Relationship Goals #1
Hockey Captain Wed in Secret Vegas Ceremony – Partner’s Identity Remains a Mystery
What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Or does it?
Toronto Fisher Cats ice hockey captain Dustin Fowler attended the NHL awards and came home with more than the Ted Lindsay Award.
A cryptic social media post from the hockey forward himself revealed that he was wed in a secret ceremony in Las Vegas this past weekend.
His caption stating, “Sorry, ladies, Toronto’s most eligible bachelor just went off the market. I married my kitten tonight and I’ve never been happier,” sent tongues wagging across the league.
But who is “Kitten”?
Without verification from either the team’s head office or the new groom, rumors swirl about exactly who Fowler’s partner is.
A credible source from within the organization suggests that “Kitten” is none other than retired men’s figure skating champion Charlie Monaghan.
We here at JockGossip would like to offer our warmest congratulations to the newlyweds.
TRIGGER WARNING: Contains scenes and frank discussions of eating disorders (anorexia) and past parental abuse/neglect.
CHAPTER ONE
Dustin Fowler groaned into a pillow, his brain at least three sizes too big for his skull and throbbing with the beat of his heart.
He’d definitely gotten in one last night.
After playing in the NHL for over a decade, he’d had his share of hangovers.
But this … this was among the worst.
A sleepy grumble made Dustin lift his head and squint at the person beside him, trying to get both his eyes and brain to cooperate.
Who exactly had he ended up in bed with?
Hard to tell.
They were so thoroughly burrowed under the covers that all Dustin could see was a slender arm and some messy blond curls.
Huh.
That was pretty much his type so it didn’t really tell him much.
Dustin dragged himself upright, his vision slowly clearing as he leaned against the headboard.
He studied the person next to him and a flash of memory pierced through his foggy brain.
Charlie Monaghan pinning him up against the bar, their mouths inches apart, as he sassed Dustin about something.
“Oh yeah? Wanna make a wager on that?” Dustin had teased him.
“I don’t know. What are the terms?” Charlie’d asked with a purr to his tone and a defiant tilt of his head that had made Dustin so hard.
Charlie Fucking Monaghan was in his bed.
His bed?
Dustin glanced around. Yes, this was his hotel room.
He never stayed at the hotel where the NHL awards were held. He preferred a boutique hotel a few blocks away that gave him a little more privacy to do what he felt like.
With whomever he felt like doing it with.
His sister Emily had called him Schrodinger’s queer once. Both in and out of the closet, depending on who you talked to.
He’d been annoyed by it at the time, but she wasn’t wrong.
His team had known he was bisexual and so had his family and his coaches. He simply hadn’t wanted to go the route his former goaltender, Noah Boucher, had gone.
But oh, Dustin had been itching to get Charlie in bed for months. Ever since they’d met, in fact.
Dustin could admit he’d made a little bit of an ass of himself trying to get Charlie’s attention in the past four months but, well, here they were.
Dustin grinned.
He might not have clear memories of the previous night, but based off what he did remember, he’d finally gotten Charlie’s attention.
Pretty thoroughly in fact.
Dustin dragged a hand through his hair to get it off his face as he debated what came next. Maybe he’d order room service for them both.
Something to stave off the hangover they were both undoubtedly feeling, then maybe a long shower.
Dustin had the room for a few more days and nowhere else he had to be.
Maybe Charlie would be willing to join him …
Smiling, Dustin stretched, lacing his fingers together to crack his knuckles when a flash of bright silver caught his attention.
He blinked, sure he was imagining things.
That wasn’t a ring on his left hand, was it?
A shaky feeling washed over him, like when he’d been triple shifted in the final minutes of a playoff game and his lungs were burning, his mouth coppery, body desperate for oxygen.
Oh Christ, what had he done last night?
He’d done Charlie, that much he could remember. But he was pretty sure that wasn’t all. He’d wanted Charlie’s attention yes, but this was ….
Dustin staggered out of bed, pulling another grumpy mutter from Charlie, who flung the covers over his head, disappearing completely in the nest of white sheets.
Right. So, Charlie wasn’t going to be any help at the moment.
God, if his head would stop pounding, Dustin could maybe make sense of the memories from last night that kept trying to resurface.
Still shaky, he found his underwear hanging off the TV, pulled them on, then finally located his phone buried between the couch cushions along with a pair of pale purple lace men’s underwear he contemplated for a moment, desperately wishing he could remember the way they’d looked on Charlie’s lean, lithe body.
The device was about as dead as Dustin felt so he plugged it in and went in search of painkillers.
That was step one. Nothing was going to make sense until this headache went away.
He’d learned his lesson over the years about trips to Vegas, so he’d packed several kinds of headache remedies, plus electrolyte powder. He dumped some of that in a bottle of water, shook it, then washed down the pills.
With a shake of his head to try to clear it—which he immediately regretted because that only made it throb worse—he turned his attention to step two: what they’d gotten up to last night.
He needed to figure out if any of it had gone public and if it was going to create problems for him.
Dustin was the last person who was supposed to be out boozing it up in Vegas like a lunatic, especially when he was the face of a franchise and neck-deep in negotiations for the new NHLPA code of conduct.
Fuck!
He’d been studiously avoiding thinking too hard about the ring on his finger for the past few minutes, but he suddenly had a sinking feeling this was a whole lot more than the usual tearing it up with the boys and a great hookup after.
Anxiously fiddling with the metal band, Dustin forced himself to walk over to the nearby table and pick up the manila envelope that lay there. It looked innocent enough but he went a little lightheaded at what was inside.
Well, that looked alarmingly official.
He stared at the ring on his finger again, another flash of memory piercing through the haze in his head. Charlie’s smiling lips forming the words, “I do.”
Dustin’s heart pounded as he reached for his phone.
Still almost dead but at least he had enough battery life to navigate to his social media accounts for some answers.
“What the fuck?” he whispered at the sight of his Instagram notifications.
The number was absurd, way more than he ever got on posts. And why had he been tagged by the official NHL and Toronto Fisher Cats accounts this morning?
Probably acknowledging my award last night, he assured himself, but he didn’t really believe it. He’d won numerous times before and those posts had never blown up this way.
Dustin’s pulse pounded in his ears, staring at the picture the league and the team had reposted from his account. He skimmed the caption: Congratulations on your wedding @DFowler27! We wish you and your Kitten all of the happiness in the world!
Well fuck. There was no hiding that.
Kate Foster was going to string him up by his nuts.
Dustin checked his texts and winced again. Oh yeah, there were the irate texts from the team’s VP of Communication and Public Relations demanding to know why she hadn’t been informed of his upcoming wedding.
I can’t believe we learned about your wedding from the post on the official NHL account, Dustin!!! It DOES NOT LOOK GOOD to leave your new spouse’s name off the post.
I know you like to keep your private life private but we cannot properly navigate that if you don’t let the PR department in on it! The NHL account should not have scooped me on this!!
Call me ASAP!!
Sorry Kate, he thought guiltily.
Dustin backed out of that text without replying and found another message, this one from his agent, Wade Cannon.
When I saw you flirting with Charlie last night, I didn’t know you were planning to marry him. What the FUCK, Dustin? This isn’t like you! How do you want me to handle this?? Kate is up my ass about why I didn’t warn her about the marriage!
ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE
Gah, Dustin could do without the shouty caps although it was better than irate voice messages. Though … he squinted at his phone. Yeah, he absolutely had some of those from Wade too.
Shit.
His agent was definitely going to help Kate string him up by his nuts for not informing him about the wedding ahead of time.
But how in the hell could Dustin have warned anyone about his marriage to the beautiful and sassy figure skater when clearly neither of them had planned to get married?
When Dustin’s foreplay with Charlie had consisted of flirtatious arguments where Charlie pushed him away with one hand and pulled him close with another, a wedding had been nowhere on Dustin’s radar.
A pained groan made him turn.
Charlie was still asleep but he’d rolled onto his back, flinging away some of the covers.
Dustin sighed.
He didn’t hate the sight of that. Charlie looked amazing, even in sleep.
Awake, he was full of fire and sass, but in his sleep, he looked sweet and soft.
The chiseled lines of his cheekbones and the cleft of his strong jaw were the perfect contrast to his long lashes and full, pouty lips.
Although his hair was cut shorter on the sides, it tumbled in little sun-streaked golden curls onto his forehead in a way that made Dustin want to wax nauseatingly romantic.
Charlie made another sleepy noise as he flung his hand onto his chest, a massive diamond winking on his ring finger.
Dustin let out another small sigh, his chest warming with affection at the sight.
Maybe they hadn’t planned this, but Dustin couldn’t deny how much he liked the idea of Charlie asleep in his bed wearing his wedding ring.
As Dustin glanced at the marriage certificate in his hand, he considered his options.
Sure, the league, the PR department for his team, and his agent might kill him … but on the other hand, he was pretty sure he was legally married to Charles Nicholas Monaghan III.
It could be worse.
Sunday Sport Stats
Rules of the Game
Brigham Vaughn
Brigham Vaughn is on the adventure of a lifetime as a full-time writer. She devours books at an alarming rate and hasn’t let her short arms and long torso stop her from doing yoga. She makes a killer key lime pie, hates green peppers, and loves wine tasting tours. A collector of vintage Nancy Drew books and green glassware, she enjoys poking around in antique shops and refinishing thrift store furniture. An avid photographer, she dreams of traveling the world and she can’t wait to discover everything else life has to offer her.
EMAIL: brighamvaughn@gmail.com
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