Chapter 10
Connor
Murphy’s bar is up ahead. Should've driven. This humidity’s fucking miserable. Sweat’s already running down the back of my neck and under my collar.
I look at my screen again. The blue dot on my phone shows Henneman’s still there. Not that my friends know he’s the reason we’re going to this particular bar.
How the fuck did he even get in? Fake ID?
Doesn't seem the type, but there’s no other explanation.
Fuck, now I have to go through his shit, see what else he’s hiding.
When I pulled up the video feed earlier, he’d been dressed in nice jeans and spraying on cologne. Most nights, the camera feed shows him at his desk.
Except for yesterday.
He’d been watching something on his phone, hand down his joggers, stroking himself. I shut my laptop so fast I almost cracked the screen.
My teeth clench as I force out a breath.
Told him not to date, but was someone else on the other end? Was it a video chat? Is that why he went out tonight?
Thank fuck he’d left his phone unlocked on the bench in the locker room earlier today. He’d been on it after practice when Coach Harper called him into the office. So, I grabbed it, then installed a location app.
Wanted to go through his contacts and his text history. But whatever Coach wanted didn’t last long because Henneman was walking back over a few minutes later, and I didn’t need him catching me.
Zach puts his hands in his pockets, casually stepping around a couple. “Heard from your parents?”
“Not in a few days.” The muscles in my neck cord. “They're up to something.”
Viktor smirks. “Like plotting your unfortunate death?”
Wouldn’t surprise me if my mother’s pitching the idea to my father, even explaining how it could benefit their empire.
He bumps my shoulder. “Things with Henneman any better? Haven't heard you bitch about him lately.”
“We coexist. Nothing more.”
With different schedules, we barely cross paths outside of hockey. And I do my work elsewhere while he stays holed up in our room. If he’s awake when I get back, I throw on my noise-cancelling headphones. The only time we’re stuck together is at practice or while sleeping.
His restless shifting has finally stopped—no more hourly wakeups. I’m actually getting some sleep. Except for last night because I kept thinking about catching him jerking off.
Why couldn’t the asshole get off in the shower like I do?
Zach tilts his head. “He's been looking better at practice, less like he's about to pass out on the ice.”
I've noticed the same.
Henneman’s positioning has improved, and his reaction time is faster. He's not second-guessing every play. Still won't leverage his size though. “About time. We need every player pulling their weight if we want to win another championship.”
Viktor places a hand over his heart. “You're such a supportive husband. It brings a tear to my eye.”
“Fuck off.”
We reach Murphy's and push through the heavy door. The place is packed, bodies everywhere, music thumping. The bouncer barely glances at our IDs before waving us through.
“Holy shit.” Viktor stops dead in his tracks. “Your husband knows the royal court?”
I follow his gaze to the far corner. Henneman's there, surrounded by Knox Delacroix, Thatcher Wolfe, Julius Saint, and Kai Lysaith.
The Kings of Crestwood.
So that’s how he got in. But why the fuck is he with them?
My father was part of their little society when he attended Crestwood. Makes me legacy. But I've never bothered with their bullshit society. Hockey trumps their circle jerk every time.
Henneman spots us and goes rigid, his smile vanishing.
A girl’s seated next to him—some brunette wearing designer everything. She’s pressed up against his side, running fingers down his arm like she has the right.
But she doesn’t.
He’s mine.
Viktor studies my face, an amusing glint in his eye. “Ooh, that jaw clench. The slight flare of the nostrils. Someone's jealous.”
“He's being reckless. Stupid.” My voice comes out level, controlled. “What if pictures surface?”
“Oh, please. A picture? Or is it that she's marking her territory? Maybe you should do the same.” He winks. “Anyway, I'll grab us beers.”
As he heads toward the bar, Zach and I claim an empty table. I take the chair facing Henneman. I should go over there. Make it clear who he belongs to. But that looks desperate, like I care that bitch is still touching what isn’t hers.
Zach drops into his chair. “You going to do something about that?”
I pull out my phone to check our game schedule. “No reason. He knows what’ll happen if he fucks up. And also knows we’re here.”
“Except you’re tense.”
I don’t bother responding.
“Merci and Eli had lunch with your husband a few days ago.”
After putting my phone face down on the table, I glare at him. “I told them to stay out of it. And stop calling him that.”
Viktor arrives, setting three bottles on the table. “Actually, you only told Eli to stay out of it. Merci does whatever the fuck he wants.”
I grab a beer and take a long pull. It’s cold, bitter, necessary. “What did they talk about?”
Zach's mouth twitches. “Your hair.”
I pause mid-sip. “What?”
“Apparently you spend half an hour perfecting it every morning. Even have a special mirror.”
Henneman noticed?
I huff, shaking my head at the thought. Why wouldn’t he? We share a room.
Viktor's eyes gleam with mischief. “And the exact forty-five-minute duration of your showers. Very detailed. He seems quite . . . observant.”
“Henneman shouldn't be talking. Does he even shower?”
Both of them stare at me.
I roll my eyes. “I know he showers. Just never when I'm there.”
Everyone knows about his locker room issues. Won't go near the team showers. Shows up already dressed. Even in our room, he waits for me to leave to get ready.
So, I started adjusting, making sure the bathroom's free when he needs it. Not because I give a shit. Because a scholarship player who fails out is useless leverage.
Laughter from the Court's table draws my attention. Henneman's head is thrown back, laughing so hard his shoulders shake.
My fingers tighten around the bottle.
Never heard him laugh. Never seen him smile.
Zach takes a swig of his beer. “The girl's practically climbing into his lap.”
Kai diverts her attention when Henneman stiffens. Same reaction as when I got too close. But the way he looks at Kai—soft, grateful. It’s like Kai's the one who makes him feel safe.
Are they together? Is that who was on the phone when he jerked off?
I take a long pull of my beer, setting it down hard.
Viktor leans back, chuckling. “Are you into your husband?”
“No.” The word comes out sharp enough to cut. “And told you more than once to stop fucking calling him that. Next time, I’ll break your nose.”
Zach crosses his arms over his chest. “What’s your problem?”
“Kai Lysaith.”
He continues to stare, not saying a word.
I lean back in my chair. “If he and Henneman are together, this shit's going to blow up in my face.”
Zach leans forward, elbows on the table. “Don't keep secrets again. We would've looked into Henneman, found out if that's true. But we’ve never seen him with anyone. He's scared of his own shadow most days.”
It's more than fear. Something happened to him. His reactions, the panic, the way he shattered when I got too close. It’s too much like Reed after Buckland.
Viktor nearly spits out his beer, and I turn my head to see what’s got his attention.
Henneman.
He’s climbing up onto the fucking bar.
The music shifts to something with a heavier beat, bass thrumming through the floor. And he moves. Not like the scared teammate who shrinks in on himself, but like someone else entirely.
His hips roll with the rhythm, hands sliding down his chest. My pulse picks up, everything inside coils tight.
He spins, drops low, then straightens with a roll of his back.
I'm rock hard in seconds.
This is not happening.
Not for him.
The entire bar's watching now, girls and guys whistling. His black T-shirt rides up, his abs catching the lights. That V-line disappears into his jeans.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
Every pulse makes my dick throb harder. I grab my beer and press the cold bottle between my thighs under the table.
Doesn't help.
Viktor whistles long and low. “Damn. Didn't know he could move like that.”
“Neither did I.”
I lift the bottle to my lips and gulp down whatever’s left, my eyes glued to Henneman. Does he move like that in bed?
NO!
I slam the bottle onto the table and shove my chair back so hard it scrapes across the floor. I need to move, to do something.
Zach's hand shoots out, catching my arm. “Don't do anything stupid.”
“Remove your fucking hand.”
He lets go, and I stand, then make my way to the dance floor. There’s a redhead alone toward the edge. I walk over and pull her close. She smiles, then dances, her hands sliding up my chest.
She’s what I need. What makes sense.
Her hips roll into mine with the beat. I match her rhythm, hands on her waist. The bass pounds through the floor, through our bodies. She grinds against me harder, hands curling around the back of my neck.
Then she tilts her head up, eyes half-closed, lips parting as she leans in.
I step back, putting space between us.
Fuck.
Last thing I need are pictures of me kissing some random girl. My parents would weaponize that shit instantly.
“What's wrong?” She reaches for me again.
Before I can answer, a large hand splays across my abdomen, and I'm pulled back into a solid body.
“Sorry.” Henneman's tone is firmer than usual and louder than I’ve ever heard from him. “My husband and I need to talk.”
The redhead steps forward, her hand flying toward my face. “You asshole!”
But Henneman spins me fast enough that she misses. His hand presses against my lower back, holding me against him. “Hands off what’s mine.”
Mine?
Like hell I am.
I belong to no one. Not my father. And certainly not my fake husband.
The second she's gone I turn in his hold and shove against his chest. But he's solid, unmovable. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
“No.”
I try to shove him again, but his grip only tightens. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?”
“Following the rules you set.” He doesn't back down, doesn't look away. “Or did you forget I'm supposed to be yours in public? Because that girl seemed confused.” He gazes over my shoulder. “And Veronica's here. Spotted her while I was on the bar.”
Shit.
If Veronica saw me dancing with another woman, everything could implode. “Where?”
He jerks his chin toward the far corner, near the bathrooms.
“Did you think before getting up on that bar?” I glare at him. “Before having some bitch hanging all over you?”
“I was dancing. Alone.” He leans in. His breath ghosts across my ear, and fuck, heat shoots straight to my dick, making it leak. “Not grinding on some random girl while my husband watches.”
“When do you do shit like that? You're usually such a fucking—.”
“You know nothing about me.” He pulls back, eyes boring into mine. “You don't even fucking try. You want us to appear as a couple, yet we're strangers. Shouldn't take your parents too long to put that together.”
There’s a glaze in his eyes, beer on his breath—he’s drunk. So that's where this backbone is coming from.
But he's not wrong. I know his schedule, some of his fears, where he goes. But not what makes him laugh. Not what makes him climb on bar tops.
My parents will notice those gaps.
“You think you know better? Think you understand what's at stake here?”
He steps close enough that I have to tip my head back to maintain eye contact.
Hate looking up at him. Hate that my body notices how solid he is against me.
“Are you okay?” His voice is soft, genuine, like he gives a shit.
I fist his shirt, eyes narrowing. “Just remember you’re here because I own you, and you’ll do whatever I tell you to.”
A hand clamps down on my shoulder.
Zach.
“Let's go.” He turns to Henneman. “Go back to your friends.”
The moment Zach lets go, I slam my shoulder into Henneman, causing him to stumble. “Know your place.”
I barrel toward the exit. The bouncer barely has time to step aside before I'm past him and out on the sidewalk, putting distance between me and that bar.
Between me and him.
My shirt sticks to my back, the heat making everything worse.
This wasn't the plan.
Marriage was supposed to be simple. Strategic. A clean solution to my parents' game.
It wasn’t supposed to throw me completely off balance, or give me a hard-on for my fake husband.
So, fuck this. And fuck him.