Chapter 5
I wake up alone on New Year’s Day to the sound of my phone having what can only be described as a nuclear meltdown.
Buzz. Ping. Chime. Repeat.
For a moment, lying in the unfamiliar hotel bed with Las Vegas sunshine streaming through blackout curtains that aren’t doing their job, I almost convince myself that last night was a vivid and elaborate dream. The kind where I wake up laughing at how ridiculous my subconscious can be.
Moon rocks for socks? I mean, really.
Hot dog fingers? Come on.
An edible geode? You can’t make this stuff up.
Then I see the simple gold band on my left ring finger, and reality comes crashing back like a body check into the boards.
I’m married.
To a woman I met exactly once, over a three-hour span of time, most of which we spent under hypnosis.
My phone buzzes again. It pings. Chimes. I finally give in and look at it. Fifty-two missed calls. Ninety-three text messages. And notifications from social media platforms I didn’t even know I had accounts on.
The latest text is from one of my teammates.
Hudson: Dude, you’re EVERYWHERE. Nice work keeping that low profile.
The second is from my sports agent.
Vinny: Call me. NOW.
The third is from my sister.
Desi: LANE!!! Is this real?? She’s gorgeous!! Call me back or I’m showing up at your door!
I’d rather she not. My sister is a handful on the best of days.
I scroll through more messages, each one making my stomach sink further.
Someone posted the video of our “ceremony,” and apparently, the internet has decided it’s the most romantic thing they’ve ever seen.
There are already memes. People are calling Nina my “true love” and hockey pundits are speculating about “my secret romance with my mystery bride.”
One headline reads NHL Player’s Surprise New Year’s Eve Vegas Wedding Melts Hearts across the Nation.
I scroll to another From Ice to Altar: Lane Sheridan Jr. Finds Love in Sin City. Will it last?
And my personal favorite, Like Father, Like Son: Hockey Legend’s Son Gets Lucky at Midnight Wedding.
Great. They’re dragging Dad into this now.
I click on the video that’s been shared approximately seventy-five thousand times in the last eight hours. It’s Nina and me, holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes like we’ve been in love for years instead of minutes.
The camera caught things I didn’t notice while it was happening. The way Nina’s face softened when she looked at me. The smile that spread across her features when I said, “I do.” The moment when she touched my cheek before we kissed, like she was checking if I was real.
And me ... I look completely gone. Not vacant or even hypnotized, not coerced. Just ... my brow rumples at the word that comes to mind. Smitten. That can’t be right.
I don’t get smitten. Ever since Xoe, I get cautious, suspicious. I definitely don’t get married to strangers under unusual circumstances. Or any circumstances.
Except, apparently, I do.
My phone rings, jolting me out of my video analysis—I’d much rather be watching hockey highlights. It’s from an unknown number.
“Lane?” The voice is soft, uncertain. “This is Nina. From last night. Your ... um.”
“Wife,” I finish, because apparently that’s what she is now. The word feels strange but not bad in my mouth—like trying a food for the first time that everyone loves yet somehow had never crossed my lips.
She takes a breath. “Right. That. Jack Bouchelle gave me your number. I’m friends with Ella. And, uh, he told me to congratulate you. But I was wondering if we could talk? About ... everything. I left you a voicemail earlier. I thought maybe ...”
“I haven’t listened to my voicemails yet. My phone is having a mental breakdown.”
“Me too. I mean, mine too.” There’s something comforting about the way she says it, like we’re in this together instead of just stuck with each other. Or worse, on opposing sides. I prefer playing defense on the ice and don’t need another case of public relationship fallout.
I glance at the time at the same moment a text comes in from a familiar number—my father’s assistant with flight information. There goes Dad, swooping in, literally.
Nina says, “I’ve gotten multiple interview inquiries, thousands of friend requests on social media, many more to my business website, and someone from a morning news show wants to fly out here to Nebraska to do a feature on us.”
That catches my attention. “You really live in Nebraska?”
“Cobbiton. About fifteen minutes outside Omaha. I just left Eppley. You’ve probably played at the new Knights arena, aptly called the Ice Palace.”
“Yeah. I know it.” And will become quite acquainted with it for the rest of the season.
“Where do you live?” she asks.
“Omaha. My flight leaves in an hour. This is ...” The coincidence hits me again.
What are the actual odds? I should have someone calculate this because technically, I’m still in Las Vegas.
I ought to try a slot machine. Maybe I’ll win big.
Not that I have a shortage of money. My finances are solid.
I don’t want to retire, but I could and live comfortably.
In the pause, she fills in for me, “Weird? Impossible? Like we’re living a soap opera, a B-grade movie?”
Despite everything, I almost smile. “I was going to say complicated.”
“That too.” I hear what sounds like papers rustling on her end. “Look, I know this is awkward, and I’m sure you want to get this sorted out as much as I do. Maybe we could meet somewhere and talk about our options?”
Our options. Right. Like annulment, divorce, pretending this never happened.
The smart thing would be to agree immediately, set up a meeting with lawyers present, and figure out the fastest way to undo this mess.
I have a career to salvage and a reputation to rebuild.
The last thing I need is to be tied to this kind of drama, which I’m sure my agent will scold me for in no uncertain terms, especially after everything that happened with Xoe.
But something about Nina’s voice stops me from jumping straight to dissolution. Maybe it’s the way she said “our options” instead of “how to fix this.” Like she’s not automatically assuming I’m a mistake she has to correct.
A drop pass that needs work.
A goal that I shouldn’t have missed.
A game I should’ve won.
“Where did you have in mind?” I ask.
“I was thinking neutral territory. My bakery is closed today for the holiday and it’s private. We could talk without anyone bothering us.” She pauses. “Unless you think that’s too, I don’t know, intimate?”
Intimate. The word makes me think of last night’s kiss—a memorystuck on repeat that—I’ve been trying very hard to ignore.
When our lips met, it wasn’t about being a public personality or performing for optics. It was like Nina was genuinely curious about what my mouth and hers might do. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was a perfect boyfriend prop. As my pulse raced, I remembered I had a heartbeat.
Nina’s kiss was patient, like she had nowhere else to be and nothing to prove.
Her soft warmth made me feel wanted. And the way she smiled against my mouth mid-kiss, like she was delighted by some private joke we were sharing, made me think that the depth and breadth of this woman went beyond anything I’ve ever experienced in a relationship. I instantly wanted to explore more.
But those are crazy notions. Clearly, we’ve been duped and we have to get this situation resolved as soon as possible.
I answer, “When I hear neutral territory, I think of battlefields. Just so we’re clear, we’re not at war or anything. You weren’t any more aware than me of what was going to happen last night. But yeah, let’s meet.”
She exhales like that’s a relief, gives me the address, and we set up a time to meet later.
After I hang up, I stare at my phone for a long moment. I should call my lawyer first and get professional advice before I do anything else.
Instead, I shower and prepare to leave because, contrary to popular belief, what happens in Las Vegas doesn’t stay in Las Vegas.
The team plane leaves later today, but I need out now.
My father chartered one, likely already having caught wind of what went down last night.
Thankful for the flight, I head to the private airstrip.
Flying solo today is probably better—no need to answer what will likely be dozens of questions from the guys.
Great way to start with a real bang on the new team.
It wasn’t enough that I’m the son of a legend with what should’ve been a career-ending injury, followed by a dramatic and public breakup, and a disappearing act last summer that could’ve landed me on the entertainment showcase stage last night with my own performance.
I pulled myself together for preseason training and was stuck on the injury reserve.
I thought my career was over. Then Tom Badaszek paid me a visit on Thanksgiving Day.
Turns out my old coach had put me up for auction. It was join the Knights or watch the credits roll.
Couldn’t say no, even if I’m hanging on to what I wanted to be a hall of fame finish by a thread.
Lately, I prefer to be alone, anyway. Human relationships are complicated, messy, and full of expectations and disappointments. I’ve recently realized that it’s easier to keep people at arm’s length, stay focused on hockey, and leave everything else to the edges.
The biggest lesson is not to trust anyone who might leave when things get difficult.
Like Xoe did.
The thought of my ex-fiancée hits me like the aftermath of a stubbed toe.