Chapter 7
7
COUER
Today’s events:
Marriage at 8 a.m.
Practice at noon.
Self-implosion was at approximately 12:05 p.m.
Barrett’s mind kept racing with all the things that could go wrong – in fact – he didn’t bother to hide his anxiety as he called his agent from the car one more time before heading into the courthouse with Irene. Yeah, what a mess. He never imagined he would be getting married this fast, this soon, or to Batiste’s former maid.
Which made him stepdad, too… twice.
What-in-the-actual-heck happened to his nice orderly world? Grab a stick, hit the ice. Talk some smack, pump some iron. Eat a bunch of junk food, play video games like a fiend… yeah – that was all over.
He was getting married, and the last thing he wanted to do was think about Irene like that . She wasn’t interested in him – and frankly, it would be a whole lot less drama if they could just be friends.
“Are you ready?” Barrett asked stoically, chancing a glance at Irene. “I’m texting Mike now, so when we come out – it’s going to be all over the news. The press will be taking photos of us together as an adoring couple.”
Irene’s pale face turned to his as her huge eyes stared at him fearfully.
“What?” he asked bluntly, not holding back. “I already signed the contract. Are you backing out?”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m scared.”
“I’m freakin’ terrified.”
“I mean, I’m scared I’m going to disappoint you in the media,” she whispered openly in the silence of his SUV, looking at him and smoothing her dress over her knees. “Do I look all right? I don’t want you to be embarrassed or…”
That is what she was scared of?
Barrett cursed under his breath, rolled his eyes, and took her clammy hand in his, trying to lay on the charm. He hadn’t slept a wink last night with all the drama he was going to be facing today – and his ‘bride’ was scared to embarrass him? That just made something curl deep in his gut, realizing that she was actually going to try to hold up her end of the bargain.
“Irene,” he began with all the patience of a saint… and hesitated as he stared at her in sudden clarity and awareness. Her hair was swept back into a ponytail with a few red tendrils curling around her face to soften it. Her dark eyes were outlined with eyeliner, giving it almost an exotic appearance where her lip gloss made her lips pinkish. Yeah – she was gorgeous. “You look perfect.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Now, let’s head in and get this over with,” he said, opening the door, and for a moment, he was pretty sure she muttered something that sounded distinctly like ‘Be still my beating heart’ behind him as she got out of the SUV as well. As he walked forward, he moved to clasp her hand, lacing his fingers with hers as they made their way up the steps of the massive red courthouse in downtown Dallas. He saw a few curious glances and kept moving steadily, before disappearing inside.
Yeah, this was going to be everywhere within the hour. He was pretty sure his marriage would be the subject of the locker room, leading to a lot of questions, and then boom… he’d give his notice.
Moving inside the building, it was barely ten minutes before they were suddenly before the magistrate, repeating the words that would bind him to this woman. He sort of felt bad for Irene because he wasn’t the most wonderful guy in the world. No, in fact, he could be kind of a dunce at times – which is why he focused on acting up and cutting jokes, but there was nothing funny about this. He was marrying this woman, changing jobs, changing homes, and taking on providing for her kid, and she was pregnant.
Irene’s hands were trembling, and her lips were bloodless in her stoic face as she promised to love, honor, and cherish him – and he almost snorted, but instead, the lump in his throat prevented that tactical error. They weren’t in love… lust maybe… but it was one-sided. No, this woman had to be almost as desperate as he was – and he knew it. Technically, he was taking advantage of it, too.
Dang, I’m such a loser…
“I do,” Barrett repeated a few moments later, barely choking out the words as he realized it wasn’t just her hands shaking – but his too. Was this over with yet? He thought wildly, freaking out. Mike was going to be here soon with a news crew.
“You may kiss your bride, Mr. Coeur.” The officiant's words rang out like a command, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Barrett swallowed hard, feeling a sudden tightness in his throat. His gaze flicked to Irene, her wide, uncertain eyes searching his. She looked… fractured— like she was ready to shatter. The mix of emotions swirling in her expression was enough to make his knees threaten to buckle beneath him.
All her ‘ eggs’ were in his ‘ basket’ and she was hoping he’d protect them. The irony was not lost on him in the slightest.
“Yep – I’ve got this,” he said curtly, the words coming out sharper than he intended. They were meant more for himself than anyone else, a desperate reassurance that he could handle this. He let instinct take over, stepping closer, and as he slid an arm around her waist, time seemed to slow to a crawl.
It was like stepping into the eye of a hurricane—everything around them stilled, and all that remained was her. Barrett felt a roaring in his ears, a rushing noise that drowned out the world as he met her gaze. Her eyes, the color of a dark evening storm, held him captive. He saw so much in them: trust that she had no choice but to give him, fear of the unknown they were plunging into, and a fragile, trembling hope that he might be someone worth leaning on.
As her lips parted slightly, invitingly, a sharp pang of something unfamiliar pierced through him. Desire? Responsibility? Both? He couldn’t say. But it was enough to make him lower his head, drawn to her like a moth to flame. Her breath fanned across his lips, warm and sweet, and for a fleeting moment, he hesitated, the gravity of the situation almost too much to bear.
Then, he pressed his lips to hers.
It was a soft kiss at first, tentative, a brushing of mouths that held none of the passion that burned in the pit of his stomach. But when he felt her exhale sharply, almost a gasp, against his lips, everything changed.
Her lips parted under his, and when her tongue lightly touched his, it was like a spark igniting dry tinder. Heat flared between them, raw and unexpected. His grip on her waist tightened instinctively, pulling her closer, anchoring her to him as the world around them melted away.
This wasn’t just a kiss to seal a deal or solidify a contract. This was something else entirely. Something real. Something dangerous.
Her hands, delicate but steady, slid up to his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. He cursed himself silently for leaving it down to dry, thinking it looked unkempt and unworthy of a wedding day, but now, with her hands threading through it, tugging gently, he wouldn’t have changed a thing. That simple touch sent a shiver down his spine, a reminder that maybe this wasn’t just a union of convenience. Maybe there was more here, something neither of them had been prepared for.
Barrett couldn’t pull away, not yet. Not when she was holding onto him like that— like he was her lifeline. Not when the taste of her, warm and sweet, filled his senses and made his heart thunder in his chest. He had thought this would be a simple kiss, a small act to satisfy tradition. He hadn’t expected to feel like he was falling, his carefully constructed walls crumbling as he gave into the moment.
When they finally broke apart, her lips were slightly swollen, her breath shallow as she stared up at him in surprise. Barrett couldn’t find the words to say. He just stood there, holding her, hoping that she didn’t see how completely shaken he was. Because this kiss? This wasn’t just a beginning.
It was a revelation.
A lmost two hours later, he was entering the building through the employee’s entrance from the third floor of the parking garage. Barrett wasn’t exactly a religious man, but he sure was praying when he walked in and met Boucher’s eerily flat gaze.
“What did you do?” the other man snapped at him.
“Don’t ‘what’ me,” Barrett hissed under his breath. “I know…”
“You don’t know squat.”
“Yeah, I do… Wolverine,” he whispered and saw Boucher’s mouth drop open in shock right before the man dropped an ‘F’ bomb loudly in the hallway, slapping a hand over his mouth. Barrett wagged his finger at his teammate, eyes wide, and wiggled it. “Exactly! That !”
“Oh man… you too?” Boucher whispered and ducked slightly, looking around guiltily. “How? You aren’t married.”
Barrett held up his cheap wedding band he’d picked up on the way to the courthouse – and Boucher’s eyes widened again as he held up his own hand.
“When?”
“Well, not yet, but I was practicing wearing it. We’re heading to the courthouse in a few days. You?”
“This morning.”
“Coach is gonna kill us…”
“Yup,” Lafrenière said bluntly, walking in the door and looking at them both knowingly. “My agent told me, and word is getting out quickly. It will not be long before everyone knows.” Both men cursed as the trio stood there guiltily, looking at each other, when it suddenly dawned on Barrett. He looked at Lafreniere’s hand, saw the wedding ring, and met the man’s face.
“You too?”
“Yup.”
“Oh man… we’re so dead.”
“Completely screwed.”
“When is your news being leaked to the press?”
“My agent is letting them know tomorrow.”
“Mine sent over a statement last night.”
“This evening,” Barrett said quietly. “It’s supposed to be for the five o’clock news broadcast. Quebec is dropping the bombshell at noon about the team and staggering out the announcements.”
“Have you told any of the team?”
“ Which team?”
“This one – the Coyotes…”
And as if they had their answer already, they heard a loud bang as a phone suddenly flew out of the coach’s office, crashing into the wall across from it, followed by several papers.
“He knows…” Lafreniere whispered.
“We’re not just dead… we’re like dead-to-the-Nth-degree,” Barrett breathed as the man he respected came out of his office, his face flushed, and spotted them standing there talking. Boucher dropped another curse word under his breath as he tugged on his collar.
“YOU!” Coach C?te hollered. “Move it! Let’s go! Locker room! Everyone—RIGHT NOW!”
Barrett didn’t hesitate. The Band-Aid was coming off – and there was skin attached. This was going to hurt mentally and emotionally. He was doing this for all the right reasons, or at least, he kept telling himself that.
Stephen would have a private school to attend, Barrett would have a fresh start with a new team, the pay was incredible, and Irene would have a chance to stay at home to take care of her baby. Oh gosh, he was married… and had a ready-made family.
Everything was hitting him like a ton of bricks. He heard the coach yelling for them all to get in the locker room once more, and Barrett made his way, sitting down immediately on a bench. He knew his expression was somber.
“What’s going on?” Giroux asked.
“I have no idea,” Thierry whispered. “Lafreniere?”
“Yep,” the goalie said bluntly, taking a seat beside Barrett… and Boucher did the same. The three ‘traitors’ were on one side of the locker room and it didn’t slip past him, recognizing that the other three guys of the starting team were on the opposite side.
The team was sitting around the benches, not looking at each other, and Barrett wished the floor would just open up right now. He knew this was going to be bad, but dragging it out sure wasn’t helping things.
"All right," Coach Mike C?te snapped, his voice a sharp crack in the tense silence. He drew in a long, deliberate breath, his chest rising as he visibly forced himself to rein in his emotions. His jaw tightened, and his hands clenched at his sides before he slowly relaxed them. After a moment, he closed his eyes, his grimace deepening as though the weight of the situation was physically bearing down on him. When he finally opened his eyes, they locked on the right side of the locker room.
Barrett swallowed.
"I need to know how long this has been going on – and why you didn’t come to me," Coach C?te began tersely. The words seemed to hover in the charged air, echoing off the concrete walls like an accusation. He saw several glances, but before he could speak, Lafreniere was already there.
Lafreniere lifted his head slowly, deliberately, beside Barrett, almost as if the very act of meeting the coach’s gaze took an inordinate amount of strength.
“My hip is still bothering me," Lafreniere began, his voice low but steady. It wasn’t an excuse—it was a confession. "And I’m not sure how much I have left in me, Coach. It’s getting better, but..."
"But what?" Coach Mike’s tone was razor-sharp, demanding answers, unwilling to let the matter slide.
“But…” Lafreniere hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor again. He exhaled heavily as though releasing the truth might ease some of the pressure crushing him. “But they said they’d pay me more to be a backup goalie – so I took the shot. I’m trading to the Quebec Wolverines.”
There it was.
The truth was out there.
The man could have been saying, ‘I’m wearing a T-shirt’ for all the enthusiasm he showed right now, and it was obvious. His tone was flat—no emotion, no regret, no remorse. Just a simple, matter-of-fact statement that shattered the fragile stillness. It was like a ripple, the shock spreading outward through the room, growing into something uncontrollable.
“Eh,” Batiste chuckled, breaking the stunned silence with a disbelieving laugh. He stood, his arms crossing over his chest as he glared at Lafreniere. “Quebec does not ‘ave a ‘ockey team since the Nordiques moved to Colorado…”
“They do now,” Coach Mike interrupted grimly, the words heavy with resignation.
"They do now," Barrett interjected as if he was throwing a gauntlet down, meeting the coach’s stricken gaze of awareness – only to hear it echo from either side of him.
Lafreniere and Boucher.
The three of them were going to Quebec – and you could count the ticks of the clock on the wall before the explosion occurred. The uproar was a chaotic explosion of emotions that filled the room.
Batiste jumped to his feet, screaming in fury, and his hands reaching for them physically. The man’s face was contorted with betrayal, swift and deep. Giroux leaped up, throwing an arm around Batiste in a desperate attempt to hold him back, his own face a mask of frustration and shock. Thierry just slumped back against the lockers - defeated. His expression was one of utter devastation as if he’d just been blindsided by a freight train.
The once-united ‘golden team’ on the ice was now divided, splintered, and raw. Their bonds stretched to the breaking point. Coach Mike stood silently, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his face a storm of emotions he wasn’t ready to unleash.
This wasn’t just a trade.
It was a sneaky, deliberate move from the other team, blindsiding everyone and leading to the ultimate betrayal. No one in that room would ever forget it. He knew this would go badly announcing his move, but to find out that the three of them were going to the same team was telling.
This new team, the Wolverines – they were out for blood. It now made sense why they wanted married men, to give the illusion of a family, a team, an upstanding front because when this got out? The news would drag the new team through the mud… and them with it.
Craaaaap.
This was not the look he wanted starting in a new city, a new team. It was going to take some work to overcome this stain on all of their records, and Barrett chanced a glance at the other two men, who were obviously coming to the same conclusion as him. They had not only jumped from the frying pan, but they were standing in the fire being doused with lighter fluid.
“Boucher?” Thierry rasped, stunned. “When does… when did this all happen? I mean, Batiste is getting married in less than two weeks, and we’re the groomsmen. Lafreniere, what about our conversation to keep Boucher here, you know, the whole ‘Project: Boy Scout Reform’ to redeem his image?”
“Turns out I might not need it,” Boucher said bluntly.
“What about the widow and her children?”
“Mind your own business,” Boucher muttered, getting up and effectively turning his back on the team, mentally and physically. Barrett just sat there, reeling. None of this was going as planned in his mind. No, it was all falling apart, and he was in the middle of it. “I’ll be at Batiste’s wedding unless he doesn’t want me there anymore – and I’ll keep my word. The widow you introduced me to was the first to know about the offer, and the reason I took it.”
“You could have talked to me,” Coach Mike said hoarsely, his voice thick with disappointment and frustration. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. His usually commanding presence seemed deflated as he rubbed the back of his neck, searching their faces for answers. “I would have gone to bat for you—any of you. What’s your excuse, Coeur?”
Barrett shifted uncomfortably, feeling his breakfast rumble in his gut. He might actually puke. He felt like such a traitor, felt so guilty, and knew it had to be written all over his face, but they had to understand, right? It was a lot of money and would help Irene and Stephen out.
Money .
He’d done this for money – and felt like a troll. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor like the linoleum.
“It’s private,” he finally uttered quietly, the words barely audible but loaded with tension. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the storm roiling beneath the surface. “Look, it’s done. I’m sorry, but I have my reasons, and I’d rather not share them.”
Molly, the physical therapist for the team, looked just as stunned as the rest of them. She was standing there on the far side of the room, against the lockers. Raising a hand, she slowly began to speak. “Coach C?te, if the trades are a done deal, I assume you have some leads on a few new players? When do I get to start working with them and evaluating their conditions?”
Barrett swallowed back bile.
Yup, this was going to be quick and vicious.
Coach Mike turned his gaze toward Molly, his eyes dark with disappointment. He drew in a long, measured breath before nodding curtly, staring at the floor almost like he couldn’t even stand to look at them right now.
“You three,” Coach said quietly, his voice tinged with resignation as he addressed Coeur, Lafreniere, and Boucher. “You may leave. You won’t be needed at practice, and I’m sure you all need to start packing and making arrangements for your move.”
Get out.
The words hit like a punch to the gut, and the three men rose from their seats slowly, their movements heavy with the weight of finality. Barrett was pretty sure he was less than an inch away from crying right now. He felt terrible but nothing could be done to change any of it.
He’d made his bed and had to lie in it – but it wasn’t just him. It was his new wife, his new stepson. They would never sit in Allons-y Alley with the other wives watching the game. She would never wear his green and dark gray jersey with his number on it. Several sets of eyes were focused on them, and he couldn’t meet their gaze.
They looked like a group of men who’d just lost a family, not teammates. Thierry was the first to stop them, stepping forward and hugging each of them. “This isn’t how it should be,” Thierry muttered under his breath, his voice cracking with emotion.
“No, I know,” Lafreniere whispered, and Barrett nodded.
“Man, it’s been an honor, brother. See you on the ice,” Boucher said thickly, and Barrett cleared his throat. Oh yeah, the tears were coming.
He was a Coyote no longer.
“See you at the wedding,” Barrett mumbled to Batiste, his voice soft but sincere, testing the waters to see if he was still going to be welcomed there.
“You are still my famille ,” Batiste grumbled, his thick accent adding weight to the sentiment as he reached out to shove Barrett’s head playfully, making his man-bun flop wildly. “Even if I want to disown you right now , tête de cochon…”
“Don’t be a stranger,” Giroux uttered, hugging him – and Barrett could no longer speak. No, he was sniffling back tears like a child, feeling such betrayal and loss right now.
He’d left a perfectly wonderful team for the unknown – and so far – frankly, he was a little concerned. This was not how he wanted things to start with the Wolverines, but it was too late to change things. His career with the North Texas Coyotes was done.
The moment he got to the parking garage – he threw up in the trash can that had the gravel on top for the smokers to put out their cigarette butts. Gasping, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and climbed into his car – and sat there. He was shell-shocked. The unthinkable had happened, and instead of feeling like a free man, he felt awful.
His phone chimed, and he glanced at it.
I wanted to check on you. I know how it feels to quit a job and move to another one. There are all sorts of emotions – and if you need to talk, I’m here.
And I picked up a maple-flavored sponge cake to celebrate.
Irene.
Oh gosh, that was so sweet of her, but celebrating was not the first thing on his mind. Right now, he felt like he was eyebrow-deep in a mess and unsure of what his next steps should be.
You got a package from Quebec, too. It was delivered by Fed-Ex…
His heart sank.
What if the Wolverines changed their mind? Panicking, he called her number and heard her answer. The phone barely rang twice before her voice came through, soft and warm, carrying a sense of steadiness he didn’t realize he craved until now.
“Hello?” Irene said.
“Hey,” he replied, his voice thick, hoarse with the weight of everything he’d been through. There was a pause on the line, not awkward but heavy with unspoken questions.
“Can you go ahead and open the FedEx envelope?” he asked, trying to focus on something, anything, other than the gnawing ache in his chest.
“It’s not an envelope. It’s a box.”
Her words caught him off guard. “A box?”
“A big box, actually,” she clarified.
He hesitated. A box?
He hadn’t been expecting anything, especially not today of all days. Before he could piece together a response, her voice broke through again, tinged with concern.
“Are you okay? I’m sure it was hard today. Did they cut you?”
Barrett exhaled, his shoulders sagging as the truth slipped out before he could second-guess himself. “Yes – and it was awful,” he admitted, his voice breaking just enough to betray the vulnerability he was trying so hard to hide.
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she said softly.
“Me too.”
The line was quiet for a moment, a pause that felt like an embrace from her end, offering comfort without pressing too hard.
“Do you want me to still open it?”
“Yes, please,” he managed, grateful for the small distraction.
He listened to the faint sounds of her moving around, the rustling of tape and cardboard, while his gaze drifted to the parking garage exit ramp. He watched Lafreniere’s car pull out first, followed by Boucher’s, both of them driving off for the last time. For them, maybe they didn’t feel the same swamping guilt. But for him, everything felt heavier and uncertain, like he was standing on the edge of something crumbling. He was desperately afraid that he’d made a huge mistake.
Then Irene’s voice came back, soft but stunned, carrying a note of disbelief that made his chest tighten.
“Oh… oh gosh, oh Barrett,” she gushed in a breathy voice.
“What is it?” he asked, leaning forward slightly as if closing the distance between them over the phone.
“It’s… it’s your new jersey and hats. Oh, and there are T-shirts, a stuffed animal, and…” she trailed off, her voice warm with the kind of wonder he didn’t think he’d ever hear about something involving him.
“Oh really?” he asked, his lips twitching into the faintest shadow of a smile.
“Yes – and there’s a letter.”
He tried to joke, the dryness in his tone masking the genuine unease gnawing at him. “Is it on pink paper?”
Her soft chuckle filtered through the line, the sound was like a balm to his frayed nerves.
“Quite the opposite,” she replied gently, a hint of teasing laced in her words. “Come home, and I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”
The knot in his chest loosened just a little.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said, starting the car, the thought of home — of her — giving him something to hold onto as he pulled out of the garage and headed toward her.