BETTSY
I hardly slept last night, though not through lack of trying.
Usually, I lie down, close my eyes and count back from one hundred, drifting off somewhere after the seventies—I never remember, and I guess that’s the point. Last night I reached zero. Three times. My mind reeling over the conversation I had with Ellie several hours ago.
She said no. Not maybe, not let me think about it—just flat-out, clear as day, no.
Though what was I expecting? For her to leap into my arms and declare her unwavering attraction for me?
I wish.
Eventually, I gave up and went for a walk. The walk turned into a jog, the jog turned into a 3 a.m. stop at a twenty-four-hour fast-food place, where I ate too much beige food and regretted all my life choices, including the lie I told Coach.
What the hell was I thinking? Obviously I wasn’t, but that never stops me. Ever. The opportunity to see her again thanks to my missing wallet blown into smithereens.
Now not only does my head reel from my conversation with Ellie, but my stomach feels bloated and heavy from the excess of carbs.
I feel like shit in every way.
The only good thing to come from today is the off-ice activity.
A morning of sitting in the media room with the coaching staff before we find out the outcome of the roster—apparently, they don’t usually announce it until the post-season, but something has driven a change in the plan which means it’s even more of an issue that Ellie said no .
It buys me no time.
I had it in my head that Ellie would agree, and Coach would know nothing about my lie. But alas, now I’m hoping he tells me I haven’t made the team, so I needn’t worry about living up to the ruse of being married to a willing wife.
I make it down to breakfast twenty minutes earlier than usual, all thanks to Danny and his plea to meet in the usual spot for a catch up before the rest of the guys get here. Honestly, I don’t know when he became such a nosey bastard, but here we are.
“Well, how did it go?” Danny says before I’ve had a chance to sink down into the seat opposite him.
He looks fresh, like he had an early-morning gym session and sauna, taking full advantage of the hotel facilities. His baseball cap is on the table next to his mug, already full to the brim with tea.
“Let me ask you this—how do you think it went?”
I drop into the seat opposite him and reach for the cafetière of dark roast, grateful that he at least saw the sense to order it for me.
We’re sitting at a table next to the window overlooking the golf course, and typically, we’d spend ten minutes in silence, waiting for the caffeine to kick in while watching the maintenance guys outside. But today, I’m staring at Danny, trying to figure out what he’s going to say next.
“She declared her undying love and wondered why you didn’t ask sooner?” Danny takes a gulp of his tea before grinning like a cartoon cat.
“I’ll keep it simple. She said no.”
I finish making my drink before cupping the mug in both hands; I take a sip.
“Shit. What are you going to do?” he says.
“What do you think I’m going to do?” I reply.
Danny studies me for a moment before offering a suggestion.
“Find someone else? ”
“No,” I scoff. “I’m going to persuade her. It’s the only thing I can do. I was thinking … there must be something I can do to tip her decision the other way.”
“It’s a big ask, though—moving in with you and?—”
I bite my lip and shift my attention to the lawn outside.
“Shit,” Danny says. “You didn’t tell her that part of your plan, did you?”
I watch a maintenance guy speeding over the course on a golf buggy, because I know if I make eye contact with Danny, I’ll probably end up crying or something.
I’m pathetic.
“You’re right. I’m never going to be able to persuade her. I need a new plan—assuming I get picked,” I say, turning back towards him but keeping my eyes on the crisp white tablecloth.
Danny sets his mug down. “Honestly, if someone asked me to place a bet on who, from our team, would get themselves into this sort of situation, I’d always say you. One hundred per cent … every single time.”
“Yeah, well—” I shrug, because sadly, he’s right. This is the type of thing I do. I fuck up, and instead of holding my hands up and surrendering, I insist on jumping into the hole I’ve dug and making it bigger. So big I can’t climb out.
I take a mouthful of coffee as I draft a plan ‘B’ in my head.
It’s simple, really. All I need is a willing female who will pretend to be my wife for the sake of a few months. Why is it so difficult?
“Hey, do you think Prez would let me borrow Jen?” I ask, letting my leg jiggle under the table a little harder.
Danny’s eyes widen as I’m forced to look at him.
“You’re not all there, mate. Even if he said yes, which he wouldn’t—everyone knows Jen.
She’s been doing that iPad stuff around the league.
If you rock up with Jen on your arm, people will know you’re full of shit more than they already think …
or that you’re a serial girlfriend—or in this case, wife—stealer. ”
I take another gulp of coffee, racking my brain for anything—but all that plays out in my mind is me, standing in front of Prez, asking him if I can borrow his wife.
It’s all I’ve got. I don’t want to ask Jen. I mean she’s hot but she’s not Ellie.
“I—”
“She’s doing something with the players’ association website, anyway—besides, even if Prez said yes, which, let me reiterate, he won’t … Jen would still have to agree.”
But Danny’s mention of a website has a lightbulb illuminating in my head. Why didn’t I think of this earlier?
“I have an idea,” I say, in an almost comical ‘eureka’ moment.
Danny stares at me, a blank expression on his face.
And I open my mouth to fill him in when my phone vibrates against my leg.
I dip into my pocket, checking the screen to see none other than Vicky Koenig’s name. And just like that, I’ve got idea number two.
I’m just about to answer the call when the rest of the guys filter into the breakfast room and I figure the chances of getting overheard are high.
I hit decline and put my phone away, sliding my chair back to make use of the buffet before we leave.
“Want anything?” I ask Danny.
He shakes his head, so I make my way to servery, joining a small queue that’s forming for the hot food.
We’ve had breakfast in this room all week and honestly, the food is amazing. If I could get away with sneaking in here every morning, I would.
Despite my junk fest last night, I’m starving now I can smell the goodness. I’m so focused on the egg station, I don’t even realise Greer has stopped behind me.
“I’m surprised Langer’s even standing after last night,” he says, chuckling to himself .
I turn to see Greer’s attention is fixed on the entrance of the breakfast room where less than a foot away, Rick Langdon is loitering in the lobby.
He’s locked in some dramatic goodbye kiss with a brunette and my heart grinds to a halt for a split second. But then I let out an almighty sigh of relief when I realise it’s not Ellie.
That must be his girlfriend. His way of demonstrating he’s the right choice for the team, given the speech I had from Coach.
“Him and his ‘friend’ kept half the hallway up last night. Didn’t you hear them?” Greer shakes his head, amused. “She sounded like she was auditioning for an opera.”
I force a laugh.
“Any idea who she is?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
I don’t really care but I’m interested to know how serious they are, I guess.
“Dunno. She’s been coming and going at odd times.”
Greer shrugs like it’s nothing, but my jaw tightens because as Langer’s friend turns to leave, she glances around the room, and I catch sight of her face, and I swear there’s something familiar about her.
The line shuffles forward, and I grab a plate, passing it to Greer before I take one for myself.
Then, as if on cue, my phone vibrates again, hard and insistent in my pocket. I slip my hand inside, extract it enough so I can glance at the screen, and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Vicky
Need to talk to you.
Urgently.
It’s about your WIFE .
I swallow hard, reading that last message in Vicky’s voice. Vicky’s angry voice.
Shit.
I fumble to unlock my phone one-handed, and it slips out of my grasp, falling and bouncing a few paces along the floor but it’s Greer that’s bending down to retrieve it—probably trying to show off his lightning-fast goalie reflexes.
He scoops the phone into his massive hand, and I watch, as if in slow motion, his eyes flick over the screen.
“Oh, damn, Betts. I didn’t realise you were married?” Greer’s voice cuts through my rising panic as he hands me my phone.
I slam it face-down on the buffet counter and take a step back, nearly knocking into someone behind me. My chest tightens as my phone buzzes again, and as I reach for it and check the screen, there’s an incoming call from Vicky.
“I—I need to get this,” I say, grabbing my phone and ducking out of the queue, but I don’t answer straight away. I can’t.