Chapter 39 Rosie
The landscape between Connecticut and New York City blurs outside the train window, a rush of late winter-gray skies and snow-dusted trees that meld together into nothing but white.
It’s usually a view that I enjoy, especially since spring is coming soon, but today it all feels so… sad.
It’s Monday morning, the day that I officially sign the divorce papers to end my marriage to Boone, and Cain files the delivery to seal the deal.
“Are you okay?” Cain asks me. His tone is casual, but the way his eyes are watching me carefully says he’s paying closer attention than he lets on.
He’s been seated next to me in the train car for the past two hours, flipping through a case file and making notes, but that’s since been discarded and his attention is fully focused on me now.
I nod, fiddling with the strap of my bag. “Yeah. I just… needed this weekend to process everything.”
“And were you able to?”
That’s a good question. Yes. No. Maybe?
Boone hurt me when he went off script. Not because I don’t believe he meant what he said, but because I hate being caught off guard. I hate feeling unprepared. Exposed. Embarrassed.
We had a plan, and he took it to the left. Suddenly the plan went from me being his innocent wife who wanted him to retire, to the angry and unhappy wife.
And maybe I shouldn’t have let the PR team run with that story once I knew the truth about what really happened between him and Anastasia.
But after Brookhaven, we talked about it privately.
I told him we could change the narrative.
Do something different than the tired version of he wants to keep playing the sport he loves, and I want him to retire and start a family.
Boone said it was fine. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. He conceded.
And now I can’t stop wondering how much of that was genuinely what he wanted, and how much of it was him trying to make things easier for me and my promotion. Trying to keep the peace. Trying not to disappoint me.
That uncertainty worms its way in deep, making me doubt myself. Making me question his honesty in other places, even when I don’t want to.
And somehow, worse than all of that, he chose that moment to tell me he loved me for the first time.
The worst possible moment.
Maybe that means there’s still more for me to unpack. More for me to sort through because despite all that, I know without a doubt that Boone didn’t mean to hurt me.
“I’m not sure.”
“Fair enough,” he says, giving a small nod before turning back to his paperwork.
The rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence, the hum of the train a constant background to my thoughts.
When the brakes squeal and the train doors hiss open at our stop in Manhattan, Cain stands, stepping aside to let me out first. But before we can walk off, he reaches out and gently spins me toward him, his expression uncharacteristically serious.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, his voice low. “I know we don’t, uh, talk a lot about feelings and all that, but is everything okay with Boone? I saw what went down Friday. I heard he went off script. Rhiannon said he texted her in a panic about what to do to make things right with you.”
I plaster on a practiced smile and wave it off like it’s nothing. “Yeah, he just caught me off guard. But the news still ate up the story, and the PR team’s photo is trending, so it’s all working out.”
Cain studies me for a moment longer, his mouth pressing into a thin line as if debating whether to push further. He doesn’t. Instead, he nods and gestures toward the exit.
The air outside is crisp and biting, our breaths visible as we make the short walk to the office. Snow crunches underfoot of my boots, and the streets shimmer with a fresh dusting from the night before.
I’m ready for spring to arrive in the city. I’m ready for a fresh beginning. Isn’t this how winter always feels? It’s nice at the beginning, but eventually you just want the scent of fresh rain in the air to fill your lungs and greenery.
We ride up the elevator to our offices in silence, the weight of the day settling heavily on my shoulders. When we reach the top floor, Cain veers off toward his office with a quick, “See you later,” while I shrug out of my coat and head to mine.
But the moment I open my office door I freeze because I’m not alone in here like I usually am on a Monday morning.
My dad and four senior partners from the firm are standing there, all wearing shiny plastic “You did it!” hats, their grins brighter than the sun struggling to peak through the clouds outside.
“Congratulations!” they shout in unison, their voices echoing through the otherwise empty office floor.
“Congrats, baby girl!” my dad booms, his voice carrying as it always does. His energy fills the room, radiating pride as he stands at the center of the celebration with a big smile on his tired face.
I blink, surprised by the sight of a chocolate cake from my favorite bakery perched atop my desk, flanked by neatly wrapped gifts topped with bows. And is that… lumpia and pancit from my favorite place in Brooklyn?
Dammit. Just seeing that reminds me of Boone, and now I want to cry all over again.
My dad is holding a bottle of champagne, and Dierks, my fellow junior partner I’ve been working alongside for years, steps forward with a smile and a champagne flute.
“Congrats. Well deserved.”
Which is saying a lot coming from a guy who hates celebrations.
I take it, a real smile breaking across my face for the first time in days. There are tears there too, some for this, and some because all I want to do is text Boone the good news.
I straighten my shoulders and wipe at my cheeks. “Thank you.”
Because despite the storm in my personal life, this moment is mine.
And it’s not just because I married a professional hockey player to fix his reputation.
Or because I conceded to all my father’s demands.
Fake marriage or not, I’ve worked my ass off for this firm for years.
I’ve taken the toughest cases, won the most in court even beating out Cain’s record this past year.
I deserve this. And no one or no thing can be attributed to my success but me and my perseverance. And that’s something that I’ll always be proud of.
My dad raises his glass, his face softening as he clears his throat. The room quiets, and all eyes turn to focus on him.
“Listen up, everyone,” he begins, his voice filled with pride.
“Rosie joined this firm fresh out of college four years ago, eager and hungry to prove herself. And boy, has she done just that. She’s not just a powerhouse in the courtroom.
Her research skills are unmatched, and she tackles every challenge, no matter how unconventional, with grace and grit.
She’s the reason for so much of our success.
Hell, she’s the future of this firm. A rising star who keeps us all on our toes and ensures we stay at the top of our game.
” His voice wavers slightly as his eyes meet mine, full of warmth.
“Rosie, I’m so damn proud of you. Everything you’ve done, everything you’ve become is worthy of celebration. I love you so much and I’m proud to be your father.”
And now I’m crying real tears because those are the kindest and most genuine words that I’ve ever heard my father say about me.
The room bursts into applause, and for a moment, the chaos of my life fades into the background.
Because here, in this moment, I’m not the woman untangling a fake marriage or trying to sort out her very strong, very real feelings for the hockey player she intentionally married and accidentally fell in love with.
I’m just Rosie—fierce, determined, and finally getting the recognition I’ve worked so hard for.
Tears blur my vision as I meet my father’s gaze, seeing the same shimmer of emotion in his eyes.
Despite the ways he’s been hard on me for twenty-nine years—yes, even pushing me to marry Boone as a contingency to secure my promotion—I know it all came from a place of love and care for me and my brother’s future.
He’s always known, even when I didn’t, that I couldn’t rely on anyone but myself to build my career. I had to fight for it, claw for it, and prove myself every step of the way in this industry.
And I did. And one day, this firm will be ours and everything he's put into it will be worth the sacrifice.
That’s what makes this moment even sweeter. Because in the process my dad unknowingly introduced me to the love of my life. The one man I want to see right now.
The only one I want to celebrate this milestone with.
I smile through the lingering tears, raising my mimosa to acknowledge the voices around me offering congratulations. The warmth of their supportive words fills the space as I take a bite of my cake then begin unwrapping the gifts they’ve brought.
A personalized mug with Senior Partner of Prescott & Associates emblazoned in bold letters.
An expensive lipstick in my favorite shade, courtesy of Martha, my father’s admin, who’s always compliments me on it.
And a pair of fluffy slippers from Dierks for me to slide into during long days between court appearances. I raise a brow, and he shakes his head. “I had no idea what to get you, so I asked my daughter to pick something out.”
I smile. It’s all so intentional, so kind, and it makes my chest ache with gratitude.
In this moment, I feel seen, valued, and celebrated.
For all I’ve accomplished, for all I’ve given to this firm.
I know one thing for certain, no matter what happens in the future between Boone and I, I’ll never give up my career.
I’m good at what I do, and I enjoy it. It's something that’ll always be entirely mine.
As the crowd filters out of my office, heading to attend to clients who are waking up and suits now that the courts are open, it leaves just Cain, my father, and me behind.
Cain approaches with a grin on his face. He pulls me into a hug, his voice dropping to a low, sincere whisper.
“Congrats, Rosie,” he says. “You deserve this promotion. And you also deserve to feel loved, respected, and truly known. Don’t forget that later today, okay?”
I pull back slightly, searching his eyes, wondering if there’s more to his words than what he’s saying. It feels like a nudge, a message, a gentle warning of what's to come.
“Thanks, Cain,” I say softly.
He gives me a final smile and heads for the door, leaving me with my dad.
“Okay, Dad,” I say, turning to him with a raised brow. “I don’t think you’ve ever thrown a surprise party for a promotion. What’s the catch?”
He grins, a mischievous twinkle lighting his expression. “I’m sending you to Los Angeles for a bit.”
I blink, surprised. I assumed now that things were finished with Boone’s case my father would have some new, wild assignment but not this.
“Los Angeles? For how long?”
“Three months.”
“T—three months?” I stammer, my voice rising.
He nods, completely unfazed by my reaction. “New client. Another NHL hockey player for the team out there. Apparently, our work with Boone Tremblay stirred up some interest, and this guy needs serious help. Legal, PR, the whole package. I told him we could handle it.”
I nod slowly, processing this news. This is my dad’s latest project—combining legal services with PR solutions, creating a seamless funnel that brings more money and clients to the firm.
And I get it. I really do. It’s great for the firm, and even better now that we’ve officially stepped into sports law.
I just wish it wasn't me going.
“Okay,” I say finally.
He smiles approvingly, handing me a thick case file. “That’s my girl. All the details are in there.”
He steps back but pauses in the doorway, turning to add, “Oh, and on top of that file is the divorce paperwork I need you to sign for Boone Tremblay. Sign it and drop it off with Cain before your flight leaves in an hour. He'll have everything finalized by the end of the day.”
“An hour?” I nearly choke on my champagne, coughing as I set the glass down on my desk.
“Yup. They need you out there immediately. Ask Dierks to go to your apartment to pack up your bags. He can have them shipped out right behind you, okay?”
I know Dierks will hate that. He’s a junior partner, not an intern. And someone who’s been busting his ass off just as much as me.
I nod, still in shock by how quickly he wants me to move. “Okay…”
He smiles. “See you in a couple months. Check in with me when you touch down.”
When he’s gone my fingers immediately fly to the crisp pages of the divorce paperwork on top of the file.
This morning, I’d thought I’d see Boone this afternoon at the signing. I thought I’d have the chance to look him in the eye one last time before legally ending everything we’d built. I wanted to confirm in person that what he said was true despite his horrible timing.
But now, that moment has been snatched away, along with our plans to visit Canada next weekend.
Sure, I could push back, tell my dad I can’t go to Los Angeles or work on this case. But this is how things work here. We move when the firm needs us to, from coast to coast, building our client base and expanding our reach. It’s always temporary. I’ll be back eventually.
Everything is temporary…
I tell myself I’ll be back. That maybe, after three months apart, Boone’s feelings will still be there. Maybe we can figure out what comes next for us.
But then I shake my head, feeling foolish. His season ends in three months, which means this will be his busiest time of the year too. He won’t have time to fly to the west coast and visit me. He wouldn’t have time for us even if I were here.
Realizing there’s no use dwelling on it now, I tuck the paperwork into my briefcase, grab my coffee, and stand. I know I’m supposed to sign these papers before I leave, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Not now. I'm not ready for things to be over. I’m not ready to give up on Boone.
I want to be his wife just a little bit longer.
With a deep breath, I head out the door, letting the decision hang in the air like a question that I’m not ready to answer.