over the ice at the team. “So you guys are good?”
“Yeah.” I smile, thinking about last night. “I think so. We kinda went about it backward. But I think it’s going to work for us.”
“Okay. Then you need to deal with the family when you get back to Kroydon Hills.”
“Come on, can’t you let me just enjoy tonight? I’ve already dealt with Max. Let that be enough for one day,” I beg, not in the mood for another lecture.
“Lindy . . . Easton hit Jace in the locker room. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I had to make sure Jace didn’t have a cracked jaw. And I totally heard Coach Fitz give Jace and Easton hell. It was bad.”
Just then my brother skates over to us and bangs against the boards. “Hey, sis.”
“Jace Joseph Kingston. You dick. Why’s your jaw bruised?” I demand, and the fucker skates away from me backward with a shrug, like he can’t hear me. “I’m gonna kill him.”
The music changes, and the guys start to skate over toward the bench.
Brynlee squeezes my hand. “I’ve got to get back. You need help finding your seat?”
“Nope. I’m good. See you at home when you get back.”
“K.”
I take a step back as Easton smacks the glass between us.
I kiss my hand and line it up with his. “Kick ass, baby.”
EASTON
“Dude, your wife is a fucking smoke show, Hayes.” One of the younger guys on the team taps my stick as we skate out into a line for the national anthem, his eyes locked on Lindy, and I can’t even be annoyed. She’s fucking gorgeous, standing behind the goal, her eyes locked on me.
“Watch it, asshole.” Jace glares when he stops next to me. “That’s my little sister.”
“Shit. Sorry, Cap.”
Jace ignores him and turns my way. “She’s wearing your jersey.”
“Yeah, she is.” I don’t even care if it pisses him off.
“She’s worn my jersey since the day I was drafted,” he grumbles. But something about it doesn’t sound as pissed now as it did earlier.
I glance over to him as the singer moves to center ice. “Husband trumps brother.”
“Not even sorry about that, are you?” he taunts.
“Not even a little fucking bit,” I bite back just before the anthem starts, and we all stop talking. Time to win a game.