12. Sebastian
Chapter twelve
Sebastian
I pace the living room and kitchen waiting for Sutton to get home from work. Pausing every once in a while to make sure the Indian food I picked up is still warm.
How the hell did I go from realizing this morning during practice that I needed to talk to Sutton and stop avoiding her to offering to marry her?
I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the ends.
Something I’ve been doing for the past half an hour as I’ve paced.
Finally, the front door opens, and I force myself to stop moving.
I don’t need to make her any more nervous than she probably already is because I’m freaking out.
I don’t want to give her a reason to back out of this arrangement.
It might be crazy, but I’m still going to go through with it.
“Hi,” she greets me when she walks into the kitchen, setting her lunch box on the counter next to her water bottle.
“Hiya, love. Dinner’s here.” I point over my shoulder to the stove where the to-go containers are.
“Okay. I just need a few minutes to get changed,” she says before turning on her heel and walking out of the room.
I can’t help watching the sway of her hips as she leaves. Hips that I want to hold onto as I kiss her, touch her.
“Get a hold of yourself.”
Once she’s out of sight, I grab a couple of glasses from the cabinet and busy myself with getting us both water as well as plates and utensils.
I set everything up at the kitchen table instead of our usual spots at the bar.
I don’t know why, but it feels like we should have this conversation facing each other.
“I’m starving. Smells good,” she says, walking into the kitchen as she’s pulling her hair up into a bun.
I glance over at her. Does she know what it does to me when she wears Storm shirts?
I know she works for the team, and that’s why she has them, but I can’t help imaging she’s wearing one of my shirts.
I give myself a mental shake as we take our seats and dig into our food—butter chicken for her, and tikka masala for me.
“So good,” she says, plopping a piece of her naan bread into her mouth.
I agree. I haven’t had Indian food in a while, so this meal is hitting the spot.
Eventually, she pushes her bowl away. “Are we still getting married?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind. I won’t hold it against you.” She looks everywhere except at me, but I’m not having that, so I reach across the table and tilt her chin up until her green eyes meet mine.
“I didn’t. I’d never go back on my word, to anyone, but most especially not to you.”
I don’t miss the small gasp she lets out. “Oh.”
I let go of her chin and fiddle with my napkin. “Do you not want to go through with it?”
“I want to do it,” she says, straightening. “But I should tell you more about my family so you know what you’re getting into.”
“If you want.” No matter what she tells me, it’s not going to change my mind, but I am curious.
“My family, I should say my father, Jonathan Jefferson, is a very wealthy man, and he uses his money to get what he wants. He manipulates people, even his children, by holding money over their heads. He thinks because he’s rich, he’s untouchable, that rules don’t apply to him, and that he can use his money to buy his way out of any situation.
Which, unfortunately, usually works for him.
Hell, it works for all the men in his circle.
” I clench my fist. Her father sounds like a big asshole.
“That’s why I said no to you when you asked me out.
” The last part comes out in a whisper, and fuck me, everything makes so much sense now.
And I feel even worse that I kept asking her out.
But also I hate her father even more because I am not like him, and I wish she’d given me the opportunity to show her that.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say after the silence has stretched on for what feels like too long.
“There’s nothing to apologize for, and I’m woman enough to admit that I was wrong about you. You’re nothing like him. None of you are. I’m sorry for judging you unfairly. For not giving you a chance.”
My heart races. “I understand now. I just wish …” I pause, collecting my thoughts, trying to figure out how to say what’s on my mind. “I wish I’d known the reason why you didn’t want to date me. The real reason.”
“I should have told you.”
“I still feel bad about being so persistent.” I meet her gaze, hoping she can see that I’d never hurt her, never try to control her.
“You’re nothing like him. I know that. I think I’ve always known it,” she says after a few seconds, breaking eye contact to run her finger around the condensate on her glass.
“What’s done is done. No sense rehashing the past.” She pauses.
“I don’t know what he might do when he finds out about my inheritance.
” She frowns, her forehead crinkling, and I fight the urge to touch her, smooth away the wrinkles.
“I want you to be prepared.” She looks up at me.
“I hope it doesn’t get ugly, but it might.
I understand if you don’t want to risk it. ”
“I’m not changing my mind.”
She’s silent for a few beats. “If you’re sure.” I nod. “We probably should have ground rules and a prenup or legal agreement of some kind.”
“I can talk to my lawyer about the legal side of it, unless you have your own you want to use?”
“Your lawyer is fine. I was thinking something simple like we’re not expecting anything financially or otherwise from each other when the marriage is over. And the end date and whatever other stipulations we decide on.”
“Sounds good.” At this point, I’ll go along with whatever she wants if it means I get to spend more time with her, be married to her, even if for a short time.
She glances around the room. “Neither of us can be with anyone else during this marriage. I hate to say that because I know you have needs …”
“I haven’t had sex in a while. A few more months will be fine.” Her mouth gapes open. I stifle a laugh. “What?”
“You haven’t had sex in a while? Not that I’m judging or one to talk because …” She points to her stomach. “Maybe I should have taken a page out of your book.”
“The season keeps me busy, and then I was home helping my mum on the farm all summer. Haven’t had time to think about it.” I haven’t wanted any woman besides you, and since I couldn’t have you, I didn’t want anyone. “What else?”
“We’ll have to keep living together.”
“That’s a given.”
“My grandmother’s lawyer will probably want to talk to us.
I’m sure separately. I imagine he’ll want to make sure we’re actually married and not faking it.
” I raise my eyebrows, but before I can ask what she means, she says, “As in we didn’t just get married on paper but live separate lives.
I hope it’s not invasive. My grandmother could be … ” She cringes. “Old-fashioned.”
“You don’t say?”
“We should probably tell our friends, right? I mean we’re at least going to have to let HR know.” She buries her face in her hands. “This is getting complicated. Maybe it’s not worth it.” The last part comes out in a whisper.
I lean over, peel her hands off her face, and take them between mine, noting how cold they are. I wonder if they’re always this cold. Not the time nor the place to ask.
“It’s worth it. Trust me.” She nods. “We do whatever you think is best. I’ll follow your lead. Our friends will probably be suspicious, so I think it’s better to clue them in. They’re pretty good at keeping secrets when they need to.”
My lips tip up into a smirk thinking about how, over the summer, Holt hatched an elaborate plan to get Hadley, his sister, fake engaged to one of our other best friends, Wes, because he knew they had feelings for each other but were too stubborn to do anything about it.
Sometimes you just need a little help from your friends or from the universe.
I ignore that thought. That’s not what’s going on here. There’s no way things between Sutton and I could work out. Even if I want it to. I’m leaving at the end of the season.
She stares down at where I’m still holding her hands. “We should tell them.” She takes a deep breath. “How do we want to get married? Go down to the courthouse and get a license tomorrow? There’s a waiting period in Florida, I checked, but we could get married by the end of the week.”
I clear my throat.
“Do you think going to a courthouse would be suspicious to your grandmother’s lawyer?”
She’s quiet for a few seconds. “It might be.”
“What if we organize something small with our friends over the break? I’m sure they’d go along with it, especially if we told them why.” I’m thankful that none of us in my core friend group got selected for the All-Star team this year.
“I’d like that.”
I squeeze her hands for a few seconds longer before forcing myself to let go of them so it doesn’t become awkward. “Guess we’re getting married.”
She traces a pattern on the table with her finger. “What about …”
“What about what?” I prompt.
“Affection? I’m assuming we’ll have to kiss at the wedding, which I’m fine with if you are. And holding hands, hugs, and touching is fine.” She blushes. “PG-rated touching I mean.”
“Are you sure you don’t mean other kinds of touching?
” I bounce my eyebrows at her, smirking.
I know I probably shouldn’t say it, but I do.
I know I’m leaving but still doesn’t stop me from wanting her, as selfish as that sounds.
And I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting her.
Maybe it’s good that I’m leaving, because then I won’t have to walk into the arena one day and see her with another guy.
“I think it’s best if we keep sex off the table. I don’t have the best track record.”
I jerk backward. “You can’t get pregnant a second time.”
She huffs a laugh. “No shit, but unlike the last time, this is more complicated. We’re friends.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “Whatever you want. I’ll follow your lead. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” She blushes. “I’ll get my lawyer to draw up the papers tomorrow.”
“What about an end date? How do we want to handle that?”
I’m silent for a few beats, contemplating her question. “Well, to be honest”—I peer down at the table—“I’m probably leaving at the end of the season. Retiring.”
“You’re what? Why? You’re only thirty-two. You’ve got plenty of years left. Are you hurt?”
I meet her eyes, giving a half shrug. “No, I’m not hurt. My mum needs me back home.”
“Oh …”
“The end date could be whenever I leave for England, or a bit after if you want to give a reason we’re divorcing.” I frown down at the table.
“End of the season is what I was going to suggest.” She puts a hand on my arm. “You don’t sound too happy about leaving.”
I shrug again. “Someone has to take over …” So she doesn’t sell it.
“I understand, but do you want to take it over?”
I’m silent for a few beats, contemplating how to respond. “Doesn’t matter. It’s my duty as the oldest. My middle sister’s pregnant, and she and her husband already run his family’s farm. My youngest sister has no desire to be a farmer. That leaves me.”
“There’s got to be another way.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Can you hire someone to run it? I imagine it’ll be expensive, but then you can still play hockey.”
“Maybe. Dunno if my mum will go for it. Apparently, she mentioned to my sister that maybe it was time for her to sell. It took forever to convince her to hire a couple more people when it was clear she couldn’t do as much anymore a couple years back.”
“Can’t hurt to suggest it.”
“Yeah.” It would solve multiple problems at once. I’m sure it would be expensive, but I have the money, and I wouldn’t mind spending it.
I push my chair back and snag her plate, stacking it on top of mine as I stand.
She stands, grabbing our glasses and following me over to the sink, yawning as she does.
I turn the water on so I can wash the dishes. “I got this. You go relax. You’re tired.”
“I’m fine. It’s barely seven.” She yawns again.
“Sutton.”
“Fine. Fine. I am tired. I don’t know why. I sit at a desk all day, not like I have a super active job or lifestyle.”
I glance at her over my shoulder, my gaze dropping to her stomach. Damn, I wish I could see if she’s showing yet. The idea of Sutton with a pregnant belly makes me hard. I want her. So very bad. I force myself to think about something other than her pregnant belly.
“You’re growing a human, that’s why you’re tired. I’ll finish up here. You go put your feet up and relax.”
She’s silent for a few beats, watching me. “Okay, but don’t think this conversation about you leaving to go be a farmer is over.”
“Would it make you feel better if I text my sister and ask her thoughts about hiring someone?”
“Yes.” She nods.
I shut the water off and wipe my hands on a towel before grabbing my phone to text Harriet. I hit Send and then go back to the dishes.
“Now you go sit down.”
“Okay,” she says before turning and leaving the room.
As I scrub the dishes, I start a mental to-do list of all the things I’ll need to take care of over the next few weeks to organize this wedding. Including buying Sutton a ring. I know it’s fake, but to the world it needs to seem real, which means I need to get her a ring.
A few minutes later, dishes done, I shut the water off and wipe my hands on a towel.
I hope this isn’t a huge mistake. I hope one or both of us don’t end up with our hearts broken when this is all over, because the last thing I want to do is hurt Sutton. She’s already endured enough of that from her family. She doesn’t need it from me.
And I need to remember this is fake, and it’s not forever. So I don’t get my heart broken either.