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Furrowed brows, lip curled into an angry arch. Victor Varg looks pissed off, dangerous. He’s looking at me the same way he looked at that Jersey player before dropping his gloves and throwing the first punch in his one and only fight this season. It shouldn’t twist my insides up in anything but apprehension. I should be nervous being the focus of this massive man and yet… I go wet. My knees threatening to tumble like a precarious stack of Jenga blocks.
“We can—”
“We need to stay married.” I cut him off again, before he can mention divorce or annulment or anything of the sort.
I’m not sure if I was expecting protests or agreement, but stunned silence was not on my bingo card for this interaction.
“The only leverage I have in any disciplinary meeting is the fact that we’re now tied together. The team won’t risk losing you, so I’m hoping that means they’ll agree to keep me.” Even after I macerated their rules.
“If they try to send you away…” He trails off on his own because we both know he can’t promise what he’s about to. The man has an inked contract. They will not let him out of it. Not for a nobody social media manager, someone they could replace by tomorrow. I’m banking on the fact that they’ll want to keep him happy. “They can’t just fire you.”
They can.
“My job was to distract the world from the Haine scandal. I did that pretty well, sure, but now I’m their newest scandal.”
He frowns deeper, steps closer. “You aren’t a scandal, Tristan.”
I choke on a little laugh. I’ve only ever been a scandal. My dad had another family and chose them over us before I even hit my teenage years. My mother couldn’t cope without him and spent most of her time comatose on the couch. I had five younger siblings to take care of. We were nothing but the scandal of Quarry Creek. I was told, to my face, that I was a mistake. A joke. I learned to get mean to get through it. Even now at work, I’m constantly fighting for a modicum of the respect and trust that my male counterparts get without trying. And when I succeed… Well, I’m the one given what boils down to a sex talk from my boss.
“The team’s golden boy. The captain. One of the leaders in the fucking league. He got drunk and married in Vegas. To a nobody. On a whim.” I’ll be the butt of the joke for the rest of my life. What else is new?
“I didn’t…we…” he runs a hand through the strands of blonde hair. They stick straight up because he’s been worrying them constantly, or because he needs a shower. “You are not a nobody.”
I need to schedule a CT scan or a full workup, before I lose my health insurance, because the urge I have to press up on my toes and yank this man’s mouth down to mine is clearly the sign of a brain tumor or a personality disorder. What is wrong with me that his affable smile and easygoing attitude makes me spit, but the glower he’s turning on me, looking like he wants to grip my shoulders and shake until my teeth rattle, is sending the blood racing through my veins and heating me from the inside out.
“I know,” I soothe, “but to the world? To hockey fans? Compared to you?”
“Fuck the world.”
I feel the shiver race across my skin even as my phone buzzes. I can’t keep looking at him. I’m losing the thread of the conversation as he stares into my soul. As he sees me. This gorgeous, talented, kind, compassionate man. He’s looking at me like I matter to him, and what I’m about to propose could get us all twisted and confused. It won’t be as simple as not splitting up. We’re going to need to pretend that this wasn’t a mistake. Wasn’t an inebriated accident. Pretend that it was inevitable.
This man could take down every wall I’ve built over the last fifteen years without even trying. And then when the time comes to let him go, I might crumble under the weight of everything they held back. What if I break the same way my mother did? Shattered into a million pieces and left to curl inward, blocking out the real world every single minute he’s gone. I’m already too twisted up, too mired in confusion to keep my head on straight. Two minutes ago, I wanted this man to bleed. Now I want to find a private corner and climb him like a tree.
I pull out my phone for a distraction and there’s an email from Bob’s assistant confirming my meeting request.
“I’m meeting with Bob and the GM tomorrow morning. You should come with me.”
“I will.” He says. No hesitation. No question of timing. I know he has a day off, but the guys get together and work on drills. I guess, being captain, he can decide when they meet.
“Right now we’re scheduled for nine, but I can ask for a specific time if you have a conflict.”
“I’ll be there.” His words vibrate into the marrow of my bones. Did he step closer again?
I drop my eyes and tap out a quick reply, confirming I’ll be there. We will be there.
“I think it’s time for that talk now,” Vic says. “Let me take you to dinner, Tristan.”
I shake my head. I can’t spend another minute in this man’s presence. Not without losing the last grip on my sanity. I twist the ring on my finger and his eyes zero in on the movement. His hands flex, clenching and releasing, before he shoves them back into the front pockets of his slacks.
“We are—”
“There’s nothing to discuss. We’ll go in tomorrow and tell them we’re married and that we won’t be rushing into a divorce. Just let me handle Bob and smile and nod when needed. No big deal.”
I’m a fucking liar.
“Tristan.”
I press my shoulders back and look down at my blank phone screen.
