Chapter 8
Seated on the wooden bench beside me, Mikey Cruz laces up his skates and bumps me with his elbow. “Sheridan, how’s married life treating you?”
The locker room erupts in laughter, and I resist the urge to throw my dirty socks at him.
We’re in Ottawa for an away game against the Outlaws, and apparently, my teammates have decided that my accidental marriage is the most entertaining thing to happen to the Knights all season.
“Must be nice having someone to come home to,” Clark Culpepper, left forward, chimes in, grinning like I discovered the secret to the universe.
Jack, our center, says, “No more lonely freezer dinners.”
Hayden Savage adds, “I bet Nina showers you with fresh pastries and bread day and night. Living the dream, man.”
“It’s not like that,” I mutter, focusing intently on taping my stick. “It’s been less than a week and we were married by a hypnotist. At best, it’s—”
“If you’re going to tell us it’s complicated, forget it. Love is the most straightforward thing there is,” Pierre Arsenault says simply and somewhat aggressively.
Several guys nod like he just dispensed profound wisdom. After everything that went down with Xoe, I beg to differ.
She told me she loved me. I replied in kind. But whatever is going on between Nina and me, as fast as it’s happening, feels different.
“Being back in your homeland must be going to your head,” I mutter since Pierre is originally from Montreal.
Then I recall that many of them are married and whether they’re Cobbiton locals or not, they’ve adopted the town and its inhabitants, Nina included, as their own.
That means they’ll be protective of her, especially since it appears she’s good friends with many of their wives, fiancées, and girlfriends.
“Did you see the video?” Fletch asks, pulling his jersey over his head.
“Who didn’t see it? We were there in person.” Liam scrunches up his face.
Fletch shrugs. “I may have been distracted.”
Someone coughs, and I hear the distinct name “Bree” amidst the mock-hacking. I’ve gathered that she is Fletch’s wife and that they had something of a mail-order marriage, which I didn’t know existed in the modern day.
Redd says, “You two looked like you were meant for each other. Very romantic.”
“Very hypnotized,” I correct.
“Same thing,” Grady Federer laughs.
Penguin, one of the third-string players, says, “My wife says the best relationships start with altered states of consciousness. I’m convinced that’s why she married me after I suffered that concussion when I still played in college. Claims she doesn’t regret it either.”
The entire room cracks up, and even I have to admit that’s actually funny.
“All right, lover boys,” Coach Badaszek’s voice cuts through the chatter as he sticks his head into the locker room. “Save the relationship gossip for after you kick butt and take names. We have a game to win.”
The mood shifts immediately. We’re here to whoop Ottawa, and they’ve been having a good season. Now is not the time to discuss what happened on New Year’s Eve. I’m only a few games in after my injury, and I have to show up and show out.
Team captain Liam Ellis gives us an inspired, if not amusing, pep talk.
The guy is known as being quiet and moody.
I expect a straightforward inspirational word or two.
However, stone-faced, he tells dad jokes and encourages us to light up the ice like we’re in a musical.
If nothing else, this makes us smile, which is better than being told we suck and we’d better prove him wrong.
It’s different from what I’m used to and I can’t say I hate it.
The period one setup has Jack, Redd, and me up front on the line, Pierre and Liam on defense, and Beau in the box to keep out the puck. This is exactly the kind of game I need to prove I’m still elite-level material.
Except I’m not.
Forty minutes later, we’re down three to one, and I’ve managed exactly zero points and two minor penalties. My timing is off, my passes are sloppy, and every time I try to dig deep for fifth gear, my shoulder reminds me that it’s held together with surgical screws and stubborn hope.
The final period serves up a game loss. Womp. Womp.
The flight back to Omaha is subdued. Nobody makes jokes about my marriage now. Losing has a way of putting things in perspective despite Liam’s best efforts to get us in the fighting spirit.
I spend the next few hours staring out the window, thinking about Nina. I’ve been on the road for the better part of the week at away games, and it feels like forever since our meeting at the bakery, followed by a jacuzzi soak.
In addition to thinking about how nicely she filled in her blue bathing suit with the flattering rise and fall of curves, I keep replaying our conversation.
How she looked when she told me about the promise to her father—and that he’s Viggo Bruun, a legendary player from back in the day.
Vulnerability peppered her voice when she explained why she can’t trust hockey players.
That’s a belief I have a wild urge to prove wrong.
But also, the way her lips betrayed a smile when I said I wasn’t my father. The way she showed me around the Busy Bee, her happy place. The photo strip from New Year’s Eve that proves we had a connection before hypnosis and the subsequent vows exchanged.
I’ve been giving us space to think, as we agreed. But the more I think, the more confused I get. Logically, this whole situation is absurd. You don’t build a relationship on an accidental marriage and a dance that was over in a heartbeat.
But the way she made my pulse race …
If I let myself so much as entertain our New Year’s Eve ball drop kiss at midnight, all logic goes out the window.
How she felt so perfect in my arms.
Maybe my sister and I aren’t as different as I thought.
Could it be that I’m more impulsive than I allowed myself to believe?
I’m still waiting to hear from Desi and could use an objective party to talk to about this situation.
Someone so far on the outside that they can come with a fresh perspective.
Then again, my sister is anything but rational.
You say, Left. She goes right. You say, Don’t feed the pelican and she’s sharing her shave ice and taking a selfie with it. That happened last time I visited her in Hawaii. Was that already six years ago? Seven?
If I told her about this whole situation, she’d tell me to flee the country … or run with it and see what happens. I can never be too sure because the woman is the epitome of a loose cannon, a wild card.
The thing is, I was late meeting Nina at the bakery because Desi had something important to tell me that I needed to be “sitting down” for.
When I called her back, she didn’t answer.
Classic Desi—create drama, then disappear when it’s time to actually deal with it.
Usually to a different state … or state of mind.
I love my sister, but she’s been a molten hot mess since Mom died. Hawaii, California, Colorado—wherever the wind blows and whatever guy promises her a new adventure. She means well, mostly, but responsibility and reason have never been her strong suit.
In fact, she reminds me a lot of the way Nina described her mother … could it be true that she and our dad were together? This seems like something to talk to Lou Chen, the team psych, about. Too bad he isn’t on board the flight.
After we land, my phone buzzes with a text from my lawyer.
Brad: Checking to see if you got my email earlier this week. Marriage is definitely legal. As discussed, annulment would be difficult to prove. Call me when you’re ready to discuss options.
Options. Right. As if I have any idea what I want those options to be.
It’s late afternoon when I finally make it back to my condo in Omaha. All I want is a shower, some pizza, and no less than twelve hours of sleep before practice tomorrow.
Instead, I find a kid sitting cross-legged outside my door.
“Uncle Lane!” The boy jumps up as I approach.
It takes me a moment to recognize him. My jaw all but hits the ground floor at the sight of Kai, Desi’s son.
I haven’t seen him in years—since the only way to do so is track down my sister like a “Where’s Waldo” scene and book a flight.
He must be ten now, tan like his mother doesn’t bother with sunblock, and has grown a couple of feet.
However, there’s no mistaking that he has our father’s eyes—watchful and intentional. Old eyes for such a little guy.
“Kai?” I set down my gear bag, confused. “What are you doing here? Where’s your mom?”
“Desiree said she called you,” he says, using his mother’s full name instead of calling her mom. That’s unusual and not exactly promising.
“She left me a voicemail the other day. Said she had something important to tell me and that I needed to be sitting down.” My stomach drops. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” Kai says, hefting a backpack that looks almost as big as he is.
I fumble for my keys, my thoughts racing. No sense in discussing this in the hall. In fact, a chair seems like a great idea right now. I flick on the entryway light.
Kai steps inside and looks around. “She sent me on a permanent vacation. But this isn’t exactly the Ritz.”
“That’s dramatic, even for your mom. What do you mean, permanent vacation?”
“She said you’re my new dad now.” Kai’s voice is matter-of-fact, like he’s delivering the weather forecast.
I nearly trip over my shoes as I toe them off. “I’m your uncle, Kai.”
“I’m supposed to live with you. Custody papers are here,” he says, pulling a manila envelope from his backpack like he’s following instructions.
My eyes bulge.
“Desiree said I was too much trouble.” His voice is small yet defiant, as if he wants to prove that he’s tough.
A cold and angry sensation pierces my chest. But he’s just a kid. Thinking on my feet, I ask, “Were you too much trouble?”