Chapter 13
Ryan
Gravel crunches under the Maserati's tires as Connor pulls into the circular driveway. My stomach clenches as I dig my fingers into my thigh, nails biting through the fabric of my joggers. Wish there’d been time to change, time to shower where it was safe.
I take a deep breath and look out the window at the manicured hedges, unsure what to think of this day in general. Connor practically beat Jenkins on the ice. Sure, boarding is highly dangerous, and teams fight when it happens.
Just didn’t expect Connor to . . . to lose it like that.
And then there’s what he, Knight, and Novotny did after. How they cleared an entire locker room for me. But it was more than just that. Knight was still guarding the door when I stepped out, and Connor . . . he was guarding the showers.
Something in my chest flutters.
I actually showered.
In the locker room.
I should be proud, and I was at first, but then I remembered it took three guys standing guard for me to manage something so basic.
“You good?”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
As good as I can be. I exhale sharply, closing my eyes. Not sure what I’m walking into, but Connor’s father won’t lay a hand on him tonight. I’ll step in if I need to, same way I did when that girl tried to smack him at the bar.
Why was he even dancing with her?
He’s my husband.
I swallow hard, shifting in my seat.
Can’t think like that. Or kiss him. Or grind against him.
None of it should’ve happened in the first place. Not with him. Still, I can’t deny I’m attracted to Connor, even if he is a total asshole.
I need to remember this is all for show, a way to get his parents to leave him alone.
Except he gave me my bear when I needed it most.
Then he stayed away for two days. Don’t blame him. Hell, I don’t want to be around me sometimes.
Why can't I just move past what happened and just get back to normal?
“Ready?”
I sit straighter in my seat, glancing at my husband. The car is in park, but he’s just sitting there, knuckles bone white as he grips the steering wheel, staring out the windshield.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” He cuts the engine and steps out.
I follow, walking up the driveway, taking in his home. Or castle. This place is massive. Larry’s house back in Erie could easily fit inside it.
Connor stops a few feet in front of me, looking back over his shoulder. “Move it. They’re waiting.”
Asshole.
We walk up a stone pathway toward oak double doors. One opens before we even knock, and a staff member greets us.
“Mr. Walsh. Mr. . . .”
I clear my throat. “Henneman.”
She nods. “Of course.”
Connor stalks ahead, not even bothering to acknowledge the woman or to wait for me. He looks the same way he does when we’re about to face off against tough teams—locked in and ready for a fight.
Hope he isn’t planning on provoking his father tonight. But the fact that he’s tucked the bottoms of his joggers into black socks covered in neon penises says that’s exactly what he’s going to do. Especially since those socks have “Eat a bag of dicks” written down the sides.
Regardless, I’ve got his back.
My footsteps echo in the marble-lined hallway as I trail after him. He slows, and when I catch up, he turns right.
The dining room is like something out of a movie. Never seen a room—or a table—so big. Our entire team could eat at it.
Connor's parents don't even bother looking up from their phones. Not surprised. His father’s at the head of the table, his mother on the right. Both are dressed like they're about to attend a board meeting.
“You're late,” his father says without lifting his eyes from his screen. “Punctuality isn't optional in this family.”
Connor drops into a chair halfway down the table. “We had practice.”
Thankfully, they didn’t notice his socks.
His mother huffs, as if the excuse is a waste of her precious time. “Of course you did.”
I take the seat next to him, unfold the cloth napkin, then place it on my lap. “Um, hello.”
His father looks at me, placing his phone face down on the table. Not a smile, not even a frown, just this flat stare that makes my skin prickle. He turns to his son a moment later. “The Callahans are threatening to pull out entirely. Do you have any idea what that will cost us?”
“Your little performance is creating ripples across our entire portfolio,” his mother adds.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have tried to force me to marry Veronica.” Connor leans back as staff members place small plates in front of us, laden with tiny pieces of toast topped with some kind of cream and fish eggs.
I poke at the food, pressing my lips together, because I want to smack him upside the head right now. Does he not see the irony in what he did with me?
“We saw your records, Mr. Henneman,” his father says.
My fork scrapes against the plate, chest tightening. I focus on the tiny piece of toast in front of me and count the eggs.
One.
Two.
Three.
“Orphan. Pulled from your foster home for attacking people. Charges were dropped, but barely. You are not someone we want our family to be associated with.”
My knee bounces under the table, sweat forming along my forehead.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Something squeezes my knee. No—someone.
I look up and turn toward Connor just as his hand slips away. His jaw flexes like he's grinding his teeth to powder as he faces his parents. “Like I haven’t done worse.”
Mrs. Walsh takes a sip of her wine as she glares at him. “Yes, we are aware. Unnecessary money wasted on your nonsense. The Reeds should be more thankful we covered up the little crumbs you all left.”
Mr. Walsh steeples his fingers, elbows on the table. “Nothing to say for yourself, Mr. Henneman?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I was going through a lot. Learned my lesson.”
Understatement of the century.
Lost it that one night when those assholes from high school partied in the cemetery, dancing on my family’s graves. Even sent a few of them to the hospital. Hadn’t meant to, but I blacked out, and my size turned me into something dangerous.
Swore I'd never let it happen again.
Mrs. Walsh huffs, eyes looking me up and down. “You have no value. No worth for this family. Your parents left you with so little after they died. Then again, it's not like they had much from what Mr. Blake found. And now, there’s nothing left.”
Connor's hand slams down on the table, rattling the silverware. “Watch how you fucking talk about my husband.”
Husband.
He usually calls me Henneman. Then again, we’re with his family, and the agreement was that we act like a loving couple. That comes with standing up for me, I guess.
His mother laughs under her breath. “How precious.”
“The point of this dinner is to inform you of the measures we’ll take to protect Walsh International.” His father’s eyes shift off me to Connor. “You will get an annulment, then Benedict Callahan.”
“No.”
His mother sets down her wine glass with a thunk. “Veronica understands her role. Something you obviously need to learn.”
Role?
This is his life. His life.
But they’re treating him like he’s nothing more than a pawn.
Same way he’s treated me.
I bite into my cheek, folding my hands under the table.
Staff members appear with the main course. But I'm not hungry. My stomach is in knots, tight enough that I couldn’t eat if I wanted to.
Mr. Walsh’s forefinger taps the table. “How much money did my son offer you to get married?”
I clear my throat. “None.”
If he only knew what his son actually did, how alike they really are, maybe he would be proud of Connor.
Mrs. Walsh drops her napkin, as if it isn’t good enough for her anymore. “I know this is all fake. Did you two even consummate your marriage?”
Line crossed. I’m done.
I sit taller, shoulders back, chin up, palms flat on the table. “We are married. The rest isn’t up for discussion.”
Mr. Walsh’s eyes narrow. “So, my son’s pretending—”
“Not. Up. For. Discussion.”
“You never mentioned you were queer, Connor.” Mrs. Walsh takes a slow sip of wine, eyeing him over the rim. “Maybe you should’ve shared that little tidbit. Educated us. This whole thing could’ve been avoided.”
“You want to know about same-sex relationships, Google it. The internet exists.” I drop my napkin on the table and push back my chair. “Let's go. We're done here.”
Connor’s lips quirk into a half smile as he stands, then follows behind me as we walk out of the dining room.
I’ve overheard Connor telling his friends he’s not into men. Even Veronica mentioned to her father that she wasn’t sure either.
But he said my name when he . . . when I walked in on him. We kissed. Ground against each other like we couldn't stop. Don't know if he's done that with another guy before. But if he's figuring himself out, his parents don't get to shame him for it.
They don’t get to use it against him. Against us.
I take his hand in mine, threading our fingers together.
He doesn't resist. Doesn't pull away.
Just lets me hold it as we walk to the car.