Free Crazy Thing Called Love by Molly O'Keefe

Larue, the goalie. The legend. Future Hall of Famer, two-time Olympic gold medalist, three-time Stanley Cup winner. Vincent hadn’t said one word to Billy since he’d gotten called up from Rochester. Barely looked at him.
    But after Billy’s two assists and … well, that fight, now the guy was talking to him. Billy had turned the momentum with that fight.
    “Thanks, Vincent. You too. I mean, I thought Jackson had you there at the end; but man, you were like a wall, nothing could get past you.”
    Vincent’s smile was razor sharp. “Doing my job. How is your face?” Vincent pointed to his own face and Billy felt the cuts and the swelling from his fight. His eye wasthe worst. And he had a tooth that felt a little loose, but all of it was secondary compared to the long scream of jubilation in his gut.
    “It’s fine.”
    “Good. Some of the boys, we all go out afterward. Steaks, some drinks, we unwind. Montreal is a fun city.”
    “Are … are you inviting me?”
    Vincent smiled, revealing his own missing tooth. “Yeah, Billy. We’re inviting you.”
    “Of course!” His voice cracked—oh God, his voice actually cracked. “I mean … yeah. That would be great.”
    “Here’s the address.” Vincent handed him a card and Billy tucked it into the pocket of his coat, which was hanging behind him.
    “Wilkins!” Georges hollered from the door leading to the press room.
    “Crap!” Billy pulled his shirt over his head, his hair still dripping from the shower.
    Ten minutes later he was in front of a wall of cameras, trying not to blink every time a flash went off, but it was hard.
    “Billy!” someone cried, a faceless voice behind the lights. “How do you feel after that game?”
    “Great.” He laughed. “Who wouldn’t feel great?”
    “Popov is out with a possible concussion,” someone else said. “Any comment?”
    “Popov dropped the gloves. Not me. And he’s got a hard head, I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow night.”
    Georges laughed beside him and clapped his shoulder. “Billy’s fight turned the game around for us,” he said. “Pulled our boys’ heads out of their asses. I’ve never seen a player get pulled up and make such an impact on a game.”
    Billy felt like his head had lifted off his body, like he was looking down at some beaten-up, nobody kid getting his whole freaking life handed to him.
    In the corner, where the lights didn’t blind him, was Maddy. His Maddy.
    He’d done it tonight. All that faith she had in him, the sacrifices she’d made for him—tonight he felt worthy of them. The smile on her face was beautiful and radiant and proud—so damn proud, it was like looking into the face of the moon.
    I love you
, he thought, willing it across the room and into her head.
    I love you, too
, her eyes said right back.
    There were a few more questions about the fight and then some suit from the front office cleared the room. When the guy put his hand on Maddy’s arm to try to push her out, Billy stood.
    “That’s my wife!”
    Everyone who was still in the room stared at him, openmouthed. She looked young, he got that. And his marriage wasn’t common knowledge. But he scowled at them just the same.
    The suit lifted his hand from her elbow and she nearly ran toward Billy and he would have jumped over the table to get to her if every single square inch of his body didn’t hurt. He was starting to feel those body shots. He circled the table and met her in the empty space between the chairs.
    Her arms went hard around him and he crushed her to his chest.
    “You did it,” she whispered fiercely into his ear. “You did it, Billy.”
    “I can’t …” He felt tears well up in his eyes and she seemed to know it, turning them slightly so no one could see his face buried in her beautiful hair.
    “I’m so proud of you, baby,” she whispered. “Soproud. Although,” she leaned back, smiling up at him, “I don’t know why all they asked about was the fight. You had two