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

CHAPTER ELEVEN

D mitri

I enter my bedroom, smaller than Oskar’s but still with a king bed sprawled across it. No rose petals here. I lift the marriage certificate, running my fingers over our names printed side by side.

Oskar and I are married.

Oskar has saved me.

I smile at the blue-and-white certificate, running my fingers over the ornate embossing before slipping it back into its envelope because it’s so precious and tucking it into my suitcase. I get ready for bed, then slip under the covers.

The bed feels too big and too lonely, but maybe it’s only natural to think that after spending the whole day with Oskar tucked beside me. I smile as I close my eyes.

The alarm makes its unwelcome blare too soon.

Vegas is still dark. The fountain no longer explodes to the sounds of one of music’s most famous songs, and red-and-gold lights no longer move rapidly over the Eiffel Tower.

Vegas is garish and bold and ostentatious, and even though the city is silent, I stare out the window, grateful that Finn and Noah got married here, grateful I knew what to do to secure my eventual green card and stay in the United States.

This is nothing like the grim, gray block building I grew up in, that was surrounded by dozens of tall, equally grim, equally gray block buildings.

I can’t go back.

I won’t go back.

I check the marriage certificate again, needing to see it’s real.

It is. I beam at the embossed engraving.

A knock sounds on the door, then Oskar appears in the doorway, hair still shower-damp. “Just checking that you’re awake.”

“I am. Thank you.”

He nods multiple times, his gaze bouncing everywhere except me, which is sort of strange because the room is less interesting than his room. The armchair is the same material as the couch in his room, as is the velvet headboard.

“What are you looking at?” I ask.

He frowns, and somehow, I’ve said the wrong thing. He breathes in, then smiles, and clearly I was worried about nothing. “You gave me the nicest room.”

I blink. “Of course I did.”

He looks away, and I promise to get ready soon.

Soon, we’re going back to the airport, back to Boston, back to our life.

We fly through the clouds, and I gaze at the patchwork of fields and tiny houses from the sky. My country, once Vince does the paperwork.

I grin. He’s going to be so happy I found a solution.

“How do you think Pappa will react to finding out about, um...”

I jerk my head away from Oskar’s face. A sensation I haven’t felt today finds its way inside of me. Guilt spews acid through me, and I inhale and remind myself that I have nothing to feel guilty about.

“He, um, won’t mind much, will he?”

Oskar turns his head to me, hesitation flickering in his eyes. “Well...”

He’ll mind. Of course he’ll mind.

“It will be fine,” Oskar says, but his voice trembles slightly, and we both know he’s lying.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

Oskar laughs. “I’m pretty sure he’ll be more upset at you.”

I try to tell myself that that sentence is not ominous, but it stays with through the rest of the plane ride as if I’ve just come back from watching a particularly scary thriller movie and am eying various locations in my apartment with a fear that I do not generally feel.

It will be fine.

Coach is, well, mostly cool.

Besides, this is a paperwork thing. Maybe he doesn’t even have to know.

“We, um, can keep this quiet.”

Oskar nods, but his smile is strained. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I don’t know what I’m apologizing for.

It’s not like Oskar and I are in love or something, and I’m forcing him to be quiet. I’m not some closeted guy who expects blowjobs at night and separation in the day.

“You’re still my best friend,” I tell him.

He nods. “I, um, didn’t expect you would want to tell anyone. I didn’t make any social media posts or take any pictures. No one knows. I promise.”

I hate the way that he says ‘I promise,’ as if he’s trying to convince me of his spy-like tendencies. He shouldn’t be forced to keep secrets. But at the same time... My stomach curdles at the thought of what might happen if Coach finds out.

It’s a paperwork thing. Oskar works for the team. It’s no big deal.

But I know it’s more than that. I knew it yesterday. That’s why I insisted on going to all the fancy restaurants and all the fancy stores so I could make his day special.

God, he should have experienced all those firsts with the guy he’ll actually end up with. Not with me. Not with a bumbling hockey player who hired the wrong agent and got into a fight with the wrong person and all the newspapers and blogs and vlogs and newscasters say bad things about him.

Oskar slides off his ring, and I hate how effortless it looks. My gaze lingers on his bare finger.

“What are you doing?”

“People would probably ask about it if they see me wearing a wedding ring,” he says.

He’s smiling when he says it, but the words gnaw at my heart. He slips the ring into my palm, and it feels heavy, even though my trainer would gasp if he heard me say that, even though, scientifically, that doesn’t make sense. I lift super heavy dumbbells each day.

I stare at the platinum band. “I don’t want this.”

“It was a lot of money,” Oskar says softly. “Maybe you could try to return it? Or, I don’t know, sell it off? It would be a loss, but you would get something for it.”

I stare at the ring, heavy in my palm. It’s not supposed to be here. This is all wrong.

“I am not selling your wedding ring, Oskar.” I give it back to him, then fold his fingers around it, just in case the ring slips away from him on the plane. “You can put it on a chain.”

“You want me to wear it around my neck?”

For some reason his eyebrows are doing some sort of upward movement thing, and maybe it’s because of the altitude, because there’s no reason for him to act surprised. Is there?

“I think I have a chain that would work,” he says, and the tension from my shoulders eases, more efficient than even the work of the team’s masseuse.

It’s not completely okay. I want him to post pictures of us on his social media accounts. I want to see his face lit up and glowing. But that’s not the kind of marriage we have.

Finally, the plane lands.

I squeeze his hand as we exit the plane, even though we’re not entering a wedding chapel or a jewelry store, even though hand squeezing isn’t something I’ve done with other men.

But Oskar is different.

Oskar has always been different.

Oskar drops my hand first, casting a look around as if he half expects to see some paparazzi or influencers around us.

Which honestly, I guess there could be.

They probably loiter around airports. Finn and Noah were followed around by them a lot after they got married.

Something hits my stomach.

I’m pretty sure Finn and Noah didn’t intend for their wedding to be announced. In fact, other teammates have speculated that Finn and Noah just got married after drinking too much, though that seems dubious given how utterly and revoltingly devoted they are to each other.

Is this going to get out? Are people going to know?

From Oskar’s wide-eyed look, he’s just had the same thought. Oskar and I have always been on the same page.

“People might know,” he says.

“I knew that before we got married.”

“But—”

“Is fine,” I tell him.

He looks uncertain, and I hate it. I hate that just because he happens to be a man that there would be anything people might think was strange about marrying him.

Oskar is perfect.

“If I was gay, you would be my perfect husband,” I tell him.

His face crumples, and I’m not sure what I said.

“Is everything okay?”

He pastes a smile on his face that I know is fake, but I’m still not sure what I said that was wrong.

“You’re wonderful,” I tell him. “Fantastic. The absolute best.”

He turns around. “So are you.”

I nod, but the air feels heavy between us. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re in an airport, a place notorious for stress. Everyone around us is probably either trying to figure out the way to the rideshare app pickup or they’re triple checking to make sure they haven’t lost their wallets or passports or boarding passes.

That’s probably it. Once we leave, things will feel normal again.

But things are still strange when we take a car back to our apartment complex, and they still feel wrong when I walk him to his apartment door.

He doesn’t invite me inside, because that would be crazy. I need to drop off my luggage and get ready for practice. But it still feels strange when he waves goodbye, and the door shuts between us.

It’s fine, I remind myself.

Totally fine.

I pull out my phone to call Vince. “I have good news.”