Chapter 15 #2
“What did you think this was going to be, Declan?” she asks, her voice sharp. “This agreement doesn’t magically change who we are. You’re going to have to actually do the work.”
“Yes, I know,” I grit out. “What I didn’t expect was to be reminded of my screw-ups before we’ve even ordered our food.”
Her lips press together, and for a beat, neither of us moves. The soft conversation and clinking of glasses fills the dining room as we stare each other down.
“Maybe that was a bit harsh,” she says, her voice softer. She looks down at her napkin in her lap. “I just had a very rough day with Vivienne sending me home like that. And now I’ll be without a job for who knows how long. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.”
Something in me stands down and I lean back in my chair, keeping my gaze on her wondering what made her retreat. She’s never retreated before.
“Are you worried about getting by without a job?” I ask, gently tapping my knuckles on the table. “Because you shouldn’t be.”
She looks up at me, carefully assessing. “I have money saved up, I’ll be fine for a while.”
I nod, knowing she’s stubborn. I’m assuming she’ll be the same when it comes to money.
“We’re here to figure this thing out, Snowflake, so we might as well start with finances.”
She carefully shifts her butter knife, then adjusts her water glass before meeting my gaze.
“The fact that we’re adding immigration to this, makes this agreement a bit more complicated than it would’ve been if it were only for PR reasons.”
“That’s true,” I say. “I still think this is the best idea I’ve ever had.”
She swallows, like she’s uncomfortable. “I spoke to an immigration lawyer today. We need a joint account, bills in both our names, shared insurance…Are you sure you still want to do this? I feel like you’d have to work harder and get less out of this deal.”
I lean forward, giving her a reassuring smile. “Paperwork is nothing. You’re the one who’d have to physically show up and act like you’re in love with me, day in and day out. Plus, you’re saving my career and my position on the team. I’m not really worried about anything else.”
She nods, taking a sip of her water. “So no backing out?”
“Til death do us part,” I add, letting the words hang between us as I lift my champagne glass toward her, waiting for her to meet me in a toast.
She rolls her eyes, a small smile tugging on the corner of her mouth. “You’re an idiot.”
I wait a few seconds before she lifts her own glass and clinks it against mine. A triumphant smile spreads on my lips as I take a sip of the bubbling grape juice.
“Since we’re getting married, ordering champagne wasn’t a bad call,” she adds with a shrug. “I’m sorry about what I said.”
I swallow down my pride, twirling the stem of the glass between my fingers, the bubbles in the drink glinting. Fighting with her isn’t going to be productive in any way. As much as I hate what she did, she has a point.
“Making it non-alcoholic was the best option,” I concede. “Besides, it’s better for my game to stay dry during the season.”
Lifting my gaze I find her looking at me with her eyes narrowed. The light catches the highlights in her hair, the soft pink shade of her lips distracting. Just a little bit.
“You’ve always had an edge, Declan. I think that’s what makes you such a good defenseman. You can read the ice like no-one else. You know what’s going to happen and you make controlled, precise decisions to cut off the offense.”
The compliment means a lot coming from her. I knew she watched me with the women I had, because she always had something to say. What I didn’t know was that she watched me play…that she knows what I’m like on the ice.
“But the guy who played against the Wild,” she says, her eyes filled with concern. “That wasn’t control. That’s not the player you really are.”
That night wasn’t my finest moment. I reacted in a way I would never have. I should’ve known better, but I lost control. Looking down at my hand around the stem of the glass I wonder if it’s because I’ve been drinking more. Or have I been drinking more because I’m losing control? Which came first?
“Is it hard for you to not drink?” she asks, her voice soft.
The question forces me to really think about it. I’m not sure that I would go home and drink more if I had one glass tonight. The urge to run to alcohol doesn’t hit me every day…but when it does, it hits hard.
“I thought we’re not sharing deep dark secrets with each other?” I ask.
She shrugs, the movement causing the strap of her dress to slip off her shoulder. I fight the urge to reach over and put it back where it belongs.
“What else are we going to talk about for the next two years? The weather?” she asks, her eyes sharp, challenging me.
“Or maybe why you’re really marrying me?” I add with a smile.
“Between the two of us there will be a lot to dig up, that’s for sure.”
I can’t help but smile. Leave it to Avah Johansson to get me to talk about something difficult and still have me smile while doing it.
“There are a lot of days I don’t even think about it,” I say truthfully, taking a sip of the bubbly grape juice. “It’s not that I can’t go without it.”
“It’s an escape,” she finishes my thought.
I nod, watching as she traces the rim of her glass with her finger. Her hand reaches for the strap of her dress, slowly sliding it back in place.
“Is that what this is for you?” I ask. “Are you escaping something back home? Or someone?”
She sighs, looking away from me and perusing the dining room for a second. “I don’t really like talking about this, Declan. To anyone.”
“What have you got to lose?” I have no ill intent toward her. I’m not someone who’d tell her secrets. I might not always be very graceful in the way I approach things, but I’d never share something that wasn’t mine to share.
I hold my hand out to her, the white linen cool beneath my skin. She looks at my outstretched hand like it’s a live wire.
“And that?” she asks and I can’t help but chuckle deeply.
“We’re supposed to act like we’re in love, remember? I figured with a table between us, the best option is hand holding.”
Her hesitation stretches, and then her fingers slip into mine. Her skin is cool, soft, her hand disappearing into my grip like it belongs there.
For a moment, I can’t help but stare at our hands. I’ve never been this deliberate in holding a woman’s hand. It’s both the least intimate thing I’ve ever done…and the most.
“Brady let me know that he dropped a few hints about our dinner date, so someone might already be watching,” I say, the feel of her hand in mine strangely comforting. I brush my thumb over her knuckles before I even realize I’m doing it.
She nods. “What else did you have in mind?” she asks. “I mean a dinner date only allows for so much hand holding…and longing stares,” she adds playfully.
“You want more?” I ask, letting my gaze linger just long enough to enjoy the blush creeping up her neck. “Did you read through the menu? After this I’ll definitely need real food, so maybe we can grab ice-cream…or a steak.”
She lets out a small laugh. “I did. Doesn’t sound like something that could fill a defenseman.”
“Definitely not. The fact that most of the food has a foam component, doesn’t bode well for me,” I add, watching as she relaxes slightly, even twining our fingers together.
She swallows, her blue eyes meeting mine. Acting like we’re into each other might not be that difficult. I’m definitely attracted to her, and staring at her or holding her hand is no major feat. In fact it’s something I could quickly get used to.
“I left Sweden because someone took what I gave them and broke it in a million pieces,” she says, her confession soft but hitting hard all the same. “I need to be here because I can’t go back and face him.”
The admission lodges itself beneath my ribs. She gave something of herself and he wrecked it. The thought makes me want to find the man who hurt her.
Without thinking, I lift her hand to my mouth, placing a soft kiss along her knuckles. Her breath catches.
“He’s an idiot,” I say, meaning every word.
“You don’t even know him,” she says, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly as she watches my mouth against her hand.
“I don’t have to know him to know that I’m getting what he lost,” I say, my gaze not leaving hers. “And by this time tomorrow, it will be a done deal.”
* * *
This morning, I woke up to my phone blowing up next to me on the nightstand.
Maddie Sullivan: You move fast, Murph. When we saw you this weekend you said no…and here you are, looking at her like she’s the reason you breathe.
Maddie Sullivan: Don’t screw this up.
With a huff, I toss the duvet off me and scrub the sleep from my eyes. Leave it to my sister to go overboard with her analysis of my relationship. I definitely didn’t look at Avah like she’s the reason I have oxygen in my lungs. I scroll through the rest of the messages.
Brady Sullivan: Keep it up, bro. This will help you. These headlines are already replacing the old ones. These next few days will be tight, so buckle up.
Brady Sullivan: Wedding is this afternoon at two. See you there.
Two o’clock.
It hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest. In less than seven hours, I’ll be a married man.
There are messages from my teammates too…teammates who are finding out about me and Avah along with the rest of the world.
Nikolai Petrov: I hope you know what you’re doing. Avah’s the real deal.
EJ Johansson: I know this is something you both agreed too…but know that I’m watching you, Murphy. Keep this clean or you’ll have me to deal with.
Lucas Walker: We saw the pics. You look good together, Dec. She’ll be good for you. Hannah says she knew you two had something going on.
Lucas Walker: And also, don’t mess this up.
Rubbing my hand over my face, I groan before stumbling out of bed. I’ve actually had a good night’s sleep, for the first time in a long time. The messages from my teammates don’t help too much—all of them clearly think Avah is too good for me.
I guess I’m inclined to agree. I don’t call her Snowflake for nothing.
Pulling a shirt over my head, I walk into the kitchen in desperate need of caffeine. I’m greeted with Lindgren’s face, stretched into a grin that matches the energy of a golden retriever.
“Well, well…” he says, grabbing his already made protein shake from the counter. “If I didn’t have to get to practice, I’d be staying to grill the living daylights out of you. You’ve been holding out on us, Murphy.”
I don’t know why we have to live together. Murphy doesn’t need someone to motivate him in the mornings. It’s like he was born with all the energy in the world.
“Go to practice,” I say, getting the coffee machine started.
“What I don’t get,” Lindgren continues, slowly walking toward me, tapping a finger on his chin as he mockingly looks to be deep in thought. “You said you weren’t knocking boots with Avah, but look at this.”
He shoves his phone into my face, so close I have to squint. Right there is a picture of the two of us, staring into each other’s eyes while I’m pressing her hand against my mouth. That moment was…unexpected to say the least.
“There’s no way you’ll be able to convince me that’s not true love.” Lindgren turns the phone to look at the picture again, his smile widening even more. “This is pure Disney Channel.”
“That’s a bit much,” I mutter.
“Before you know it birds will flutter through the window and sew a wedding dress for Avah,” he continues, obviously not caring about my mood right now. “Although I can’t help but wonder if EJ would shoot them.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll shoot them first,” I deadpan. ”Don’t you have to get to practice?”
He erupts into laughter before slapping me on the back, causing coffee beans to spill over the counter. Suddenly I don’t feel as rested as I did a few minutes ago.
“I don’t envy you one bit,” he says, walking to the door. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you. I’ve seen you with a million women, but you and Avah…” he whistles. “That look is new.”
At least we fooled Lindgren.
“I’m pretty sure a million women is a physical impossibility,” I mumble, scraping together the coffee beans before putting them in the machine. No caffeine wasted.
Lindgren opens the door and stops. “How are you going to handle EJ?” he asks. “I remember conversations about sisters being off-limits.”
I turn on the machine, crushing the beans while looking at Lindgren who’s patiently waiting for me to answer.
“Don’t worry about it, Barney, I’ve got it handled.”
I hope. Avah spoke to EJ and explained everything, but he’s still not happy about it. Which I get, I suppose. Groaning inwardly, I realize I need to talk to him too—it’s the least I can do.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Lindgren says, leaving for practice.
A pang of jealousy runs through me. Ask any hockey player worth his salt—if you miss a day on the ice, you risk going insane.
We need icetime like we need air…and my body can feel that it’s been too long.
Lindgren gets to exert all his energy on the ice, put in a rough couple of hours of practice, while I have to… probably get a ring.
I groan. I don’t know anything about rings.
I know hockey.
Grabbing a cup, I slam the cupboard door, hating the situation I’m in. Why I have to buy an engagement ring to stay on this team is beyond me. Because ultimately, that’s what this is boiling down to.
It’s insane.
It’s ridiculous.
It should be a damn crime.
If a man wants to play hockey, he should be able to do just that without people making him jump through PR hoops for their entertainment.
Granted, last night didn’t feel like much of a hoop. I ended up enjoying myself more than I thought I would. If I’m being honest…it may even have been the best date I’ve ever been on.
And it was…fake? Acting?
The amount of things messing with my mind right now isn’t even funny. Before we left Cinzano’s, Brady texted me the links to the social media posts and already written article about the new romance between me and Avah.
We decided to skip the ice-cream and further showing of…romance. Which is better, because I left that restaurant feeling a bit unstable.
Pulling up the picture Brady sent me again, I lean against the counter and really look at the two of us. It’s hard to reconcile who we’ve been to the two people in the picture, staring at each other.
As much as I hate it, Maddie is right. I am looking at Avah in a way I’ve never looked at another woman before—and I didn’t even know I was doing it.