Chapter Twenty-one
After tending to our wounds, taking a refreshing shower—individually, or we’d never leave the apartment—Sy and I, at his insistence, venture out for breakfast. Fortunately, we can use the elevator to go down to the parking lot unnoticed. But immediately upon leaving the car, reporters approach us. Their cameras flash as they throw question after question at us.
“Are the rumors true? Are you really married?”
“Why are you keeping your marriage a secret?”
“Sawyer, hey, look over here. Are you ashamed of Lucia? Is that why you kept the wedding a secret?”
A low growl works its way up Sy’s throat. He grips my hand tighter and practically pulls me into the restaurant, his excitement faded. “Ignore them,” I whisper as the door closes behind us.
“I won’t allow them to insult you,” he growls angrily.
Sy opens the door a second time and before I can comprehend his statement, he steps outside. “Please, just let it go,” I plead, struggling to keep pace with his lengthy steps.
“Hey!” he calls, pointing straight at the guy who insinuated I was something to be ashamed of. “Show my wife some respect.”
The reporter straightens up, a cunning grin appearing on his face. “So you’re not denying it?”
Sy shrugs. “Are you hard of hearing or something? I just confirmed she’s my wife.” He reaches for my hand, holding it up for everyone to see my wedding band.
“So it’s true?” another asks.
Throwing his arm around my shoulders, Sy pulls me to his side. “It is. I’ve married Lucia Carter.”
“Don’t you mean Lucia Perry?” a woman asks.
“Why would that be what he meant?” I ask, feeling as though I need to say something. “This isn’t ancient times. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but women actually get a choice nowadays. And I like the name Carter.” I have no idea why I feel the need to defend myself.
Sy chuckles. “Maybe I’ll change mine to Carter, seeing as I don’t give a flying fuck what our last names are. The only thing that matters to me is that I’m with the woman I love.” Looking at the reporter who insulted me, he narrows his eyes. “And if you ever insult her again, you won’t be able to say you’re sorry for a long time. A broken jaw takes a while to heal.”
“Are you threatening me?” the reporter shouts, looking indignant.
“It was a warning,” Sy snarls.
The surrounding crowd is growing rapidly, and there are questions coming from every angle. “Come on, I’m starving,” I whine, tugging Sy toward the restaurant door.
He relents, and we head back inside. When some reporters try to follow us, a big guy gets up from one of the couches lining the walls. “No press,” he barks, pointing at a sign on the door.
A server comes over, wasting no time finding us a quiet corner to sit in. One far away from the glass windows so we can’t be seen by the people outside. After seating us, the guy leaves to get us some menus. When he returns, he’s carrying a silver tray with two fresh OJs and our menus.
“Just let me know when you’re ready to order,” he says, smiling.
Perusing the menu, I find that everything is organic and fresh, and every single item looks delicious. “What’s good here?”
Sy leans forward, pointing at my menu. “Their omelets are great.”
Judging by the large portions of food being carried to the table nearby, I decide against it. So when the server returns and Sy orders a mushroom omelet, I ask for an avocado toast and a bowl of fresh fruit.
While we wait for our food, I study Sy while he’s scrolling through his phone. His long fingers dance across the black device, so he’s probably texting or emailing. From the little I know of him from working for the Sabertooths, he never looks at his socials. He’s more than happy forgetting they exist. It’s something I’ve tried to get better at recently. I don’t want to see all the comments about me, and I know there has to be many by now. Luckily for me, the accounts I manage have been quiet the last few days, and I’ve actually managed to forget they even exist.
It’s still weird to think of him as my husband, a term that’s never meant anything but pain to me until I married Sy. My stomach churns as guilt settles deep inside me. Like a frigid cold, it spreads through my veins. I should have walked away without dragging him into my life. Yet, I can’t make myself regret marrying him. I acknowledge my selfishness, yet my current state of mind disregards it completely. I deserve happiness, even if it’s doomed to be fleeting.
“What’s up?” I ask as he frowns down at his phone like it’s offending him.
Before he can answer, the server carries our food over. “Oh my God,” I moan, taking a bite of the avocado toast. “This is amazing.”
Sy chuckles. “Been coming here for years. Can’t beat the quality.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And here I thought you only frequented fast-food joints.”
He feigns offense. “Hey, I have a refined palate too, you know.”
Our banter continues as we enjoy our breakfast, the atmosphere light and easy despite the tension simmering beneath the surface. I know he’s going to demand answers about Fabian soon, and I’ll either have to give them or… there isn’t really another alternative anymore. Not now that we’re married. But as both our phones buzz incessantly, our lighthearted conversation comes to an abrupt halt, replaced by a sense of foreboding.
“Ignore it,” Sy grumbles when I go to get mine out of my bag.
I frown. “Why? Who is it?”
He shakes his head, locks of his long hair falling down his face. “Let’s just enjoy our food.” Agreeing, I finish up the toast and move on to the fruit, which is equally delicious. “If you lick that strawberry one more time, I’m going to drag you into the nearest bathroom and fuck you,” Sy rasps, watching me through hooded eyes.
“Oops,” I grin. Too busy enjoying the red berry, I hadn’t even noticed I was playing with it.
The persistent buzzing of my phone is starting to make me nervous. I look longingly at my bag, considering what could be so urgent. “It could be Gail,” I say, reaching for my bag again.
“It’s not her,” Sy rumbles. “Just leave it.”
Reluctantly, I fish my phone out and answer without checking the called ID. I’m greeted by Jo’s terse voice on the other end. Her tone is icy, her words clipped as she demands our immediate presence at the arena. My heart sinks, a wave of apprehension washing over me as I hang up.
“That was Jo,” I say, wringing my hands.
“I know,” Sy replies. “Tom’s been texting and emailing me. They want us at the arena, but I say we blow them off. Fuck them.”
“You know what it’s about?” I ask, accusatory.
Sy finishes his food before leaning back in his chair, stretching before resting his hands on the back of his head. “They’re not happy about the marriage.”
Crap.
“Fabian wants proof it’s real as he’s apparently worried this will mean the Sabertooths’ reputation will suffer if it’s a stunt.”
Fuck. The color drains from my face at the mention of my ex husband. “But it’s not,” I rush out. “It’s a genuine marriage. They can’t stop us.”
Sy shifts in his chair and leans over the table, taking both my hands between his. “It is, and we know that. No, they can’t stop us. No one can. But they can…” Shaking his head, he sighs deeply. “They can kick me off the team.”
My shoulders deflate as I sag in my seat. “All this started so you wouldn’t get kicked off the team,” I whisper. “Now that we’ve delivered, they’re still threatening you?” Tears gather in my eyes. I know this is my fault. Fabian is going to do what he can to get Sawyer removed, not just from the team, but possibly from the NHL and any other team.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it, sweet bunny. But before we go into that meeting, I need you to tell me anything I should know. I need to be prepared, no matter how uncomfortable.”
Looking up at him, I blink my tears away and nod. “O-okay.”
“Is there anything I should know about you and Fabian?”
I take a shuddering breath, preparing myself. “We dated many years ago,” I admit. The words taste like ash and I’m barely able to get them out. “My parents arranged it, so I never felt like I could say no. It wasn’t so bad in the beginning, but the longer we were together, the worse he got.”
“How long were you together?”
“About a year,” I confirm, squeezing his hands tight.
Though I know I should, I don’t admit to my marriage to Fabian. Like a coward, I decide to pretend it never happened and instead focus on getting to the arena so we can deal with Tom and Jo.
“And that’s it?” Sy asks, his tone dark. “There’s nothing else I should know?”
“No,” I lie, forcing a smile. “That’s it.”
Sy looks like he wants to argue, but to my surprise, he lets it go and tells me to gather my things. On our way out, he pays the server, leaving a hefty tip.
Exiting the restaurant, we make our way to Sy’s car. Luckily, the reporters have gone so no one disturbs us. With each step, I can’t help but wonder what’s churning in his mind, but I refrain from probing further, unwilling to divulge my own swirling thoughts.
Once inside the car, the tension is palpable, hanging heavy in the air as we navigate the familiar streets toward the arena. The rhythmic hum of the engine fills the silence, a stark contrast to the thoughts racing through my mind.
As we arrive at the arena, Sy cuts the engine and turns to me, his gaze piercing through my defenses. Before I can even open my mouth, he speaks, his tone firm and unwavering. “I know you’re keeping something from me,” he says, his words laced with a mix of frustration and concern. “This is your last chance to come clean.”
I start to protest, but he interrupts me, his eyes holding mine in an unyielding grip.
“No more lies, sweet bunny. Just tell me this, is it something I should know before we go in there?” He points at the arena.
“I’m just nervous, Sy,” I say, my voice tight with tension. “There’s nothing else going on.”
I can feel skepticism radiating off him like heat waves, but I hold his gaze steadily, refusing to back down. The truth is, I’m terrified of what might happen if he found out about my past, about the fact that I was technically married when we started fake dating. The last thing I want is to lose him, but the weight of my secrets threatens to crush me.
Sy’s expression softens slightly, but the concern in his eyes remains. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me in,” he says, his voice gentle yet firm. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. I promise.”
I swallow hard, grappling with the conflicting emotions swirling inside me. Finally, I nod, a silent acknowledgment of his offer of support. But deep down, I know that some secrets are too heavy to share, even with the person you love.
Forcing a smile, I say, “It’s just nerves. Jo was really mad on the phone. So I just… I don’t know what we’re walking into.” All of that is true.
Sy cups my cheeks while slowly moving closer until our lips touch. His lips mold the curve of my own with a surprisingly tender urgency that sends a shiver down my spine. I feel his warmth enveloping me, grounding me in the present moment amidst the whirlwind of emotions.
But beneath the surface, guilt gnaws at me like a persistent ache. I know I’m keeping secrets from Sy, and with every fleeting moment of bliss, that guilt only grows heavier. My fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself to him even as I wrestle with the weight of my deception.
Breaking apart, we both get out of the car, and Sy takes my hand in his, his grip steady and reassuring. Together, we make our way into the arena, and head straight for Tom’s office. When we reach it, I stop Sy from opening the door.
“Wait,” I breathe. He stops his movement and looks down at me. Swallowing harshly, I meet his gaze. “I love you,” I whisper. “Whatever happens, don’t forget that.”