Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

MOLLY

Monday was here much too soon, Molly thought, smiling to herself as she walked into her office and spotted Gerry’s handiwork. A dozen red roses were waiting on her desk – along with a large cup of coffee, turned strategically so she’d see it.

WIFE

Bold House Coffee – extra shot

sprinkle of cinnamon

splash of soy milk

Molly chuckled softly, the sound carrying the warmth of a secret shared between just the two of them. He knew her so well, understood her quirks, her quiet fears, her joys—and he wasn’t afraid to show it. Her heart skipped as she glanced at the travel mug in her hand, the bold word WIFE emblazoned on it for the world to see. There was no hesitation in his claim on her, no coy pretense. It was as if he had declared, unapologetically, that she was his and he was hers.

She traced the lettering with her finger, smiling like a fool, her cheeks warm with a mixture of giddiness and awe. Lifting the cup closer, her gaze caught the sparkling diamond on her ring finger—a glittering promise of forever—and the sight sent a happy flutter through her chest. With a soft sigh, she tucked her purse into the drawer of her desk, savoring the moment.

The bliss, however, was short-lived.

“Are you clocked in? Good. We need to have a quick discussion about next season, and I’m not exactly a happy camper right now. Locker room—immediately!”

The gruff voice of Coach Mike boomed from the doorway, snapping her back to reality. Molly whipped her head around, startled to see him standing there, his face set in a grim expression that sent a jolt of unease through her.

Before she could respond, he turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving her frozen in place. Horrified and shocked, she stared at the now-empty doorway, her mind racing. Was it because of the borrowed jet? The engagement? She knew it wouldn’t remain a secret for long, but surely it couldn’t be that—or was it? Or maybe… was it something else entirely?

Her stomach was knotted with apprehension as she stepped into the hallway, the familiar sound of Coach’s bark reverberating through the adjoining offices.

“Move it! Let’s go! Locker room! Everyone—RIGHT NOW!”

His tone brooked no argument, and his presence was as forceful as a storm barreling down a narrow pass. Molly’s heart pounded harder. Something was definitely wrong.

She caught Gerry’s eye as he emerged from one of the rooms, his posture tense. She raised her eyebrows at him, her expression asking a silent question: Are we in trouble?

Gerry met her gaze, his lips twitching into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He gave a small shake of his head, then shrugged, his body language conveying an unspoken I don’t know either.

The shared moment of uncertainty did little to soothe Molly’s nerves. Coach Mike’s voice continued to echo down the hall, urgency dripping from every syllable. Molly’s steps quickened, her thoughts swirling in a storm of possibilities as she headed toward the locker room, bracing herself for whatever awaited them.

As she stepped inside the locker room, sliding to the back as quickly as possible to make room for everyone who was filing inside, she hesitated. The team was sitting around the benches, not looking at each other, and she knew.

Her stomach soured as she met Gerry’s eyes and saw his tight expression in understanding. She put her hand up to her head, mimicking a phone and mouthing, ‘Did you call Bob?’ and he shook his head, tapping his wrist. He hadn’t called yet, so, did Bob spill the news about Calgary to the coach? Surely not… maybe someone on the other team got word?

"All right," Coach Mike snapped, his voice a sharp crack in the tense silence. He drew in a long, deliberate breath, his chest rising as he visibly forced himself to rein in his emotions. His jaw tightened, and his hands clenched at his sides before he slowly relaxed them. After a moment, he closed his eyes, his grimace deepening as though the weight of the situation was physically bearing down on him. When he finally opened his eyes, they locked on the right side of the locker room. His voice was steadier now but still edged with steel. "I need to know how long this has been going on – and why you didn’t come to me."

The words seemed to hover in the charged air, echoing off the concrete walls like an accusation. Molly’s stomach churned as she stole a glance at Gerry, wh o shifted uneasily. His mouth opened as if to explain, but the sound didn’t come. Instead, another voice broke the silence.

Lafreniere.

From his place on the bench, Lafreniere lifted his head slowly, deliberately, as if the very act of meeting Coach Mike’s gaze required summoning some inner reserve of strength. His shoulders hunched forward, and his hands rested limply on his knees. He looked like a man who had been carrying a secret too heavy for too long.

“My hip is still bothering me," Lafreniere began, his voice low but steady. It wasn’t an excuse—it was a confession. "And I’m not sure how much I have left in me, Coach. It’s getting better, but..."

"But what?" Coach Mike’s tone was razor-sharp, demanding answers, unwilling to let the matter slide.

“But…” Lafreniere hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor again. He exhaled heavily, as though releasing the truth might ease some of the pressure crushing him. “But they said they’d pay me more to be a backup goalie – so I took the shot. I’m trading to the Quebec Wolverines.”

The words hit the room like a thunderclap. Molly froze, her breath catching in her throat. His tone was flat—no emotion, no regret, no remorse. Just a simple, matter-of-fact statement that shattered the fragile stillness. It was like a ripple, the shock spreading outward through the room, growing into something uncontrollable.

“Eh,” Batiste barked, breaking the stunned silence with a disbelieving laugh. He stood, his arms crossing over his chest as he glared at Lafreniere. “Quebec does not ‘ave a ‘ockey team since the Nordiques moved to Colorado…”

“They do now,” Coach Mike replied grimly, the words heavy with resignation. As if choreographed, Lafreniere, Boucher, and Coeur echoed him in unison.

"They do now."

The weight of their confirmation crashed over Molly like a wave. Her eyes widened as realization struck her like a slap, the truth dawning in jagged, painful clarity. It wasn’t just Lafreniere. Quebec had stolen three of their players, right from under their noses.

The uproar was instantaneous, a chaotic explosion of emotions that filled the room. Batiste surged to his feet. His face contorted with fury as he screamed at the trio, his hands gesturing wildly as though the sheer force of his anger might undo what had been done. Giroux leaped up, throwing an arm around Batiste in a desperate attempt to hold him back, his own face a mask of frustration and shock.

Gerry, pale as a ghost, slumped back against the lockers. His expression was one of utter devastation like he’d just been blindsided by a freight train. Molly could see the realization dawning in his eyes—the what-ifs, the bitter consequences of his own decisions. If he’d accepted that contract with Calgary, their team might have been reduced to rubble, a shadow of itself next season.

The room was alive with noise now—shouts, accusations, disbelief—but Molly’s focus remained locked on Lafreniere. His face was unreadable, a stoic mask that betrayed nothing of what he might be feeling. No regret. No sadness. Just the cold, calculated look of a man who had made his choice and stood by it, no matter the cost.

Molly’s heart pounded as she glanced around the once-united team now splintered and raw, their bonds stretched to the breaking point. And in the center of it all, Coach Mike stood silently, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his face a storm of emotions he wasn’t ready to unleash.

This wasn’t just a trade. It was a betrayal. And no one in that room would ever forget it.

“Boucher?” Gerry rasped, stunned. “When does… when did this all happen? I mean, Batiste is gett ing married in less than two weeks, and we’re the groomsmen. Lafreniere, what about our conversation to keep Boucher here, you know, the whole ‘Project: Boy Scout Reform’ to redeem his image?”

“Turns out I might not need it,” Boucher said bluntly, looking at Gerry – who looked green.

“What about the widow and her children?”

“Mind your own business,” Boucher muttered, getting up and effectively turning his back on the team, mentally and physically. “I’ll be at Batiste’s wedding unless he doesn’t want me there anymore – and I’ll keep my word. She was the first to know about the offer and the reason I took it.”

“You could have talked to me,” Coach Mike said hoarsely, his voice thick with disappointment and frustration. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. His usually commanding presence seemed deflated as he rubbed the back of his neck, searching their faces for answers. “I would have gone to bat for you—any of you. What’s your excuse, Coeur?”

Coeur shifted uncomfortably, his usual playful confidence replaced by a quiet, almost fragile demeanor. His shoulders slumped, and he kept his gaze fixed on the floor like the linoleum held the answer to an unspoken question. “It’s private,” he said quietly, the words barely audible but loaded with tension. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the storm roiling beneath the surface. “Look, it’s done. I’m sorry, but I have my reasons, and I’d rather not share them.”

Molly swallowed hard, feeling the sting of the strained atmosphere like a thousand tiny pinpricks against her skin. The room felt unbearably small. Every breath labored with the weight of unspoken words. She glanced around, her eyes darting to Gerry, whose brows knitted together in worry. His tension mirrored her own, but she knew someone had to take control before the situation spiraled further. She raised a hand slowly, the motion tentative but deli berate, a lifeline in the turbulent sea of emotions.

“Coach C?te,” Molly began, her voice steady but careful like she was stepping across a minefield. “If the trades are a done deal, I assume you have some leads on a few new players? When do I get to start working with them and evaluating their conditions?”

Her question was like a pebble breaking the surface of a still pond, ripples of tension radiating outward. It wasn’t much, but it redirected the focus, giving everyone something practical to latch onto.

Coach Mike turned his gaze toward her, his eyes dark with disappointment. He drew in a long, measured breath before nodding curtly. “You three,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with resignation as he addressed Coeur, Lafreniere, and Boucher. “You may leave. You won’t be needed at practice, and I’m sure you all need to start packing and making arrangements for your move.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and the three men rose from their seats slowly, their movements heavy with the weight of finality. The locker room seemed to grow colder as they stood, their expressions a mixture of sadness and quiet defeat. They looked like men who’d just lost a family, not teammates.

Gerry stepped forward, his face pale as he hugged each of them tightly. “This isn’t how it should be,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking with emotion.

The men exchanged quick, somber goodbyes. They patted each other on the back with a tenderness that spoke of years of camaraderie, their rough gestures masking the raw emotion in their eyes.

“See you at the wedding,” Coeur mumbled to Batiste, his voice soft but sincere.

“You are still my famille ,” Batiste grumbled, his thick accent adding weight t o the sentiment as he reached out to shove Coeur’s head playfully, making his man-bun flop wildly. “Even if I want to disown you right now , tête de cochon…”

“I love you too, bro,” Coeur replied with a wry smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And hey, just think—you can come visit your old stomping grounds, or maybe we’ll see each other on the ice.”

“It won’t be the same,” Lafreniere said quietly, his voice breaking with emotion. “And you know it.”

The three men nodded solemnly, their expressions grim as they shouldered their gear. They looked like they were stepping into an abyss, their lives uprooted and thrown into chaos with dizzying speed.

“Oh,” Coeur added suddenly, his eyes flickering to Gerry and Molly. “Congratulations, Thierry. Molly’s a real find, and I’m happy for you both.”

Every set of eyes turned toward the couple, the well-intentioned sentiment doing little to lift the somber mood. The congratulatory murmurs that followed were half-hearted, weighed down by the bleakness of the moment.

As the men emptied their lockers and filed out one by one, the silence in their wake was deafening. Molly’s heart clenched as she watched them go, the gravity of the situation sinking in fully.

“Wait here,” Coach Mike said grimly, his voice cutting through the stillness. Without another word, he strode out the door, leaving them with their thoughts and the lingering weight of everything unsaid. Returning back to the room, he hesitated and nodded. “I think we’ll skip practice today and focus on some gym time. I’ve got candidates to go through and a pile of work that just dumped onto my desk, courtesy of the Wolverines.”

“I’ll help,” Molly volunteered openly, her voice steady and full of warmth. Around her, heads nodded a s several others stepped up, voices rising with offers of assistance. That was the thing about this team—it wasn’t just a collection of people. It was a family built on shared sweat, laughter, and tears. And like any real family, when the weight of loss pressed down on them, they didn’t fracture; they rallied. Even now, despite the pain of losing some of their own, they were leaning on one another, drawing strength from their shared bond, determined to rise again. The unspoken promise to stand tall, stronger than ever, echoed in every nod, every word of solidarity.

As the locker room began to clear, Molly caught sight of Gerry, standing apart from the others, his shoulders slumped as though he bore the weight of the world. His expression was distant, devastated, the grief etched into the lines of his face. She moved toward him with quiet purpose, her heart aching at the sight of him so lost in his thoughts.

“Gerry,” Molly said softly, tugging at his arm to draw him out of his reverie. He turned to her, his eyes shadowed, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his usually stoic demeanor. “Look, you pulled a fast one this last weekend—let it be my turn now.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice hoarse, tinged with confusion and something else—a faint spark of hope, perhaps.

Molly stepped closer, her tone dropping to a tender whisper meant just for him. “Clear your calendar, call Bob and decline the offer, and let’s get your mother down here within the next few weeks so your friends can be here to celebrate our wedding with us,” she said, her words a mix of practicality and affection. “I’ll call my mother shortly.”

Gerry’s throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to speak. Instead, he stared at her, his gaze brimming with emotion: love, gratitude, and somethi ng deep and profound that words couldn’t quite capture. These people—they weren’t just teammates or coworkers. They were his brothers, his family, his inner circle.

And she understood that.

She saw how much it meant to him, how much they all meant to him. She wasn’t just making this day about them as a couple; she was weaving his family—his chosen family—into their shared future.

“You don’t mind?” he asked at last, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid the moment might shatter.

“Heck no,” Molly replied, her lips curving into a loving smile. “Let’s get married and have our family near us before they move away,” she added, her voice soft yet firm with determination. She cupped his hand in hers, grounding him in the moment. “Just because they’ll wear different colors and be in a different city doesn’t mean that they aren’t friends anymore. Our home will always be welcome to your ‘ brothers .’ Now—go text those knuckleheads and get ahold of your mama. We’ve got work to do.”

Gerry blinked rapidly, his emotions bubbling to the surface. “Gosh, I love you…” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Molly chuckled, the sound light and teasing as she reached up to brush a strand of his blond hair from his forehead. “Go, Blondie,” she teased, invoking the nickname her mother had affectionately given him, a nickname that always made him grin no matter what. And sure enough, a fragile yet tenacious smile broke across his face, one that lit up his features in a way that melted her heart.

“That’s right,” she added playfully, her voice brimming with affection and determination. “You’re mine, so let’s get to planning.”

“Yes, ma ’am,” he replied, his grin widening as he straightened, a renewed energy sparking in his eyes.

With that, he stepped away, already pulling out his phone, his steps lighter, his heart fuller. Molly watched him go, her own heart swelling with love. This was how they would face life’s challenges—together, hand in hand, surrounded by the people who mattered most.