Chapter Four
After being released from jail last night, I’m not in the mood for any more bullshit. I just want to get back on the ice. Yet, here I am, sitting in Tom’s office while he tells me about his latest plan for me. Maggie, my agent, clears her throat and nudges her head toward Tom, who’s still talking. Shit, yes, I need to pay attention.
“... so we think if we pair a fake girlfriend with some extra charity stuff, it’ll help turn things around,” Tom says.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I seethe. Is it possible I didn’t hear the orders from my GM correctly? Yes, I must have misheard him because there’s no fucking way he’d force me to…
“Don’t give me that attitude,” Tom replies calmly. The GM folds his arms across his chest. “Your behavior is now jeopardizing the entire fucking team, Sawyer. You’ve spent a night in jail. We’ve already tried fines and threats, but it’s clearly not working. So if you don’t want me to bench you for the rest of the season, you’ll agree to this and keep up the charade until the season ends.”
I run a hand down my face, doing my damndest to calm the fuck down. This is bullshit. “It was not my fucking fault,” I growl. Just like the other times I’ve said it; at the police station, to the lawyers, and to Tom, it falls on deaf ears. No one fucking cares. “The guy came at me. He broke through the fucking line of people and attacked me.”
At the time, it all happened so quickly I didn’t quite grasp how it happened. Now I know the guy snuck around back and mixed in with the reporters. That’s how he got so close.
“You’re right,” Tom agrees solemnly. “You didn’t start it, Sawyer. And I’m sorry it happened. But you didn’t have to fucking beat him.”
“So you just wanted me to act like his punching bag?”
Tom sighs. “Of course not. If you’d just pushed him away, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. Even if you’d only punched him once or twice, I’d be on your side. But that’s not what happened. You let your temper control you, and everyone saw it live.”
I get what he’s saying, and yeah, he’s right to some extent. But fuck me. The guy accused me of the one thing I’d never knowingly do. And now my GM wants to fucking shackle me to a fake girlfriend just to restore my reputation. “Do I even get a choice in who I’ll be fake dating?” I grind out through clenched teeth. Fuck me, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d have to say.
Tom grins. “No. The PR team has sent over three candidates that I’ll personally look into before making my decision.”
I force my fists at my side to unclench. “Just spit it out already,” I demand, wanting Tom to disclose everything instead of this half-truth bullshit I very much feel like he’s giving me. “What’s this really about?”
The thing is, I know I’m not a good person and I’m okay with that. Sure, I like to fuck my way through the puck bunnies, but since I always leave them satisfied, I’ve never had any complaints. So what’s the fucking problem? Yeah, I could do with being more discreet, I’ll agree to that. But that doesn’t warrant a fake fucking girlfriend just because I punched that dick last night. He had it coming. Accusing me of ruining his marriage was too fucking far.
While I might be okay with bending the rules and morals of the world, there are certain things that are black and white. I don’t fuck anyone who isn’t single. Even though I’ve never been in a relationship, I know in my bones that I’d never cheat. Just the thought of being accused of ruining that guy’s marriage has me vibrating with anger again.
Fuck.
I’m not a bleeding heart hiding insecurities from being cheated on in the past. But I saw what it did to my dad when my mom cheated on him time and time again. In the end, he couldn’t cope and ran away like a coward. Leaving his dignity and me, his only son, behind. I still remember his last words to me.
“Don’t do it, son. Don’t ever let a bitch tie you to her because you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
Words I fucking live by.
I don’t need to be in a relationship to know it’s not for me. I won’t ever allow myself to become that weak, so dependent on another person. Which is also why I don’t date.
“Sawyer.” It’s not until Maggie, my treacherous agent, speaks I realize I’m now standing. “Don’t give me that look,” she warns, using her business tone.
“What?” I ask, incredulous. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my fucking side?”
She shrugs and crosses one leg over the other, not bothering to stand. “I am on your side, Sawyer. I happen to think this is a good move. You’ve already lost two endorsements. Is it really worth risking the last ones over your pride?” Smiling widely, she continues. “Besides, this is the best offer. Some of the sponsors claimed they wouldn’t be happy unless you got married. But Tom talked them down. This is a lot less drastic and by far the better deal.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. This is about so much more than pride. How about the fact I’m a grown man who makes both my agent and GM ungodly amounts of money? That should fucking count for something.
“Why?” I ask, probably focusing on the wrong thing. “He dropped the charges, and I’ve agreed to go to anger management sessions. You’ve already gotten your pound of flesh.”
Tom sighs, and it’s one of those soul-deep sounds that makes it clear I better fucking listen. “Sit down.” Sensing that now isn’t the time to fight back, I do as he says, waiting while he does the same. “Normally, I wouldn’t tell you what I’m about to share. But given how hard you’re fighting this, you don’t give me much choice.”
He looks over at Maggie. Since I daren’t take my eyes off the GM, I don’t turn to see if she moves, though I feel her lean closer. “Go ahead,” she says, making it abundantly fucking clear she already knows what I don’t.
“Some of our sponsors are threatening to walk,” Tom starts. I open my mouth to tell him just how little that matters to me, but he silences me with a glare. “I can only imagine your opinion is something like a lack of concern, which is your prerogative, one that I don’t share. The Sabertooths are a family, Sawyer. One that your immature and selfish actions are threatening to tear apart. I can’t have that. If you refuse to follow the recommendation from the PR team, I will bench you and trade you the first opportunity I get. Do you know what that would mean?”
I grit my teeth, determined not to make the situation worse by suggesting where the fucking sponsors can go. The Sabertooths are my family, too, and Minneapolis is my home. I’m not willing to lose it all. “I didn’t fucking start it. It wasn’t me tracking his ass down and throwing accusations just because he can’t keep his wife satisfied. But I get it,” I say. Then I swallow, my pride going down with an audible sound. “Look, I’m sorry, Tom. I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” I don’t add that I’m not happy about it since I’m pretty sure my face says that all on its own.
“What’s the length of this deal?” Maggie asks, though I’m pretty sure Tom already mentioned that.
“The rest of the season,” the GM says without missing a beat. “And I want her to attend events with you. You also need to go on dates together. I don’t want this blowing up in our faces, which means the public has to believe it.”
I pull at the tie that suddenly feels too tight around my throat. Fucking monkey suit. If it wasn’t because I’ve been forced to spend the day with the lawyers and now Tom, I’d be down in the rink, smelling the ice and skating across it with my teammates. Instead, I’m in a fucking suit listening to people calling my behavior erratic, out of control, and other shit. They aren’t wrong, but it’s not until Tom just threatened my career and my home that I’ve really taken it to heart.
“I can do that,” I say, knowing it’s pointless to fight it.
“We should at least know who the candidates are,” Maggie says. When I shake my head, she argues, “Sawyer, you need to make sure it’s someone you want to spend time with.”
And this is exactly why it doesn’t matter. “No, I don’t,” I retort. “This isn’t about who they are as a person. It’s a job.” Standing up, I hold my hand out to Tom. “I’ll fake date whoever you want me to, and I’ll make it believable. But when the season is over, you better have a good reason for the breakup, one that doesn’t make me the asshole.”
He gets to his feet and takes my outstretched hand, clasping it harder than needed. “You have my word, Sawyer. I don’t enjoy doing this to you, but you’ve left me no choice. Keep up your end of the bargain, and I’ll make sure the breakup favors you.”
Even though I know what’s coming next, I’m still dumbstruck by the sheer amount of papers he wants me to sign. But I do it. I sign my name on almost every dotted line he puts in front of me. The one that makes me pause and peer up at my GM is the NDA warning me not to disclose the agreement to anyone.
“I’m not signing that,” I say brusquely.
“Sawyer,” Tom sighs. “The entire point is to make it seem legit. How can we do that if you can share the information with anyone you want to?”
Though I get his point, I shake my head. “I’m not signing that,” I repeat. “What if I need help from one of my teammates? As you’ve just spent the afternoon pointing out, I’m not used to relationships. And if you want it to seem like we’ve been hiding our relationship from the public, not all my teammates can be surprised.”
“He makes a good point,” Maggie says. “Amend the NDA, Tom. He can tell Mickey and Soren. But that’s it.” When the GM opens his mouth to argue, she forges on. “If they don’t know, what’s going to stop them from making it seem weird? Unknowingly discredit the entire thing?”
“Fine,” Tom huffs, relenting after a few moments. Then he calls someone and tells them to make the necessary corrections to the NDA and bring him the updated contract.
We don’t talk while waiting for the legal wiz to join us. I don’t know what the fuck’s going through Tom’s or Maggie’s heads, but I’m wondering how the fuck I tell this to the guys. It’s not exactly a normal conversation to have.
A knock sounds at the door, and Tom goes to open it, taking the printed paper from the poor guy who just had to haul ass to get here in barely any time at all.
Handing me the paper, Tom says, “Have a read through. I trust this is fine?”
I read over the paper, which now includes the names of my two closest friends. “Perfect,” I say, signing the NDA without any more interruptions. When I’m finally done, I’m so fucking ready to get out of here.
“Good. I’ll email a copy to Mickey and Soren. Don’t tell them anything until I let you know it’s okay.” Tom’s tone is stern, like I thought he was kidding.
“Sure thing.”
“Enjoy your last few days of freedom,” Maggie says, walking toward the door to the meeting room. “But not too much.” The last part is called over her shoulder as she leaves. The way she sways her hips has to be for Tom’s benefit because she knows better than to do it for me.
Fuck me. This is going to be one long ass season.
“Go home, Sawyer,” Tom says, not unkindly. “Take the rest of the day and tomorrow. I’ll let the coach know you’ll be back on Saturday.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I’ll be here tomorrow.”
He shrugs. “As you wish. But make sure your head is straight.”
With nothing else to do or say, I make my way down to the locker rooms and wait for my teammates to enter when their training is over. I spend the time looking around the room, taking in details I’ve never noticed before. Like, how the hampers for dirty towels are always in the same place, and seemingly always empty. There’s no smudge on any of the mirrors or fingerprints on the shiny taps.
As I walk around, I run my finger across the top locker, mildly surprised the pad comes off clean. Damn, Tom really keeps this place top notch. I can’t say I’m surprised because that’s the kind of person he is. He demands one-hundred and ten percent from everyone around him while never giving less than a thousand himself.
If I’m being completely honest with myself, I feel ashamed that my shit has gotten so out of control. I know Tom looks at every single player like part of his family, and it gnaws at me to know I’ve let him down. Maybe what he’s proposing—demanding—isn’t the worst thing. It might do me good to put some distance between myself and the puck bunnies.
I snort to myself and sit down on the bench. Fuck, me and my right hand are going to be glued together for the next six months and… however many days left until the season ends in April. Guess it’s time to consider buying lube in bulk or something.
While I’m mentally preparing myself for months of jacking off, like when I was a teenager, my team files into the locker room. Their gruff voices and friendly banter pull me from my thoughts.
“Sawyer, man.” Soren, our starting goalie, comes over and slaps me on the back. “Where the fuck have you been? You missed one helluva practice,” he says.
I appreciate that he isn’t mentioning that we all know I’ve been in jail. Then again, since I got out last night, I suppose it’s a valid question. “Dealing with the lawyers,” I say. While the guys begin removing their gear, I contemplate how much I should say while we’re still here. “And making a deal with Tom.” Our GM isn’t the only one who considers the team his family. It’s how we all feel. These men are my brothers, and we don’t keep secrets from each other. Well, at least I can share with Soren and Mickey.
“How bad was it?” Mickey asks with a grimace.
I shrug. “Bad enough that I need to get out of here.”
Soren stops moving and turns back to me. “Just tell me this, man. Are you willingly walking out of the doors? Or is this your way of…” He trails off, but I don’t need him to complete the sentence. This is what they all want to know, and hell, if I were in their shoes, I don’t think I could stop myself from asking.
“Don’t worry,” I say, forcing a grin. “You’ll still have my ass to look at when I skate away from your ugly faces.”
Now that’s out of the way, the guys ease up and want to make plans for what we’re doing tonight. Normally, I’m pretty strict with myself during the hockey season, but fuck it. Talking about all of this in the gym or rink isn’t enough. I need a fucking beer.
“Let’s go out for a steak or something,” I suggest. The last thing I want is to go back to my apartment and be alone with my thoughts. Besides, Tom said these were my last few days of freedom… or maybe it was Maggie who said it. Fuck, it doesn’t matter who spoke the words, they were both there, and no one contradicted the statement.
“Why the fuck not?” Soren says, before getting naked and sauntering over to the shower.
The other three, Henry, Danny, and Peter, quickly excuse themselves. Luckily for me, they already have plans with their girlfriends—or in Henry’s case, wife. Fuck, this is what my life is going to be, isn’t it? Saying no to stuff with the guys because I have to spend my free time parading a woman around. And if we’re not out, I’ll have to stay home, pretend we have a quiet, romantic night in.
For fuck’s sake.
As soon as Soren and Mickey are ready, we take off, leaving mine and Soren’s cars at the arena instead of driving three different vehicles.
“Wanna tell me why I have an NDA from Tom in my inbox?” Soren asks, turning to look at me in the back seat.
“Because he needs you to keep that big mouth of yours shut,” I reply, forcing a grin, making Mickey chuckle. “There’s one for you as well.”
“Of course there is,” he retorts, looking at me through the rearview mirror. “I guess it’s about whatever deal you two made?”
I look away and shrug. “Could be.”
“It’s all standard shit,” Soren says. “Nothing to be alarmed about, Mickey boy.”
Mickey pulls over to the side of the road, reaches for his phone and taps away on the screen. Less than five minutes later, they both confirm they’ve signed the NDA and returned it, which is confirmed by a text from Tom that I get almost instantaneously.
Tom Redding: Mickey and Soren have signed the NDA. You can tell them.
I don’t bother replying to the text since there’s nothing to say. Instead, I ask Mickey to hurry the fuck up. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home and change first?” Mickey asks for the third time.
I shake my head. “Nah, man. If I have to behave like a trained monkey, I might as well dress like one.”
Soren chuckles, but is wise enough not to comment further. “So, where are we going to eat? If you want to go to an actual restaurant I should probably change,” he says, gesturing at his overwashed jeans.
“Why?” I ask from the back seat. “We’re fucking royalty in this town. They’ll let you in anywhere, even if you are naked.”
With how big hockey is here, I feel pretty certain my statement is true. More often than not, we receive invites to different clubs and restaurants, basically begging us to show our faces. Not that finer dining is our scene, not unless it’s one of the sponsor or team events we can’t get out of.
“So the usual haunt?” Mickey asks, looking at me in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, let’s go to O’Jackie’s.”
Though it’s early on a Thursday, the multi-roomed Irish pub will be almost full. That’s the way it always is. The place is nice, and it’s our go to whenever we want to go out without being seen or having to deal with fans. Fuck, that sounds bad. But sometimes we just want to eat food and hang out without having to worry about the public.
Parking around the back, we use the back entrance like we usually do. As soon as we’re through the doors, we’re greeted by Jackie herself. “My guys,” she greets us in that warm way of hers. She looks behind us, her eyes narrowing when she realizes three are missing. “Where are the others? Did you scare them off by making them dress all formal?” She gives me an accusatory glare.
Used to Jackie’s antics, I chuckle. “You wound me with your accusations.” I waggle my eyebrows at the woman that’s easily twice my age. “I only dressed up for your benefit, so you’ll finally realize I’m your favorite.”
She playfully punches me in the stomach. “Behave yourself, Sawyer. You know your charms don’t work on me. Besides, I could never be with a man who has longer hair than me, and a beard that hides his face.” Turning to Soren, she asks, “How the hell do you guys put up with him?”
Mickey grins. “You know us, Jackie. We’re always up for some charity work.”
The matron wraps her arms around Soren and Mickey, leading us toward one of the quieter and private rooms. I’m not sure she ever lets anyone but us in here, and the thought is humbling. This woman is tough as nails and with a heart of gold.
As soon as we’re seated, she removes the wine and hard liquor card from the table. “I ain’t serving you anything stronger than beer tonight. And you can only have two each. If you want more, you’ll have to go somewhere else.”
“Jackie,” Mickey laughs.
She holds up her hand. “No way, no how, boy. I’ve seen the news. I know why that one is wearing a suit and why you’re here hiding in my backroom.” Then she turns to me. “Tell me something.”
“What?” I ask.
“Did he deserve the beating?”
Before I can answer, Soren growls, “He deserved that, and so much more.”
Jackie nods, pleased with the answer. “In that case, you can have three beers. But that’s it. Now, do you want to pretend to peruse the menu, or should I just go ahead and whip up my famous steaks for you?”
I laugh and wink at her. “We want your steaks, Jackie. Please.”
With the menus in hand, she leaves, all the while mumbling something about us being the bane of her existence and that we were put in her path as a test from God. Jackie’s one of a kind. She’s odd, but apart from my teammates, she’s the realest person I know.
When I first met her a couple of years ago, she was quick to tell me what’s what, demanding that I don’t cost us the season after I’d fumbled a goal in the previous game. She’s never been one to sugarcoat things, so you always know where you stand with her. But she’s also protective, and has more than once, personally, thrown paparazzi out on their asses when they’ve followed us here.
“Okay,” Mickey says, leaning closer to me. “Now that we’re here, tell us exactly what went down with the lawyers and Tom.”
I don’t answer until Jackie has brought us our first beer, and I vow to myself this is the only one I’m having tonight. “The lawyers got the guy to drop the case after I agreed to attend anger management sessions.” I roll my eyes, still not happy I have to do that. I don’t have anger issues, only asshole issues.
“Is that it?” Soren prompts, knowing it isn’t.
I take a large swig of my beer, loving the taste of Jackie’s own brew. “Nah. I also had to agree to fake date someone for the season. Apparently, I’m damaging the family brand and sponsors are threatening to walk if I don’t change.”
“What the fuck?” Mickey growls, agitatedly running his hand through his white, messy waves. It feels good to have someone else be annoyed on my behalf. “That shit can’t be legal.”
I shrug because I don’t know whether it’s legal or not. “Doesn’t matter since I agreed to it.”
Soren’s lips pull upward in a twisted smile. “So Mr. Fuck-Her-And-Leave is suddenly going to have a relationship.”
“Fake relationship.” I feel the need to clarify.
“Well, hell. This season suddenly got more interesting.” Mickey tips his head in Soren’s direction. “Should we take bets on how long it lasts before our boy here fucks it up?”
“I feel like giving him one week is generous. Ten days.” Turning to me, Soren clarifies. “I added the extra three because we’re friends.”
“Fuck you, man.” There’s zero heat in my tone. Their banter is exactly what I need. “I’ll ace this fake relationship shit. How hard can it be, anyway? If Henry, Peter, and Danny can do it, so can I.”
“Have you thought about asking them for advice?” Mickey suggests. “Because whatever they’re doing seems to be working, and you’re not exactly…”
I bark out a laugh. “Seriously, I can fake it like the best of them. I only have to pretend I care in public. It’s not like I need to get to know her for real.”
“Are you sure about that?” Soren scratches his chin as he looks at me. “You know how personal the reporters like to get. They’re going to ask you shit like where you met, what her favorite flower is, and all sorts of shit. You need to know the answers to that.”
Well… fuck.
How hadn’t I considered that? I don’t want to get to know whoever the GM picks for me. I just want to pose in public, smile, and wind my arm around her. I don’t care if she’s a dog or cat person. If she prefers… well, any-fucking-thing.
“Maybe you can get by without knowing all that shit,” Mickey suggests, reading my slumped shoulders perfectly. “I mean, you’re still you. So, can’t you spin it so you’re still a commitment-phobe in public or something? Chicks love being the one to change a guy, so if you tell people—”
“How exactly will that improve his image?” Soren challenges. “People need to see the change to believe it. I don’t think there are any shortcuts here.”
I fucking hate that he’s right. “I can do it.”
“Are you sure?” Mickey asks.
“No,” I answer honestly. “I fucking know I can’t. But what choice do I have?”
“Wow,” Soren says, reaching for his beer. “So, is that why we’re here? Do we need to find you a—”
I bark out a laugh. “You really think they’d leave that decision up to me? Tom is going to pick someone from the PR department to be my doting girlfriend.” My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see a text from Tom.
Tom Redding: There’s no point in waiting until Monday. I’ve picked Lucia Carter to be your publicity girlfriend.
I make a face and show the text to the other two. “Guess it’s official,” Soren says with a shrug.
“Could be a lot worse,” Mickey adds. “Lucia is fucking hot.”
“Like that matters,” I say. “But yes, she is.” There’s no point in denying it when we’ve all checked her out at one point or another.
Lucia’s like one of those items you see on a shopping channel. She’s flawless, poised, and beautiful—the whole package. But with no chinks in her armor, she’s too damn perfect, which is something I don’t trust. She always wears the right thing, says the right thing, and just… there’s no personality to be detected whatsoever.
“Maybe you’ll finally find out what she’s really like,” Soren offers, like he heard my thoughts.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say dryly. “We have a role to play, that’s all. As long as we do it convincingly, I don’t need anything else from her.”
“Exactly how convincing do you need to be?” Mickey asks. “Like, do you need to get engaged? What about marriage?”
I bark out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s not fucking happening.”
Soren tilts his head to the side, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Maybe save that for your Hail Mary if you need it.”
Shaking my head, I ignore them. I’m not getting fucking married, ever.
When we’re done eating, we pay, leaving a generous tip for Jackie. Then we sneak out the back, and Mickey drives us back to the arena so Soren and I can get our own cars.
“Are you going to be at practice tomorrow?” Mickey asks as I’m about to slam the door after getting out.
“Probably not,” I admit. “Tom told me not to come back until Saturday.”
“Alright,” Soren says, grasping my shoulder. “I’ll keep Mickey boy busy tomorrow then.”
I walk to my car and drive home, only to discover that every time I try to summon a mental image of a puck bunny to fit around my cock, it’s Lucia’s face that pops up.
Fuck!