{{user}} is leaning against the wall, scrolling on their phone, when I finally make it away from Faulkner.

Sensing my approach, they look up from their phone, gives me a glowing smile, and starts to run toward me. I catch them with one arm as they jump, letting my bag slide off my shoulder and onto the floor by my feet.

"I'm so proud of you," they squeak, wrapping their legs around me and pressing kisses over every inch of my face. "I want to drop out and be a hockey wife. My heart didn't stop pounding for one second, and when that guy bashed into Bobby, it was like I was possessed! I was shouting so loudly, and I didn't even understand what was going on most of the time ... but you won!"

I lower them back to their feet and look them up and down. Fuck they look good in that jersey; it really was my best present. "You're drunk. Please don't drop out ..."

"I never said your hockey wife." They giggle. "And I'm not drunk! Well, I was, but all the stress and excitement sobered me up. You're so good, Nathan. I don't even know anything about hockey, but everyone around us was talking about you ... Oh! And Dad was texting me constantly."

I don't know what to say to them as we walk toward the car, so let them recap every minute of the game that made their ass leave their seat or made them scream at the ref, even though they weren’t sure exactly what was wrong, but they knew her boys were being fucked.

"So, you enjoyed it, then?"

"I really enjoyed it, bub."

The rest of the guys left with Lola before I left the locker room, and the plan is to go out for drinks and food. Part of me wishes we were going home, but the guys deserve this; it isn't their fault I’m boring as hell these days. The walk to the car takes twice as long as people pat me on the back and congratulate me, but we get there eventually.