Page 198 of Slap Shot

“Can you—” Another sob racks my body, and he’s there in an instant. Scooping me in his lap. Kissing the tears away. Being patient and wonderful, and I know he’salwaysgoing to be there. Steady, sure. Unrelenting. “Can you say it again?”

“Yeah.” Hudson’s smile is soft and slow, the beautiful kind I’ve felt in my soul from the second I first met him. “I love you, Madeline Galloway. I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I love how strong you are. How wonderful of a mother you are. I love your sarcasm, but I also love when you slow things down. You make me feel things I’ve never felt before. And if there’s ever a doubt in your mind, I want you to ask me, because that means I’m not doing a good enough job of showing you how fuckinggoneI am for you.”

“God.” I hiccup then laugh, fresh tears falling. “That was like a fucking poem, Hudson.”

“It’s true.” He moves my hair away from my forehead, kissing me there next. “Every word.”

“I love you. I think I’ve loved you for months, but I finally let myself accept it, you know? I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”

“You’re right on time, sweetheart.”

I sigh. My tears turn happy, elated, and optimistic about the future. I’ve never felt this confident about anything in my life.

“What do we do now?” I ask, glancing up at him.

“We get Lucy back in here. We tell her I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, and then we’ll go get some dirt so we can plant some flowers. But only after you eat your breakfast, Mads.”

I roll my eyes, reaching for the food. “Bossy.”

“Bossy, yeah, but also obsessed,” Hudson says. “Just like I was when you made that chicken curry at Piper and Liam’s.”

“Are you sure you love me and not my cooking?” I tease, squealing when he rolls himself over me, mouth inches away from mine.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a grin to rival the sun. “When I’m with you, I’m the most sure I’ve ever been about anything in my entire life.”

FIFTY-EIGHT

MADELINE

The Stars havea horrible game five in the Eastern Conference finals.

All the players had an off night, but Hudson struggled the most. Liam got pulled in the last minute of the third period, an act of desperation by Coach Saunders to dosomethingto change the outcome, but Hudson let a puck sneak by him. The other team scored an empty net goal, and that was that.

Now they trail the series three games to two, and I can see the disappointment on Hudson’s face when he gets home. He shrugs off his suit jacket and tosses it on the couch. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs when he sits on the barstool in the kitchen, scratching Gus and Millie’s ears with an exhausted frown.

His shoulders are curved in, making him look small and weak. He’s hanging his head, and I can’t focus on cooking anymore. Not when he’s hurting, so I shove the cutting board away. I walk around the island, and I give him a hug.

“I’m sorry tonight didn’t go well,” I say gently, not quite sure how to navigate this situation. The Stars had the best record in the league, and they only lost seventeen games all year. Thetrouble the Detroit Owls are giving them this series is surprising. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” He squeezes my hip before pulling away, and I’m glad to know he’s still in there under all his sadness. I brush a lock of hair out his face, and he sighs. “But thank you.”

“You need to eat something.” I slip my apron over my head and tie it around my waist. I move to the fridge and pull out the rotisserie chicken I picked up yesterday. “And if you don’t tell me what you want, I’m going to decide for you.”

“That’s fine,” he mumbles, and I hate how defeated he looks. Like the loss is entirely his fault, and not the result of the team playing poorly all around.

“You’re going to get brussels sprouts,” I warn, and even that doesn’t make him laugh.

“It’s late. You should go to bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

“I really don’t want anything.”

“Too bad.” I grab the cutting board and my chef’s knife. “Cooking is one of the ways I take care of the people I love, so I’m going to put a plate in front of you, and you’re going to eat it. Because I love you, Hudson, no matter what the score was tonight.”

Knowing he’s watching me—he’salwayswatching me—I spin my knife in my hands, just how he likes. When I glance up at him, the hint of a smile pulls at his mouth, and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says.

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