Page 13 of Put a Rink on It

He picks up his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “There’s no woman, Marina. Well, no one but you.”

Again, I shouldn’t feel so much joy from his sincere statement, but I can’t help the flood of emotions filling me. I don’t care that we’re not together, that we’ll never be together. Having Nero in my life as my bestie is something I can’t lose.

“I don’t understand then. Who did you say you were married to if you don’t have someone?” I’m so curious how this even came up. How he could accidentally mention he’s married.

“You.”

The one word is a punch to the gut, an arrow to the chest, a time stopper.

“Me?” I squeal, my hand flying to my chest. He didn’t just admit he told his new teammates he’s married to me. Coffee abandoned, I trudge to the living room, standing in front of him, my hands curled into fists at my sides. “You told them you’re married to me?” Something in my tone or statement has him sitting up on the couch, his contrite expression nearly my undoing. “Why?” I whisper. “Why me?”

“Hell if I can explain it. One guy mentioned he had to get home to his wife, and the next thing I know, the words, ‘I should go see mine, too,’ fell out of my mouth.” His attempt at a grin is weak. “I can’t blame the beers, right? I only had three.”

“No,” trips out of my mouth without the question fully processing. No, he can’t blame this on alcohol.

“Right. Figured.” His tone is despondent, but at least he’s accepting his fate.

Still in a haze of bewilderment by what he’s sharing, I sit on the far end of the couch. “So you told them you had a wife. But that could be anyone.”

“Not when I told them her name is Marina.”

My gasp ricochets around my quiet house. Even though it’s not new information, hearing it confirmed hits differently. Stronger. Like being shoved into the boards, if I knew what that felt like. I don’t even know what to make of this news.

“Marina, as in me?” I spout, leaping from the couch, needing to let go of the nervous energy coursing through me.

“You’re the only Marina I know, Ships. And the only one I’d want to be married to.”

I swing my glare his way. “You want to be married to me?” What the hell is he saying? Does he even know? His lips press together, and when he’s silent for too many minutes, I creep closer to him. “Answer the question, Nero.”

“Are you mad?” he asks instead of giving me what I want.

“I’m too confused to be anything but baffled. You told them we were married. As in, had a wedding ceremony, exchanged rings, the whole shebang. As in, I’m your wife.”

While the idea has appeal—and totally something I’ve dreamed about in the past dozen-plus years of our friendship—not like this. Not because he stupidly divulged he had a wife, making me a pawn in his game in doing so.

“I need coffee.” I storm out of the living room, his footsteps echoing behind me as I make my way to the kitchen. With zero gentleness, I stab the coffeemaker’s power button and grab the can of coffee from the freezer, slamming it on the counter. “Married, Nero. Mar-ried. You and me.” I shake my head, hoping to banish the mere thought. A new one replaces it. I twirl around, meeting him in my personal space. He’s so close, I can smell his toothpaste. “Do I get a ring?”

“Do you want a ring?”

I roll my eyes at the asinine path this conversation is taking. “Of course I want a ring from my husband. Two, in fact. An engagement ring and a wedding band. Two would sell the whole thing, doncha think?” The words spew from my mouth like lava out of a volcano, something pulled from deep inside me without conscious thought.

He nods. “Okay. That’s fair.”

I throw my arms in exasperation. “What are you even saying? Acting as if we’re doing this.” Repentance slides onto his face, and something shifts inside me. An inner knowing of him so well. “Oh, you’re serious about this.”

“I can’t renege on it. Not when I need to be on top of my game, get my bearings, fit in with the new team. They won’t ever trust me if I tell them it’s not real.”

“Should have thought about that before you went and blabbered the nonsense of us being married,” I mutter. I attend back to the coffee, scooping unlevel heaps into the machine. It’s gonna suck, but it’s the least of my worries.

“Don’t you think I know that?” he roars. It’s not scary, but the volume catches me off guard. “Don’t you think I realized my mistake the second the words were out of my mouth? It’s all I’ve thought about since I said it. How pissed you were going to be. How I’d have to beg for your forgiveness. How ashamed I feel about dragging you into this.” Genuine regret and sorrow layer his words, and my heart squeezes in my chest.

“I’m not mad.” As I voice the words, they’re true. I know it with every fiber of my being. Confused, shocked, concerned, sure, but not angry.

“You have every right to be.” I confront him again, remorse etched into every crevice of his handsome face I’ve known for the last thirteen years. “You should be furious, Ships.” The nickname he coined for me the first week of our friendship still gets me every time, and my eyes flutter closed.

Opening them, I repeat, “I’m not mad, Nero. Questioning where we go from here, wondering what comes next, figuring out the next steps to make this believable. Those are the thoughts swirling through my mind. But I’m not angry with you. Heck, I’m a little flattered you think so highly of me. That you’d want me to be your wife.” I flash a small smile, letting him know it’s okay. We’re okay. What he did will eventually be okay. “And hey, didn’t you promise me that first Christmas, one day I was going to be a Champion and the entire world would know it? Was this your plan all along?”

He chuckles, and some of the heavy tension melts off. “I forgot about that, so no. This was so unplanned, it’s not even funny.” He laces our fingers together. “Thank you for being so cool about this. I worried this might be when I lost your friendship.”