Rule #3: Never Fake Marry the Coach’s Son (Hockey Rules #3)

CHAPTER ONE

D mitri

“Dmitri!” Coach’s voice bellows through the locker room. He’s had decades of practice at making himself heard over twenty loud athletes, and he’s putting his vocal cords to use. If he ever retires, he can always go into opera.

My hands clench. My knuckles whiten. My stomach does not tumble because that would be something scared people do, and I never get scared.

After all, I am Dmitri Volkov.

Oskar must have told Coach. Or did Vince?

“Dmitri?” Noah blinks at me from his leather bench, his green eyes wide.

He’s not the only person staring. The locker room isn’t full, but it sure isn’t empty. Half-naked men halt slipping on their pads and jerseys. Someone drops his tape.

“Where the fuck is he?” Coach hollers.

Noah’s mouth drops. “Did Coach just swear?”

“Yes.” I tumble against the fancy leather seating and lean against the tasteful wooden walls. The Boston Blizzards takes care of us very well.

Noah’s forehead scrunches. “Why is Coach swearing?”

Coach may have initially pegged Noah as trouble, but he’s anything but. Even the sweetest golden retrievers would scoff when they see him and his husband Finn, flopping to their sides and huffing at the sudden influx of wholesomeness and devotion.

My teammates’ eyes narrow, and I hate it. I hate that they’re thinking of all my past infractions. And let’s face it, the list isn’t short.

They won’t guess this. No way.

I inhale and exhale.

This is...Well, it’s not fine, actually. And I can see why Coach would be upset. He has every right to be. I just didn’t think he would be so upset. That might have been a miscalculation.

I grimace. I don’t like miscalculating. But I’m a hockey player, not a mathematician.

The door swings open. Coach is alone. I guess I should be grateful Oskar isn’t here to witness this.

Coach glares at me. His thin blond hair sticks up in odd directions, and his pale blue eyes seem to be busy seeing whether they can turn into lasers. His face has achieved a shade of red I’ve never seen on a human being.

How did he find out?

Coach storms toward me, his footsteps echoing. A horrible thought surfaces...

No.

Coach wouldn’t.

No way.

But his fist is tight, and my muscles instinctively tense.

“Get up, Volkov!” Coach barks.

I spring to my feet.

Too late it occurs to me that maybe I should have tried to hide.

But that won’t work. Because the thing is, Coach and I are family now.

I throw him my most dazzling smile and wink. “Hi, Daddy.”

Gasps sound from the locker room. Eyes bulge. Pads drop.

Coach’s fist comes out, and I topple down when it collides with my jaw.

I could take him.

But I’ll give him this win.

After all, I did just marry his only son.