Page 23 of Player Misconduct
“Details.”
I toss my medical bag on the far bed, peel off my gloves, and scrub my hands until the sink water runs hot. When I finally look up, I freeze.
There’s something around my ring finger.
A thin strip of white athletic tape. The edge is torn clean, wrapped neatly in two turns. There’s a delicate design inked onto the center, perfectly stretched and geometric, the kind of precise linework that makes me blink twice. It’s… beautiful.
Aleksi can draw.
Yet another unexpected talent I never knew about him.
For a moment, I just stare at it. The tape gleams pale against my skin, like it actually belongs there.
I didn’t even feel him do it. Somewhere between the bus and the walk here, he must’ve slipped it on. It’s so perfectly him—equal parts ridiculous and thoughtful. The smallest gesture that somehow manages to crack something open inside my chest.
When I step back out, he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, forearms braced on his knees, still in his team sweats. His eyes flick immediately to my hand.
“Not bad, right?” he says, like he’s asking about a stick-tape job instead of a fake wedding ring.
“You made me a ring out of hockey tape.”
He shrugs. “Technically, it’s athletic tape. High-end. Breathable.”
“And the design?” I ask, glancing back down at it.
“Old Finnish folk art,” he says easily. “There’s a carving just like it in downtown Helsinki. Thought it’d look good on you.”
My lips twitch before I can stop them. “It’s beautiful.”
“Then it matches its new owner,” he murmurs quietly, almost as if just to himself. But I hear it.
I clear my throat, scrambling for a deflection. “And where’s yours?”
He casually holds up his left hand. A matching ring. He used the same tape, creating a thicker band, but the same precise pattern.
The air leaves the room for a second. I never thought he’d make one for himself. I was teasing to cut through the tension, not expecting this. But seeing it… fake or not, it’s a symbol. A marker that says he belongs to me.
“You’re insane,” I say finally, because it’s the only thing that keeps me from saying something far more dangerous.
Maybe it’s the infection scare, or the fear we might not make it home. Maybe it’s exhaustion. But somehow, Aleksi’s over here drawing Finnish folk art rings and making sure I’m not alone.
“Maybe,” he says, eyes crinkling. “But now it’s official. Married couples need proof.”
I cross my arms, but the smile sneaks through anyway. “This is absurd.”
“Absurd works for me,” he says simply.
It’s infuriating, the way he says it like a fact instead of a flirt. Like he knows I need the distraction.
I sit on the far bed, exhausted to the bone. “You realize I could be contagious, right? You shouldn’t be in this room with me. I touched that passenger.”
He leans back on his hands, completely unfazed. “If you are, then I am too. We were on the same plane. You treated him. I carried your bag. Too late to worry now.”
“Aleksi—”
“No.” His tone softens, but it’s firm. “You’re not doing this alone. We make it out of this together, or neither of us do.”
I blink, caught somewhere between wanting to strangle him and wanting to cry.
