Chapter Twelve
Iwake up with my arms around Lucia, and for a moment, I allow myself to savor the warmth of her body against mine. Surprisingly, I don’t want to let go just yet. My mind drifts back to last night—the second time she looked like she was having a panic attack. I’ve spent most of the night trying to pinpoint what I did to trigger her, and I think I’ve found my answer.
Lucia stirs beside me, turning onto her back and blinking awake. For a split second, she looks relaxed, but then a shadow falls over her expression. Her eyes dart between me and the door, and she resembles a deer caught in headlights while she contemplates making her escape. It’s very different from the sharp PR woman I know her as.
“Morning,” I mumble, trying to break the silence between us.
“Hey,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.
I study her carefully, noticing the furrow in her brow and the way she avoids meeting my gaze. It’s as if she’s a million miles away, lost in her own thoughts.
“Are you okay?”
She hesitates before answering, her words coming out in a rush. “Yeah, just... didn’t sleep well, I guess.”
I know that’s a lie because, unlike her, I’ve barely slept. Too busy making sure she was okay and didn’t bolt in the middle of the night. Knowing she’s lying to me makes me annoyed, and I refuse to let her brush it off so easily.
“Lucia,” I say, my tone firm. “You can’t keep hiding things from me. Whatever it is, you can tell me.” I can admit I haven’t given her much reason to trust me, but we’re kind of stuck together for the next year and a month, so whether I want to or not, I have to make sure she’s okay.
Her eyes widen in surprise at my persistence, and for a moment, I see a flicker of vulnerability in her expression before she quickly masks it. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she insists, her voice tinged with frustration.
I reach out and gently take her hand in mine. “Okay, if you don’t want to talk, I will.” She looks expectantly at me. “We’ve made a commitment, one we can’t just get out of. So even if either of us has regrets, we need to see this through. Do you understand that?”
Her voice is anything but steady as she whispers, “I know that,” and frankly, it pisses me off. No one else but me has the right to make her feel like this. At least not for the next year and one month. For that time, she’s mine to do with as I please, and I don’t share my toys.
My hand is still splayed on her lower stomach, close to her left hip. Absentmindedly, I run it up and down. Lucia’s eyes widen when my hand lands on rough skin, and I frown—both at her reaction and the feel.
“Don’t,” she says at the same time as I pull the sheet away to inspect her body.
She tries to bat my hand away, but I don’t let her. “What the hell is that?” I ask, zeroing in on the weird tattoo on her hip. Without meaning to, I move my hand to the similar tattoo on my neck when I realize what it is; a wolf head, and below hers are some letters. “S.P.Q.R.” I read them out loud, confused. “What does that mean?”
“Senatus Populusque Romanus.” Lucia’s accent completely changes as she speaks the words, making them sound more foreign than they already are. The words are barely out of her mouth before she slaps her hand across her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she says, her accent now sounding like it usually does.
What the fuck? I’ve never heard anyone change their accent like that. “Huh?” I muse. “So you’re into gladiator shit? Never would have guessed.”
“I am,” she confirms. “It’s a… passion of mine.”
Lucia’s tense as fuck while I trace the indented pattern, giving it more attention. My brows furrow in confusion because it doesn’t feel like a tattoo at all. “Wait a second,” I grunt as realization dawns. “This isn’t a tattoo at all. Is this branded into your skin?”
“Yeah.”
I look up at her, determination shines in my eyes. “There’s a story there.”
“One for another day,” she replies. Then she removes my hand, and I let her, too stunned to stop her.
I’m struggling to make sense of any of this. But one thing is clear, Lucia has a very high pain tolerance. I’ve never been branded, but I’ve seen it done, and judging by the pained screams, it hurts like a motherfucker. And Lucia’s brand is big compared to what I’ve seen. Hmm, maybe she would be receptive to what my beast craves.
After showering and getting dressed, we have breakfast together. Well, Lucia has a granola bar, whereas I eat enough for a family since we have a game tonight. Then we head to Lucia’s place so she can change. I wait by the door, giving her some space. I discreetly look around, trying to find any evidence about who John is, but nothing sticks out. Judging by the design and the knick-knacks, no guy lives here with her and Gail.
When Lucia emerges, her PR mask is firmly in place. “I’m ready,” she says, her words robotic and her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Can you not do that?” I ask, annoyed she uses that shit on me.
“What?”
Sighing, I run my hand down my cheek and through my beard. “Don’t use that professional shit on me.” She looks taken aback, like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about, so instead of carrying on, I hold the door open for her and wait while she locks up. “Where’s your roommate?” I ask the question as we walk down to my car.
“She’s visiting her brother for a few days,” Lucia answers. There’s a fleeting look of hurt in her eyes, one she fails to mask completely. Gail’s a sore spot, got it.
As we drive to the arena, the air between us has shifted, the tension easing slightly as we fall into a comfortable silence. It surprises me that I like it, which I shouldn’t. “So, uh... anything exciting on your agenda today?” I ask. It’s easier to talk with Lucia than being quiet with her. Because when there’s no conversation to focus on, I start noticing little things about her. Like how she tends to gnaw on her bottom lip when she’s deep in thought. Basically, things I don’t want to know about her.
She hesitates for a moment before replying, her voice tinged with nervousness. “Actually, I got a text from Jo last night after the interview. I’m supposed to meet with her in…” she pauses and looks at her phone. “… shit, in ten minutes.”
I glance at her. “Well fuck. There’s nothing I can do about that now, and we’re still twenty minutes away.”
Lucia waves me off. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She doesn’t sound convinced, which I guess is good, since Jo is a stickler for promptness. It’s better that Lucia knows being late isn’t helping.
“So what’s the meeting about?” I ask, curious as to why she’d be nervous.
Lucia hesitates for a moment before unlocking her phone and scrolling through something. I try to look, but she’s angling the device away from me. “She told me to be in her office at 9am or to kiss my job goodbye.”
Laughing, I ask, “Are you sure she meant it? Jo can be fucking dramatic. Trust me, if I took every threat from her seriously, I’d be guarding my balls 24/7.”
“That’s how she speaks to you players, not me or the other people on the PR team. She’s never spoken or written to me in that tone before.”
When we finally reach the arena, I put my hand on her knee to stop her before she jumps out of my car. “Do you want me to come with you?” I offer. “I could back you up if you think you need it?”
She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thanks, Sawyer. But I think I’ll be okay. It’s probably nothing.”
Well, thank fuck for that. I want to be there and help her, which is exactly why it’s good she doesn’t want me there. I have no fucking business fighting her battles for her, let alone wanting to do it. And Jo’s her boss, not mine.
“Alright. I’ll talk to you later,” I say as we’re about to head in different directions. Then I think better of it, and even though there’s no one around, I pull her into a hug. “Text me how it goes.”
Her expression is stunned when she looks up at me. “Umm… are you sure? Won’t you be busy preparing for tonight’s game?”
“Text me,” I repeat. “I’ll answer.”
After parting ways with Lucia, I quickly make my way to the locker room where my teammates have already gathered. The atmosphere buzzes with excitement and anticipation of the home game this evening.
“Hey Sawyer, you ready to tear it up tonight?” Soren grins, giving me a fist bump.
“Damn right,” I reply, returning the gesture. “We’re gonna crush ‘em.”
Mickey nods in agreement, his expression serious. “We need to stay focused out there, boys. No room for mistakes tonight.”
I give him a mock salute, my mind already running through the game plan Coach has laid out for us. He’s a tough taskmaster, but he knows how to get the best out of his players.
“Dude, are you engaged?” one of my teammates asks me casually.
“Yeah, the internet is buzzing with your hidden engagement,” another says.
I look at Soren. “It’s everywhere.”
Mickey moves closer and lowers his voice. “If you want my opinion, you should just do it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
The actual fuck?
Soren leans in, murmuring, “I agree. Give the press what they want. What does it matter anyway? You’re going to be the one coming out of this looking good. Besides, don’t divorced men get a lot more tail?”
Mickey nods enthusiastically. “Yup. I hear sympathy sex is better than makeup sex. Like, the chicks are so eager to make you feel good they’ll do anything.”
I run my hand down my face, mentally begging for Coach to show up so I don’t have to listen to this bullshit any longer.
Speaking of Coach, he enters the locker room just as we’re finishing our preparations. “Alright, boys, listen up,” he says, his voice commanding attention. “We’ve got a big game tonight, and I expect nothing but your best effort out there. Stick to the game plan, play smart, and leave it all on the ice.”
We nod in agreement, already feeling the adrenaline pumping through our veins. It’s moments like these—standing shoulder to shoulder with my teammates, ready to battle it out on the ice—that remind me why I love this game so much.
Heading out onto the ice for warm-ups, I glance in the direction of the offices. I know Jo’s and Tom’s overlook the rink, and I wonder if Lucia is in one of them now. Fuck, I shouldn’t be worrying about her. She’s not my fucking concern. So why the hell can’t I stop thinking about her? Wondering if she’s okay? Nope, this has to stop. She’s a grown woman, I’m sure she’ll be fine.
I sprint down the corridor to Jo’s office, my heart pounding in my chest. Without pausing to catch my breath, I burst through the door, panting slightly. “Sorry I’m late,” I gasp out, but Jo barely acknowledges my apology, her expression tight with irritation.
“Sit down, Lucia,” she says curtly, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk. I comply, feeling a knot of anxiety forming in the pit of my stomach as I meet Jo’s steely gaze. “Who the hell was that guy at the interview?” she demands, her tone sharp. “And don’t you dare lie to me.”
I swallow hard, feeling a surge of panic rising within me. I can’t tell her the truth about Fabian, not when it could jeopardize everything. So instead, I try to play it off. “Oh, uh... he was just... someone who showed up,” I stammer, my voice faltering.
Jo’s eyes narrow, her frustration palpable. “Don’t play dumb with me, Lucia. I want answers, and I want them now.”
My heart sinks as I realize Jo will not let this go easily. Obviously, I can’t tell her the truth, but I also can’t afford to raise any more suspicions. Maybe I should have taken Sawyer up on his offer to join me. I bite my lip, struggling to find the right words. “I honestly don’t know who he was, Jo.” Fuck, I need to lie better. “We weren’t really introduced. So I assume he was just a random person in the audience.”
Jo nods, like she expected me to say all of this. She opens her laptop and shoves it toward me. “Why do you look scared?” she asks, her tone less accusatory now. “Has this man harassed you in the past or something?”
Balling my hands into fists, I dig my nails into the soft flesh on my palms. “He just reminds me of someone I used to know. But when he talked, I realized it wasn’t him.”
“And you’re sure that’s all there is to it?” Jo asks, cocking an eyebrow. “Now is the time to come clean, Lucia.”
I swallow audibly. “As far as I know, there’s nothing more to it. But as I said, I don’t know him, and the likeness to someone from… err, back home just took me by surprise.” I’m relieved when Jo’s expression softens, and I hope that means she believes me.
Jo leans back in her chair, studying me intently for a moment before sighing heavily. “And what about the engagement news? You do realize it’s everywhere, right? Thanks to the live interview, there’s no way to contain it.”
“I didn’t know,” I say, mentally cursing myself for not checking mine and the team’s socials before coming here. “But there’s nothing to it.”
“Why did you wear the ring?”
Shrugging, I explain, “You guys wanted Sawyer to look more… stable, I guess. So I thought it was a good way to hint at how serious we want them to think the relationship is. Give them something to guess and gossip about.”
I try my best to act like it was all done in service of the greater good. Which I suppose it was… my greater good that is. I’m the one who needs the rumors flowing. It’s not like I can walk right up to Sawyer and ask him to marry me. But maybe public opinion and, yeah, gossip can help nudge him in the direction I need.
The more I think about it, the smaller I feel. I know I’m manipulating Sawyer, playing him big time in a way I have no right to do. But… I’m not willing to stop. My freedom hinges on me getting us to the altar, and that’s something I’ve wanted for too long to give it up all because of my pesky conscience.
“Fine,” she says. “But for your sake, I hope you’re telling me the truth. I don’t have to tell you what will happen if this comes back to cause problems later.”
“Maybe you should,” I volley, unable to keep my temper locked down. “What have I done to deserve you treating me this way, Jo?”
She gapes. “Excuse me?”
I shake my head. “No, not anymore. First, you deliberately make me late for the meeting with Tom. Then you make me sound incompetent, and now, after making the world see Sawyer as a doting boyfriend who’s about to move in with the love of his life, you threaten my job because of a random person in the audience. So I ask you again, what have I ever done to you?” I’m shouting at the end of my tirade, but I don’t care. She owes me some answers.
Jo is quiet for a few moments, her expression unreadable as she considers her response. When she finally speaks, her tone is softer, but there’s a hint of sadness in her voice. “Lucia, you have to understand,” she begins, her words measured. “Before the meeting with Tom, I knew he wanted the PR team to find a fake girlfriend for Sawyer. And I also knew that you were already his top choice.”
I blink in surprise, taken aback by Jo’s revelation. “Wait, what? Tom wanted me to be Sawyer’s fake girlfriend?”
Jo nods, her gaze steady. “Yes. And when I found out, I... I was trying to protect you, Lucia. I knew it wasn’t fair to put you in that position, so I tried to shield you from it as much as I could.”
I feel a mix of emotions swirling inside me—shock, anger, confusion. How could Tom do this to me? And why didn’t Jo tell me sooner?
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I demand, my voice tinged with frustration.
Jo sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I wanted to, Lucia, I really did. But I didn’t know how you would react. And I was hoping that maybe... maybe I could find a way to fix things before you had to find out.”
I shake my head, feeling a sense of betrayal creeping in. “So you kept this from me, just to protect me?”
Jo nods, her eyes pleading for understanding. “I know it was wrong, Lucia, and I’m sorry. But I was just trying to do what I thought was best for you.”
I take a moment to process Jo’s words, feeling a mix of gratitude and resentment swirling inside me. It’s clear that Jo was only trying to look out for me, but I can’t help but wish she had been more upfront with me from the beginning. How fucking ironic when my life is nothing but one lie after another.
Yeah, I really don’t have a moral high ground at all. I’m willingly whoring myself out for my freedom, all while pushing away my best friend, and deceiving everyone who comes into contact with me. What a fucking treat I am.
“But I hope you know how proud of you I am,” Jo continues, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Huh?”
She nods eagerly. “Yes, it’s a big step. But I have to ask, are you okay with living with him?”
I rub my fingers against my temples and exhale slowly. “Yeah, I am. We’ve already discussed it, and I’m moving into his place.”
“Okay,” she says. Then turns her laptop back toward her and begins to write something. “I’ll make sure a moving company comes to your place on Monday. You should probably stay at Sawyer’s until then to keep up pretenses. But I’ll have people at yours on Monday at noon to help pack up your stuff and get it all moved.”
Shaking my head, I decline her offer. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t want to leave my roommate with nothing. All I need are my personal belongings.”
“Nonsense,” Jo says, waving me off. “It’s not up for discussion. The two of you need to be at your apartment at noon.”
The day passes by in a haze. Although I’m not physically packing boxes, my mind is constantly buzzing with lists and mental catalogs of the items I’ll take with me tomorrow. It’s not until mid-afternoon that I remember I promised to text Sawyer, and when I do, his reply is almost instantaneous.
Sawyer: Glad to hear it’s all sorted. You doing alright?
I frown at the text. He shouldn’t be asking me that. We both know that what’s happening between us is nothing more than an arrangement we’re both benefiting from. Sure, he doesn’t know what I’m getting out of it. Then again, considering I’ve now freaked out on him twice, it’s not that odd he’s asking. I really need to get my shit together fast.
Me: I’m fine.
Sawyer: Then stop frowning.
I look up from my phone and turn my head, but I don’t see him anywhere.
Sawyer: Don’t forget to wear my number tonight!
With a sigh, I tug my phone away and grab the package that was delivered a few days ago. Then I go to the bathroom to change into something a little less business-like and a lot more girlfriend-like.
The custom-ordered, tight, low-neck sweater fits me like a glove. It’s made in the Sabertooths’ color and has their logo on the front and Sawyer’s number on the back. With my dark jeans and ankle boots, I’m pretty sure I’m looking the part. After touching up my makeup, I pull a sharpie out of my bag and draw Sawyer’s number on my cleavage. There, now there can be no doubt about who I’m there to support.
Before leaving the bathroom, I text Gail. I don’t know if she’s seen the interview since I still haven’t heard from her, but I owe her to hear it from me, too. As with all the other texts, it shows as read almost immediately, but no reply comes through.
When it’s finally time, I make my way into the arena, taking my seat among the other girlfriends and wives, who greet me with big smiles and cheers. At first I was really nervous about having to sit with them, but the way they welcome me instantly puts me at ease.
“I never thought I’d see the day one of these seats was taken by Sawyer’s girlfriend.” The woman speaking grins widely.
“Seriously. I’m glad we didn’t have bets going, or I’d have lost everything,” another jokes.
Grinning, I reply, “Trust me, even while living it I would have been betting against us.” That earns me a loud round of laughs, making it even easier to be around them.
The arena fills with excited chatter and the shuffling of feet, bringing the atmosphere alive with anticipation. The hum of conversation grows louder, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional roar of excitement. Fans clad in team jerseys and scarves stream in, their faces painted in team colors, adding to the vibrant tapestry of the crowd.
The energy in the air is palpable as the countdown to game time draws near. The lights dim, and a hush falls over the crowd as the familiar strains of the national anthem echo through the arena, accompanied by the fluttering of flags and the sound of applause.
As the anthem fades into silence, the tension mounts, building to a crescendo as the players take to the ice. When Sawyer comes onto the ice, skating a circle around Mickey and Soren before shoulder bumping them, I jump to my feet and chant his name along with the fans.
Sawyer scans the stands, and when his eyes land on me, he smirks. I turn around to show him his number printed on the back of the sweater. Then I spin again, pointing at my cleavage. I’m not disappointed by his reaction when his eyes widen and he licks his lips. My breath hitches as our eyes lock, making it feel like we’re the only people here.
Our bubble bursts as the roar of the crowd swells to a deafening height as the puck drops, signaling the start of the game. With a flurry of skates and sticks, the players race across the ice, the intensity of the game unfolding before our eyes.
In that moment, as the game begins in earnest, the arena pulses with energy and excitement, uniting fans in a shared passion for the sport. As I watch from the stands, caught up in the thrill of the moment, I can’t help but feel a sense of belonging—a part of something bigger than myself, even if it’s just for tonight. What a fucking high.
Though it isn’t, this almost feels like my first game. The other times I’ve watched, I’ve always felt like the spectator I was, and this time… this time it felt different. Don’t get me wrong, I love the game and the organization, but I wasn’t in love with it. Not until now.