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

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

D mitri

“Dmitri Volkov must vacate the country,” Ms. Santoro announces.

The words hit like a body check. When I look at Oskar, his eyes shine with tears I never wanted to see.

“I’m sorry,” Vince murmurs to me, his voice regretful.

I nod. “Is okay. You tried.”

Oskar wraps his arms around me, and I lift him up. He wraps his legs around my waist, and I kiss him.

When we stop kissing, I notice that the judge is staring at us.

“That won’t make a difference,” she says.

“I don’t care. I’m going to kiss my husband.”

I don’t give her any more attention. Maybe regret fills her gaze, or maybe her chin hardens, and her scowl becomes deeper and more pronounced.

Nothing will change the result.

I open my mouth to tell Oskar I love him. I do. I so do. But how will that knowledge help him when I’m on the other side of the world?

My heart aches, and I smooth his hair. His beautiful blue eyes glisten.

“I’ll miss you,” I say.

He nods, but he seems to hesitate too.

When he answers back, “I’ll miss you too,” my heart shatters.

Because we’re already on the road to a breakup. Because there’s no world in which I can bring him to homophobic Russia. Not after all the newspaper articles about us there.

“Maybe one day I can come back,” I say, and he nods, but the words feel like I’ve uttered a lie, and Vince grimaces.

I square my shoulders and take Oskar’s hand in mine. I turn to Vince. “I guess you can tell me the next steps?”

“The main one is that you have to leave.”

I blink. Pain enters my eyes, and I struggle to keep my features impassive.

I want to holler at the judge and shout that she was wrong. I want to send a hitman after my former agent.

But every day I’ve been here I’ve been lucky. I’m grateful that I got to be here as long as I did. I’m grateful that I met my friends and had this career and met Oskar.

And honestly...I was trying to pull one over the US government. Even if Oskar and I fell in love, I did ask him to enter a marriage of convenience. And to be honest the person the marriage was convenient for was solely me.

The internet sleuths who found compromising pictures of me with hookups, who noted that I’d only ever shown an interest in women, weren’t wrong.

I never considered that I might be interested in men too. Obviously, I’m clearly bisexual. But maybe sweet, slender men are my type. I’ve never been drawn to the muscular athletes and fans who surround me.

I’m grateful to Vince for fighting for me, grateful to Oskar to sticking up for me, grateful to this whole system for allowing me to state my case.

“I need to pack,” I tell Vince.

“Yeah. Good idea.”

Oskar tightens his grip on my hand.

Vince and Oskar and I leave. Coach and Ingrid are waiting outside. Their faces turn somber and sorrowful once they see us.

What will we be when Oskar and I don’t end each night in bed together? When I’m not there for all the hard things? When I’m not there for the good things, even the tiny good things, like when a TV show makes him laugh?

In a few days I won’t even be speaking English. My world will be in Russian. I try to remind myself that Russia is beautiful, that Russia also has amazing people, but all I can think is that I want to stay with this beautiful man.

Some things aren’t meant to be.

“I’m so sorry,” Ingrid says, pulling me into a hug.

“Thank you. Is appreciated.”

I glance at Coach. All the things that he worried about came true.

I am leaving Oskar and making him sad. I have hurt Oskar’s career and reputation. I have pulled the team into my immigration drama, and hundreds of thousands of people think Coach is the kind of guy who will marry off his only son to a straight bad boy hockey player so as not to have to go through the bother of marrying someone else.

“I-I apologize,” I stammer. “You were right.”

“No,” he says, his voice firm. “I wasn’t. I wanted you to stay, Dmitri. I think you and Oskar make a great couple. I-I would have liked to have seen more of you.”

I nod and give him some sort of wobbly smile.

He nods back.

My heart races.

This is happening.

“Are you going to be okay there?” Ingrid asks.

“Is my home country,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”

Devastated, of course. Miserable, too. But otherwise fine.

Coach and Ingrid are silent. My dreams have shattered. I brought their son into my legal issues.

Oskar squeezes my hand, and I try to smile, even though I know that soon, I’ll be on the other side of the world.

How soon until Oskar tells me that maybe we should just get a divorce after all?