I officially found out that hockey turns me on tonight.
Either that, or I’m just a ho for my husband.
I’m going with the second one because I’ve been to an exorbitant number of hockey games through the years and never felt like this after one before.
We’ll just call that the hockey hottie husband effect.
“Come on, Logan. You gotta give us something,” a reporter from the front of the room asks when Logan’s eyes finally meet mine. Only happiness to see me isn’t shining back. The excitement over the win that was there a second ago is nowhere to be found. Pain and hurt flash quickly before he locks that shit down.
What the hell?
“You want something?” Logan asks, his eyes staying locked on me. “How about, we won the game. We played hard. Fought hard. And made the plays that count. It was a team effort and took every player out there on the ice to accomplish. Tonight, we won, but it’s only one game. The first game. Now we need to focus on doing this all season. I’d say that matters more to my team than whether I’m married or not.”
“But you are married. She’s in the back of the room wearing your jersey with wedding rings on her finger. Why not just admit it?” someone else asks, and Logan shrugs, clearly over this press conference.
“Because I owe you my skill and my leadership on the ice. I don’t owe you my family. Thank you very much, everyone.” He stands and waves and heads off the dais, leaving everyone’s jaws hanging in surprise.
Well that was unexpected.
Time to find my husband.
I flash my lanyard and walk into the empty locker room a few minutes later. The majority of the players have cleared out, except for the last few stragglers, who seem to be heading out now. It only takes me a minute to find Logan standing in front of his locker. “Hey, handsome.”
When he turns, he doesn’t look happy to see me, and my heart sinks.
There’s no heat in his blue eyes. Just hurt.
“What’s going on, Logan?” I close the last few steps between us until I’m forced to look up to meet his angry gaze. “You won. You played great. Hell, you were the MVP. Walk me through why you look like someone ran over your dog.”
“Is your phone broken, Olivia?” His words are as cold as the ice he skated on all night.
“No.” I shake my head. “Why?”
“I’ve been trying to get you all day.” He doesn’t raise his voice.
There’s no yelling. No arguing. Just hurt.
“I’ve called. I’ve texted. But you’ve ignored me.”
“I’m sorry.” I reach up and brush his hair away from his brow the way I’ve been dying to do, then run my thumb over his lip. “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to answer a text?” His eyes flare, and I look around to see if we’re alone. Thankfully, we are. “Your damn phone is usually glued to your hand, Liv.”
“I’m sorry. I had a meeting with Nina. Then another meeting with Pete. I helped Rita get Maggie down for a nap because little miss was having none of it today. Then I laid down myself for an hour because I felt like shit before I came here. Would you like me to account for every hour because I can. I’m a block-schedule kind of girl, Logan.”
He shrugs away like he doesn’t want me to touch him, and my heart splinters.
“Logan... I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was that big of a deal.”
He gathers my face in his hands and spins us around so my back is to the wall of lockers. “You seriously don’t get it, do you, Olive? I’m not even mad. I was worried. I left you this morning, and you looked like hell and told me you felt like hell. Then I couldn’t get you all day. Today of all days.”
“Of all days,” I repeat, not understanding. “What does today have to do with it?”
He shakes his head and his gaze loses some of its fire. “You coming here with my name on your back and my rings on your finger might not mean anything to you, St. James, but it means something to me.”
“Adler,” I correct him with a small, scared smile.
“What?”
