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

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

D mitri

The reporters snap their gaze on me as we enter the press room, and sure enough, the first question is not about my goal, but about my marriage.

“Is good marriage,” I say. “I am enjoying it.”

Coach’s lips thin.

“Is better than not enjoying it,” I explain to him, my voice lower than before, but still probably carrying quite a lot.

“Are you going to honeymoon anywhere?”

“Every day is a honeymoon with Oskar.”

A few of the journalists shift their legs. I’ve made them uncomfortable. Sports reporters tend to be dependably heterosexual in my experience. We’ve given some interviews with pride publications, but none of those interviewers have come to cover our hockey game against Los Angeles.

“What’s it like being married to your coach’s son?” one reporter asks.

Jason huffs audibly next to me. His gaze keeps flicking to one of the reporters. Cal something or other I think.

I’ve only seen Jason in a press conference once before, and maybe he deserves more attention. I flourish a hand in his direction. “But Jason scored tonight too.”

The other reporters look bored, and a few more shout questions about Oskar and me.

“He doesn’t score goals often!” I shout. “Is unusual for him! Ask him questions.”

Jason glares at me, as if I’ve made some sort of mistake. My eyebrows shoot up. Too late I realize my mistake.

“This is such a farce,” he mutters into his mic.

“What exactly is a farce?” Rex Manley pounces.

“Nothing,” Coach interjects. “No farce.”

But Jason’s already rolling his eyes. “This is ridiculous. No one believes—”

“That Dmitri Volkov and Oskar are happily married?” Rex raises an eyebrow.

“They might be happy, but only because they’re getting away with it,” Jason says. “The first time I heard of any romance was when they announced they were married.”

The room is quiet, and Coach looks like he is contemplating slinking onto the floor and slithering toward the door, under the optimistic hope that he might turn into a snake somewhere between his seat and the ground.

“I don’t tell you everything, Jason.” I force a smile as fear races through my veins.

His eyes widen with sudden regret, but it’s too late.

“I don’t know everything,” he backtracks. “Obviously.”

There’s silence in the room. He rises. “This team is too queer. Idiots.”

He stalks out while Coach’s face turns an alarming shade of purple.

“I apologize,” Coach says, his voice tight. “Any other questions?”

The room erupts.

“Related to the game?” Coach specifies through gritted teeth.

Rex’s hand shoots up.

“Rex.”

“Would you say your distracted performance at the beginning of the game today stems from the stress of faking your marriage to Oskar?”

Coach’s face drains of color.

“Um, no,” I say. “Of course not.”

“But you were distracted during the game today.”

“I also scored a goal. I have worries, but I can assure you that they have absolutely nothing to do with Oskar. Marriage is wonderful thing.”

Rex’s brow furrows. He appears unconvinced. I vaguely recall that he went through a messy divorce last year. Maybe expounding about the wonders of love is something he associates with actors on the screen who are being paid millions of dollars to recite lines.

Coach ends the press conference, and we bolt from the room.

“Maybe it wasn’t that bad,” I offer.

“Maybe,” Coach says.

Shit.

But then I see Oskar waiting in the hallway and my chest lightens. I pull him into a hug, kiss him quickly, and keep my arm around him as we follow Coach.

“How was the meeting?”

“Not boring,” I say.

“I’m sorry.”

I shrug. No point rehashing it.

“I need to speak with Tanaka,” Coach announces. “And Daniela.”

“Seriously?” Oskar asks.

“There was...an incident,” Coach says.

“I think Jason just misspoke,” I try.

“He’s been ‘misspeaking’ too much.” Coach’s scowl deepens. “I won’t tolerate homophobia. It was my one worry leaving Sweden for this job.”

“He said something?” Oskar looks up at me.

I lean down to whisper, “Apparently team is too queer. Is fine. Reporters loved it.”

Worry fills his eyes as my stomach drops. I can already see tomorrow’s headlines. Why did Jason have to say anything?