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

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

D mitri

My muscles scream as I drag myself off the ice. Coach’s drills pushed me harder than usual today. He’s been extra brutal since the wedding. Punching me wasn’t enough. But I can take it. What I can’t take is disappointing Oskar’s family at dinner.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten, Volkov,” Coach says, his eyes promising fresh vengeance if I have.

I swallow the urge to say something sarcastic. It’s easier to resist that impulse now that Coach is no longer attacking me. “I’ll see you at dinner, Coach.”

“Make sure you bring good wine,” Coach says. “None of that boxed stuff or things in cans. Ingrid will be unimpressed.”

“I’ll bring wine.” I give a decisive nod to show I’m serious, then hurry past the others. “I need shower. Is important!”

Finn laughs behind me. “Feeling extra dirty, Dmitri?”

I turn around and scowl, tearing off my athletic gear and throwing them into the hamper.

“We don’t need to see a full frontal,” Jason says. “This is too gay.”

“Hey!” Finn tosses a dirty tank in Jason’s direction.

Noah cringes. “Sorry, Dmitri. Jason is like that sometimes.”

I furrow my brow as Jason leaves the room. “I didn’t realize he acted like that.”

“Welcome to our point of view,” Noah says.

I nod slowly, then remember that I need to get ready. Dinner is soon, and I don’t want to keep Coach waiting.

I bound into the shower room. I scrub my body because no way am I entering Coach’s house smelling like anything less than perfect.

I move hastily, dry even faster, then hurry to pick up Oskar from his office.

A few people shout after me, but I don’t care.

Oskar is shutting off his computer when I enter, and I grab his coat and help him into it.

Daniela raises an eyebrow. “You’re very helpful.”

“Is important evening,” I tell her. “I’m meeting Oskar’s mother and sisters.”

“They’re not scary,” Oskar assures me.

I narrow my gaze. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

His eyes widen.

I grab his scarf and wrap it around him, then zipper up his coat.

“I can do that.”

“Okay.”

I step away as he takes over his zippering. I slide his hat over his head, make sure it covers his ears and start to put on his gloves.

He giggles. “I’m not helpless.”

“Of course not. But we are in hurry.”

I take Oskar’s hand and lead him away, noting how his eyes flare when we touch.

“You don’t have to hold my hand everywhere,” he says.

“Is advantage of marriage.”

He opens his mouth, then shuts it, sending me a blissful smile. “Okay.”

I squeeze his hand, and we hurry down the corridor. Some of my teammates stream from the locker room, but there’s no way I’m going to stop for conversation now.

“It’s just family dinner,” Oskar says.

“Is first time I’m meeting your mother and sisters.”

“I thought you met them before.”

“I’ve waved to them. Said hello. Never spent time with them.” I squeeze his hand. “This would be easier if I had. You should have invited me beforehand.”

He grins. “I didn’t expect you to become my husband.”

I shake my head. “Thought Harvard students were supposed to be able to anticipate the future.”

“Nope. Never anticipated that I would marry a Russian hockey player.”

“You should ask for a refund from Harvard,” I say.

Oskar giggles and I remove my phone. “Siri, what is the best wine store near us?”

Siri gives her mechanical instructions, and soon I’m ushering Oskar into my car and we’re hurrying to the nearest wine store, then we’re off to Coach’s suburban house.

I am not nervous.

No.

I still tighten my grip around the steering wheel though.

“Tell me everything about your mother, Oskar.”

“Everything?”

“Is important. She needs to like me.”

“It doesn’t matter what she thinks,” he says. “Even if she hates you, we’ll still be married.”

“You deserve to have husband your family likes.”

“I—” Oskar opens his mouth, then shuts it.

Maybe he’s thinking that this relationship doesn’t matter, because it’s not his forever one.

“That’s nice of you,” he says finally with a smile.

I smile back at him, but my heart feels heavy in my chest.

Oskar chatters about his parents and younger sisters as we drive toward Arlington. We leave Boston and its swarms of tourists and busy professionals. Immaculately groomed men and women walk fluffy dogs.

Finally, I pull in front of the large suburban house. It’s white with green shutters and looks like the houses in movies I used to watch when I was growing up in Russia. It’s the sort of house with nice families, next to other houses with nice families. It’s nothing like the concrete apartment where I was born, where I used to sleep in my mother’s room until I was ten and was sent to play hockey for the Russian state. We shared that apartment with my mother’s grandparents, a grumpy gray-haired couple who complained about my presence and my mother’s presence and my dad’s perpetual absence.

This is fine.

I’m meeting Oskar’s parents.

And technically, I’ve met them before.

But they know just how terrible I am. They’re not impressed with the marriage.

I tell myself I don’t care if they like me, because God, that’s not something I normally do care about. When I fight other players on the ice, I don’t care that they might not like me. In fact, the more the other team doesn’t like me, the better, I’ve always said.

But this is different. I don’t want Oskar to experience any blowback. I don’t want his relationship with his happy, super adorable family to change because of me.

I don’t want him to look back on his life in a few decades and say that when he met me, things changed. No way.

I take Oskar’s hand and walk up the winding stone path with him, then ring the doorbell, clutching the expensive wine like a shield.