Chapter 20 Boone
“You ready?” Cain asks me, his voice all business as he adjusts his three-piece suit.
His dark hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing glasses I’ve never seen him wear before. I guess this is the lawyer version of him. The guy who’s here to help me get my life and career back on track. It’s a strange thing to realize he’s also my brother-in-law now.
I nod, tugging at the knot of my tie. “Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”
We head into the courthouse, and I try to ignore how stiff and formal I feel. It’s not like wearing a suit is foreign to me—post-game interviews usually call for one—but today, standing in front of a judge instead of a camera for an interview, it feels different.
It feels... wrong. Like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. I'm not the bad guy this judge thinks that I am, and I guess that's the whole point of everything Rosie and I are doing. To prove that to him and the rest of the world.
The press conference we left Brookhaven for on Saturday went better than I expected. There were a handful of reporters, a few questions tossed my way about the open case and what happened that night at the bar where the photo was taken.
It wasn’t technically a legal interview, and I wasn’t under oath, but I answered honestly. I said what actually happened, and why that photo looked as bad as it did.
After I finished my portion, the attention shifted to Lochlan and Ty who were called in for support. Thankfully, they spoke about my leadership on the team and the way I carry myself off the ice being the same.
It was essentially a proactive character witness moment ahead of today’s hearing. And when we left, Cain told me it was exactly what he’d hoped for going into this meeting today. I just wished Rosie had been present.
I fucking miss her.
“Boone Tremblay!” the judge’s voice booms. We’re the only ones in here today so there’s a little less pressure, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the feeling of being in trouble.
I step forward.
“Present sir.”
He smiles. “You going to bring home another Stanley for us this season?”
“Trying, sir.”
He nods. “Good. Now let’s talk about the trouble that you’re in.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re back on the sidewalk outside of the circuit court. The snow is starting to fall again and there are soft flakes swirling around us in the cold February air.
“That went great,” Cain says, pulling out his phone to fire off a few texts without even glancing my way.
“Did it?” I ask, skeptical. The hearing was way shorter than I’d expected, and though the judge seemed supportive, I had a hard time reading him.
Cain nods, still typing. “Yeah. Your final appearance is scheduled for three weeks from now. We’ll get this case dropped, no problem. Should be easy. Just keep your nose clean during these next games, alright? Don't get knocked back in the sin bin. I need you on your best behavior.”
I roll my shoulders, already tired of being told what to do. “Sure thing, boss.”
He spins on his heel without another word, striding off down the street like he’s already got five more clients to save before lunch.
I wonder if this is how Rosie feels when she's working. She certainly has Cain's mannerisms and professional demeanor, but now that I've held her in my arms, I know inside she's softer than she illustrates to the outside world.
I stuff my hands into my coat pockets and pull out my phone. Another text message from the group text I have with my brother’s.
Levi: I’m coming to your next home game to meet your wife.
Seth: I still can’t believe he’s married. This must be some sort of joke.
Levi: Boone, what do you have over her? How much did you pay her?
Seth: Does mom know?
I roll my eyes.
Boone: Fuck off and yes, mom knows. She can’t wait to meet her new daughter-in-law.
Levi: Call us soon, asshole.
Game day is Wednesday, which means there’s no practice today. Coach is giving us some slack to stay limber; he’s been all about preservation now that the tournament is creeping up in April. Especially for “old men” like me, as he so kindly puts it.
With no meetings, sponsorship obligations, or management calls on my calendar, I decide to take a walk around the city. Clear my head. Maybe unpack the weekend bag that I’d packed for Brookhaven but didn’t end up needing.
And then I’ll figure out what the hell I’m going to say to Rosie when she gets home tonight. Because it’ll be the first time I’ve seen her since that night. The night.
My breath fogs in the icy air as I shove my collar higher around my neck, trying to shield myself from both the cold and any unwanted recognition.
After a block of walking and no coherent thoughts, I pause to pull out my phone to text her. Because there’s no way I’m going to get her off my mind.
Boone: Court went great. Cain thinks he’ll get me off the hook in three weeks. When will you be home tonight?
Home.
That’s what her apartment feels like to me now. It’s ridiculous, really. Temporary, sure, but it’s still the closest thing to home I’ve felt in years.
The thought twists something in my chest. Maybe she doesn’t see it that way. Maybe she doesn’t want it to feel like that.
I watch as the message goes to “read” but no reply comes. She’s probably in court or busy. I tell myself not to overthink it, but I still feel the weight of the silence.
With a sigh, I punch in another number and wait as it rings.
“Hey, Mom,” I say when she picks up.
“Boone!” My mom’s voice is bright and warm, the way it always is when she answers my calls.
“How are you?”
“Good, good. How’s married life treating you?”
I shake my head, smiling even though she can’t see me. Despite strict instructions to keep the truth of my “marriage” within the legal and PR bubble, I told my mom the truth and swore her to secrecy.
Breaking a few rules is part of who I am, but keeping secrets from my mom? Never.
Besides, I couldn’t pretend to marry a woman without her blessing. And the more time that I spend around Rosie, I realize that if I ever married a woman for real, it’d be one like her.
That thought has my brain stuttering for a second before I respond.
“Good,” I reply. “Rosie’s good.”
I hear her smile through the phone. “That’s wonderful. When are you bringing her home to Alberta so I can meet her?”
“Don’t know about that one, Mama.”
She laughs, a warm, teasing sound. “But you’re considering it? I had a feeling you might.”
She knows me well enough to know that I’ve already imagined what it’d be like to have Rosie see where I grew up. To show her the places where I learned how to skate and play hockey.
“She’s… surprised me.”
“And I bet your feelings for her have surprised you too?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“And do you think that she’s surprised by the man you are?”
“I… I hope so.”
There’s a pause, just long enough for her next words to hit deep. “I’m proud of you.”
Those five words always undo me. No matter how old I get, or how many accolades and trophies I collect, hearing my mom say she’s proud of me feels like a balm on the parts of me that are still chasing attention and approval.
It’s why I’ve loved having her in the crowd in the past, and why I’ve been on fire in every game Rosie’s attended court side.
She brings out something in me, something that makes me feel like I'm performing for family. Reigniting my love for the sport and wanting to keep her attention and earn her pride.
I clear my throat, pushing past the sudden tightness there. “Love you a lot, Mom. I’ll get home soon. Only a few more weeks until the tournament finishes, then we’re in the off-season. I’m planning to spend most of it in Canada.”
“Can’t wait,” she says.
We say our goodbyes, and I pocket my phone, intending to head straight back to the apartment to unpack. But something stops me in my tracks.
It’s a jewelry store that I’ve walked past a hundred times without a second glance until today. The window display has expensive, red and pink colored glass hearts hanging from the ceiling and the phrase True Love Doesn’t Wait! printed in script like an omen.
I stand there for a moment, the snow swirling around me, debating what to do. Maybe I shouldn’t do this. It’s all for show, right? None of it is real to her even if I want it to be.
But if Rosie’s stuck wearing a ring she hates for two more months, she might as well have one that she actually likes. Something that feels like her. Something from her husband.
Before I can second-guess my decision, I step inside the warm store. I’m greeted immediately and it only takes ten minutes to find it—the one that screams Rosie.
It’s simple, elegant, and a light pink diamond with white diamonds surrounding it. It isn’t the gaudy, classic, basic cut that her father had chosen, but it’s priceless and worthy to be worn by her.
As the cashier boxes it up, I try not to think too hard about how she’ll react when I give it to her.
I just hope she likes it.
◆◆◆
The rest of the afternoon and evening passes in a blur. Errands. Groceries. Laundry. A shower. By the time I hear the front door to Rosie’s apartment open and close, I’ve gone over a thousand different ways to bring up the ring I bought without freaking her out.
But then I hear it—There are two voices in my living room, not one.
One of them is Rosie’s, soft, warm and familiar. And the other’s is the deep voice of a man that I don’t recognize.
My stomach knots as I freeze by the door, trying to catch what’s being said.
“Well, that went better than we expected.”
I hear Rosie laugh, her tone easy and light. “Yeah, it’s always nice when things work out like that.”
“I’ll have one of my interns type up my notes and send over for your review later tonight. Do you want me to call his agent and let him know that we got the charges dropped?”
“That sounds good. Then we can come up with our plan for the Paris case.”
The sound of her voice pulls me closer to the doorway, but before I can fully piece together what’s happening, I hear the fridge door open. That wasn’t part of the plan.
There’s a pause, then a hesitant, “Um…” from Rosie.
Dammit. She wasn’t supposed to find what I left in the fridge.
The door closes softly, and her voice falters, losing that breezy confidence from earlier.
“You know what Dierks, maybe tonight isn’t the best time to discuss the Paris brief.”
“No problem. I have a dinner reservation booked for eight o’clock anyway. We can regroup tomorrow morning at the office.”
“You still go to that steakhouse ever week?”
Dierks chuckles easily. “Wouldn’t miss it. You’ve got to try their steak.”
Over my dead fucking body is she having dinner with this guy.
“Ah, yeah,” she says, fumbling now. “I’ll have to try that sometime.”
The hell she will unless it’s with me.
I hear some shuffling around like the guy’s picking up his briefcase and moving to the door and then it opens. “See ya tomorrow.”
And the door shuts. As soon as it closes, I’m out of my bedroom like a bull charging into the ring.
“Shit, Boone, you scared me!” Rosie clutches her chest, staring at me wide-eyed from where she’s standing in her small kitchen.
“Figured you knew I was here after you saw the fridge.” My tone is dry.
She shakes her head, still trying to catch her breath. “No, I thought you’d been here, but I didn’t know that you were eaves dropping on my private conversation.”
Her hands fall to her hips, her glare meeting mine head-on. I hold my ground, matching her stare. Apologizing is not on the table right now when there’s a chance she’s going to dinner with that guy and I’m feeling wildly possessive and jealous.
When was the last time we had dinner together? Oh, this past weekend in Brookhaven. Well, it’s been too damn long and I’m feeling needy.
“Who was that?”
“One of the other junior partners at my firm,” she says, her tone clipped.
“You have a lot of those?”
Her brow arches as she crosses to the counter, reaching for a bottle of wine and a glass. She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she pops the cork and takes her time pouring herself a generous serving.
The flicker of jealousy I felt earlier starts to deepen.
She lifts the glass to her lips, studying me with those sharp, intelligent eyes. I study her right back, taking my time to let her feel the way my eyes travel over every curve of her body.
She’s dressed to kill in a navy pencil skirt and a matching, fitted top under a tailored blazer. The shirt is low-cut, just sheer enough that I can see the faint outline of her black bra covering nipples I know are straining through the fabric.
The whole outfit screams business, but on her, it’s sexy. It always is. Rosie could wear a garbage bag and still look stunning.
“Dierks and I are working on a case together. I invited him back here so that we could go over the notes from court today and plan for what’s next. My apartment was closer than his. It was a matter of convenience.”
A matter of convenience.
I hate that response. A grave reminder that this marriage we’re in is also a ‘matter of convenience.’
But it’s still her apartment, and I know I don’t get to tell her that I’d rather she never brings another man home again. Not one who isn’t me at least.
She steps closer. “Were you upset that he came back here?”
“Yes,” I respond so fast that her brown eyes widen in surprise. “I have something for you.” No backing out now.
She sets her glass of wine down on the counter. “I have something for you too.”
That catches me off guard. The ring that’s in my pocket feels like it’s burning a hole straight through the fabric.
It’s been taunting me since I bought it, whispering that I’m a fool for doing something so impulsive when she hasn’t given any sign that she likes me more than as a client and temporary roommate.
“Does your gift have something to do with food?” I ask. I sure as hell hope not—I’ve already stocked the fridge with a three-course meal from her favorite restaurant in Brooklyn. Lumpia, pancit, the works.
She shakes her head again and steps closer, her heels clicking softly on the floor until she’s standing right in front of me. Then, without warning, she drops to her knees.
I freeze, my brain short-circuiting as I stare down at her. Rosie. On her knees. Just an inch away from my cock.
And it doesn't look like she's down there tying her shoes given she’s wearing heels.
“Rosie... what the hell are you doing?” I growl.