My fingers tighten around the remote, and I hold my breath as I brace myself for Stephen’s response.
Here we fucking go.
Stephen clears his throat. “The league has fined and suspended Ivanov for what he did. He has a history of excessive violent plays, so hopefully his team can get a handle on him before he hurts anyone else.”
Great answer. He must’ve rehearsed this, anticipating questions about me.
But the reporter doesn’t let it go. “My question wasn’t about Ivanov.” He pauses, and I don’t miss the twitch in Stephen’s left eye as the camera stays steady on him. “Many of us are wondering why your boyfriend didn’t get the same punishment since he was involved in the play that put your captain in the hospital.”
Fuck, this guy’s a dick.
Stephen’s voice is steady, despite the undercurrent of anger I pick up on. “My boyfriend didn’t blatantly slam into Alexander head-on, and knock him onto the ice. He and Alex were both busy scrambling for the puck when Ivanov initiated contact. The correct player was reprimanded, and I don’t think there needs to be any more speculation on the matter.”
The reporter tries to speak again, but Stephen cuts him right off, leaning forward on his elbows. “I don’t appreciate the way the media has been trying to pit us against each other.The focus should be on Alexander and his recovery, not on my relationship. And let me make this clear: Chance would never purposely cause harm to someone. He loves this game more than anyone else I know—and I know a lot of hockey players who bleed hockey. So, if you’re not going to treat him with respect, then keep his name out of your mouth and off your pages.”
My throat tightens with emotion, and I blink to clear my vision. Stephen didn’t have to say a word. He could’ve changed the subject, or made some generic statement. Yet he not only defended me and made it clear to everyone that he doesn’t blame me for Alexander’s injury, but he made it clear tome. He proved what he said during his apology the other night, and made sure I know where he stands.
With me.
I lift my phone from the armrest of the couch, and type out a text.
Me
I love you, baby.
Me
I’m going to show you just how much later.
“Do I look okay?”
“You look more than okay, pretty girl.” Stephen shoots her a wink as we step onto the porch of his parents’ house. “Don’t be nervous. Everyone’s going to love you.”
Presley slips her hand into mine and gives it a squeeze. “They’re going to love you too, baby.”
“Should I call them Mr. and Mrs. McKinley, or should I use their first names?” Alyssa practically bounces beside us. “Or do I just call them grandma and grandpa?”
Avery rolls his eyes, and I chuckle. “You should always start with Mr. and Mrs. out of respect. If they want you to call them something else, they’ll let you know.”
She nods. “Be respectful. Got it.”
Stephen swings open the door, and we are met with noise.
So. Much. Noise.
Dishes clanking, TV blaring, people yelling. The house is alive. Vibrant. Chaotic.
A giant Labrador slides across the wood floors as it bounds toward us, and I breathe a slight sigh of relief.
Thank God there’s a dog. If all else fails, I can disappear into another room with it.
Presley’s eyes narrow as she glances up at me. “Don’t you dare leave me for that dog. We are in this together, bucko.”
I hold up my palms on either side of my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh. I see that sketchy look in your eyes. I know what you’re thinking.”
I can’t help but laugh. She knows me too well.