This whole thing had started back in their first year in the league, when Alex had dragged Sydney out drinking with what looked like every Russian in New York City after one of their million joint press-and-photo-shoot events. Everyone wanted a piece of the first two women to play in the NHL, and if they could take a piece of both of them at the same time, so much the better.

Sid’s gotten pretty used to total strangers asking him what he’s trying to prove, or telling him he wasn’t raised right, and they always expect it to bother him. He doesn’t tell them he hears much, much worse on the ice. When shit gets even worse than usual—when a ref calls him a brat when he’s arguing a call, when another team’s goon tries to put him on his knees five times a game—he sits on the bench and presses down on his chest protector, feeling the shape of the captain’s ring on its chain around his neck, until he doesn’t feel like throwing up anymore. Sid’s never had a dom, not even for a night, but he has his team, and that’s enough. That’s more than enough.

“We were playing a pickup game on a rink in my hometown and I high sticked him in the face and knocked his front tooth out. I thought he was going to be so angry but he looked at me like he wanted to hold out his bloody tooth to me and propose.”