Page 28 of Player Misconduct
I texted my twin sister in Finland that night when I got back to The Commons: “Met my future wife today. She’s the team doctor.”
Saara: Can you date the medical staff?
Me: It’s ill advised.
Saara: Be careful. You just got into the NHL. Don’t blow your shot.
She worries too much.
Kendall sets our towels on a chair, and then she glances around a little unease until her eyes catch on mine. Then her hesitation fades the moment she realizes I’m here. Like I’m her safe place, and fuck… I want to be. Her skin glows against the low lights, hair loose around her shoulders. I don’t realize I’m staring until the guy next to me elbows me and mutters something in Finnish I won’t repeat.
“Room for one more?” she asks.
“For you. Always,” I say.
She dips a toe to test the temperature before she fully steps in and then takes a seat next to me in the hot tub.
I hand her my beer to take a sip.
“Are you sure?” she teases. “I could be contagious.”
“We’re in this together, remember?”
Her eyes soften towards me. Whatever I said, it worked. Then she shakes her head but takes a sip anyway, making a face at the bitter taste. “God, that’s awful.”
“American beer,” I say. “Not my fault.”
Someone across the tub waves a hand. “All right, regrets game. The hockey player’s wife is up next.”
She blinks and then looks over at me. “What game?”
“Regrets,” one of the other passengers explains. “If you didn’t wake up tomorrow, what would be your one big regret?”
“Oh God,” she mutters under her breath.
Before she can say no, another guy across from her jumps in. “Okay, mine’s easy,” he says, already half drunk. “Not taking up my best friend’s mom when she offered to pay me to strip at her divorce party senior year.”
A chorus of shocked laughter explodes. One of the wives of another passenger chokes on her drink.
“Wait,” someone says. “You were in high school? How old were you?”
He grins. “Seventeen but I was mature for my age. If you know what I mean.” He says, glancing down towards the hot tub as if to mean puberty did him a solid.
“That woman should be in jail,” a girl across from him declares, and everyone bursts out laughing again.
“Would’ve been legal in Finland,” I add casually, taking another sip.
They howl. Someone splashes me. “Of course it would be, you dog. I’m sure you're not short on invites to strip at women's divorce parties.”
“Hey…” I warn. “I only have eyes for my wife.” And that’s the truth, even if she isn’t my wife.
I don’t want to be connected to my life before Kendall. I’ve had my years playing the field, sure, but I don’t want to advertise it. Especially not around the only woman that catches my eye now.
Someone else moves the question along the line as more people answer the question.
The energy’s loose and reckless—the kind that only happens when no one knows what tomorrow brings. Then one of the guys turns to me. “All right, Mäkelin. Your turn. What would be your one regret if you don’t wake up tomorrow?”
The beer sloshes in my hand. I could joke. Say something stupid, safe, like everyone else. But when I look at Kendall—her cheeks still flushed from laughing, that small crease between her brows from all the worry she’s tried to bury—something inside me short-circuits.
