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cellythefloshie · 24 days ago

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;; Secrets and Their Consequences Chapter Twenty of the Road Wife Series

Table of Contents 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Summary: You struggle to cope with the guilt of multiple breaches of contract. Kinks & TW: regret, mentions of rule breaking/breach of contract, no smut in this chapter. Word Count: 1.6k+

With every step, your foot scraped against the floor—lift, toe drag, stumble, repeat. The motion was mechanical, born of necessity rather than will. The weight of your reality pressed down on you, suffocating and relentless, guilt coiling around your chest like an iron chain. You teetered on the edge of collapse, but you couldn’t fall—not yet. Not until the sanctuary of your apartment swallowed you whole.

Each movement felt automatic, your body operating on instinct as if thought itself had abandoned you. Breathing wasn’t deliberate; if it were, you might have suffocated there in the dim, lifeless lobby, waiting for the elevator’s arrival. Its droning ding pierced the silence, a cruel reminder of time’s sluggish crawl.

Inside, the elevator's ascent stretched endlessly, a distorted loop of seconds and minutes. When the doors slid open on your floor, you reached into your pocket, fingertips brushing the cool, jagged edges of your keys. Wrapping them tightly in your fist, you felt their bite against your palm as you shuffled toward your door. But your trembling hands betrayed you. The keys slipped through your fingers, clattering to the ground—and you followed.

Your knees hit the floor, the impact dull and distant, as if it belonged to someone else. Pain existed only as an abstraction; all you could feel was the unbearable weight pressing down, and the hot, stinging tears carving paths down your cheeks. The sobs came unbidden, shaking your frame as you let your head fall into trembling hands, your bag forgotten at your side.

And that’s where Ross found you—crumpled outside your apartment, broken and unable to hide.

Your name left his lips, soft yet urgent, reverberating in your mind alongside the thud of his hurried footsteps. He dropped to his knees beside you, his presence a sudden, encompassing warmth. His hands found your shoulders first, drawing your gaze up from your hands, before his palms cupped your tear-streaked face, lifting your gaze just enough to meet his.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low but laced with concern. You tried to turn away, but his hands stayed steady. “Talk to me,” he pleaded, desperation threading through his words.

When your silence lingered, Ross’s hand slipped from your face, diving into his pocket for his phone. Whoever he intended to call, you couldn’t let him. Not now.

“Don’t,” you choked out, your voice breaking as fresh tears blurred your vision.

“Tony will—” he began, but your words cut him off, a bitter edge to your trembling tone.

“Tony will never look at me the same if he finds out what I’ve done.”

The weight of your admission hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Ross froze, his hand clutching his phone tightly, torn between defying your request and shouldering this alone. After a long, tense moment, he exhaled sharply, sliding the phone back into his pocket.

Wordlessly, he shifted to help you to your feet. His arm wrapped securely around your waist, steadying you, as he guided you toward your apartment door. His fingers fumbled through your key ring, trying one key after another. You should have told him which one it was, but the words wouldn’t come. You simply let him take the lead, too drained to do anything else.

When he finally unlocked the door, Ross led you inside with a care that felt foreign—like you were something precious rather than an object to be used and discarded. His movements were deliberate, his touch protective, as though you were more than a fleeting indulgence. In that moment, Ross treated you like you mattered. Like he truly cared.

His arms supported the very weight of you, your steps easier with his guidance, as he led you straight to your bedroom. There, he helped you get undressed like he had so many times before, but this time was different. There was no urgency, no hunger in his actions, just a gentle care as he took off each article and placed it in your laundry hamper one at a time. You shared subtle glances, your eyes welling up with tears, but you shared no words.

The silence between you was thick with unspoken fears as he disappeared into the bathroom, and it was then you finally crumbled. Falling down onto your bed, you pushed your face into your pillow to suffocate the sobs you'd been holding back. They tore up your throat as your pillow became hot and wet with tears.

Your face remained buried there until you felt Ross’ gentle touch on your shoulder. You drew back slowly, taking long blinks to clear the blur of tears from your eyes. And when Ross came into focus you could see him gazing down at you with soft eyes and a hot wash cloth in hand. He dropped to his knees slowly before he reached out and gently wiped the remnants of tears and makeup from your face.

“Thank you,” you breathed out when he was done.

Ross said nothing. Instead. He sat down beside you at the edge of your bed. His presence was a comforting weight as you gathered your blankets and the courage to speak.

“I messed up, Ross. I messed up so bad,” you whispered, your words barely audible.

“It's going to be okay,” he promised, as he drew you into his arms, hugging you tightly to him.

“I can't keep secrets anymore,” your voice broke as you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck.

Ross didn't press for more information. He didn't need to know – or didn't want to know what you were so desperate to confess.

“You need to get some rest,” Ross whispered into your hair, the heath of his breath washing over you in a warm comfort. “We can talk about this more in the morning, okay?”

Nodding slowly, you welcomed his kiss as it was placed on your forehead. His lips were warm, As was the stroke of his hand as he pushed your hair back away from your face. You nuzzled in close to his touch, your eyes falling shut as you marveled in the simple calmness he brought you. He pulled you into his chest with ease and held you there, the steady beat of his heard the lullaby that brought you to sleep.

—

The next morning, you found yourself in the only place that felt right: Jon Cooper's office. You sat on the floor, looking far from yourself in a pair of sweatpants and oversized sweatshirt. Your hair wasn't done, and you hadn't wasted your time with makeup knowing full well that you would cry. And you had when you had spilled every single one of your secrets - with selective animosity for the sake of the player’s - to the Tampa Bay Lightning coach with the intent of resigning when you were through with your confession.

Cooper met you with an open mind, and a soft compassion that only a father of daughters could have. But before you could reach the finality of your resignation, the two of you had a plan and it started with meeting with the leadership core – but you couldn’t do it alone.

Sitting behind you in one of the chairs, his legs the support against your back, was Ross. He sat arched over, his arms wrapped around you to keep you calm as each member of the membership team entered the room. Each time the door opened, you stilled, the tension in the room thickened.

McDonagh, Hedman, Killorn, and finally Stamkos, they all gathered together and waited for Coach Cooper to announce what they had all been called there before their regularly scheduled practice for.

“It’s been brought to my attention that some rules have been broken,” Cooper addressed the players with a calm, yet demanding tone. They cast glances towards you and Ross on the opposite side of the room, and you were only left to wonder what rules they thought you two had broken before Cooper was speaking again. “What they were exactly, your wife won’t disclose to me fully, nor has she told me who was involved. For some reason, she wants to protect you idiots.

His words hung in the air, heavy with implication, “After great conversation, we determined the more reasonable thing for her to do would be to quit.”

“The playoffs–” Killorn began to cut in, but Cooper raised a hand, silencing him.

The floor was his, and his alone.

“Are right around the corner, I know.” Which is the only reason she is still here,” Cooper explained, “She cares about the team and doesn’t want to interfere with your chances at another cup. It’s also the reason I haven’t pressured her to tell me who was involved, because then, I’d have to tell the wives.”

You fought back tears as you glanced across the room and to leadership through tear-blurred vision. Each one of them left wondering just what happened, except the one of them that was guilty. A lump formed in the back of your throat as you watched Stamkos’ neck tense, a telltale sign of guilt or fear that was only noticed by you. He remained silent.

“I will be handling her calendar going forward,” Cooper continued, “she will also report to me after each appointment to ensure no infractions are made. I will also be giving another speech to the entire team with limited information, inciting the strictness of her activities to the playoff and not what you’ve learned today. Anyone found abusing the contract set out by your wives going forward will be scratched for the following game. Understood?”

A chorus of “Yes, Coach,” echoed through the room.

“Now,” Cooper sighed, “she will be taking leave until game one of the playoffs. I’ve instructed her to call me if any player contracted by their wives for her company tries to contact her during that time. Any player daring enough to do so will face the same punishment. Don’t go ruining a good thing gentlemen. You are dismissed.”

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