Page 135 of Sin Bin Daddies
Worry coils in her expression before she even says a word.
“Why are you here?” Her voice cracks. “The game…”
I move closer, gently brushing hair off her damp forehead. “Shhh. You’re okay. You collapsed. Heatstroke, the doctor said.”
I don’t tell her we all lost our minds in that moment, or that the footage of us rushing off the bench is now looping on every sports channel and blog in the country.
She tries to sit up, stubborn as ever, but Ford is already adjusting the bed with a quiet, “Easy, Mads.”
Leo stands back, silent. His jaw is clenched tight like it always is when he’s fighting to keep it together.
I stroke her arm. “Dr. Ellis said the babies are fine. You just need rest, okay? You’re more important. You scared the hell out of us.”
“You shouldn’t have left,” she murmurs. “The cameras… the people. I didn’t want this…”
“Stop,” I cut in, gentle but firm. “You don’t get to scare us and then worry about our careers. You’re okay. That’s what matters.”
Leo stands and presses a kiss to her forehead before stepping out. Ford follows him, quiet but tense.
She closes her eyes again, exhaustion dragging her under fast. I stay, watching her chest rise and fall, one hand still cradling her bump protectively even in sleep.
My phone won’t stop vibrating.
I pull it out and find dozens of missed calls, texts, messages. My stomach clenches.
It’s not the team. It’s my sister. My parents. Cousins. Even my fucking aunt in Spain.
I step into the hallway and hit call.
“Finally,” my sister hisses when she picks up. “What the hell is going on?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re all over the sports news. ESPN. TMZ. EvenE!. You ran off the ice mid-game. Cameras caught it. And then one zoomed in on her. She’s pregnant, isn’t she? People are going insane. Did you think you could hide this?”
Shit.
I hang up, numb.
Leo’s pacing outside the room, muttering into his phone. Ford is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, tension bleeding off him in waves.
I walk up and can’t get the words out before Leo cuts in.
“I already called Coach,” he says, jaw clenched tight. “He didn’t say a word. Just that we’ll talk. I think that means we’re fucked.”
Ford runs a hand through his hair. “We should get ahead of it. Release a statement, maybe even go public on our own terms.”
“I want to see how she’s doing first,” I say. “She doesn’t need this right now.”
We head back to the room.
The door is slightly ajar. Leo’s the first one in. He freezes.
There’s someone standing at the foot of her bed. A man. With a camera.
“Hey!” Leo barks.
The man jumps and spins around, holding up his hands, but the camera is already rolling. “She’s fine, right? Fans want to know if she’s really pregnant…”
