Page 5

5

LAFRENIéRE

Dustin couldn’t even bring himself to tell his sister about Laurel. When he left Laurel’s condo, he stood in the hallway for a few moments waiting on the elevator, and he felt such abject relief fading from his shoulders. He was going to do this – leave the Coyotes – and take a job with a lot less stress on his body, more media coverage, and tackle the challenges of having a wife… and a stepchild. A stepchild that was his soon-to-be wife’s younger sister – and would be his sister-in-law … and chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’ll be,” he smiled getting out his phone. “I guess my family tree won’t branch far, will it?”

Dialing Malcolm’s number – the man answered it on the first ring.

“Well?”

“I’m getting married in the morning,” Dustin began and then let out a little laugh. “Can you send me some information on the area and what you found? And I’ll need documents rushed, find out when they are going to announce the team, and…”

“Yes, yes. I’ll handle what I can and send it to you to look at it. Let me get the contract signed tonight, and then I’ll flood your email box tomorrow with information.”

“Sounds good.”

“You did the right thing,” Malcolm said openly, but at that moment, for a brief flash, he saw Laurel’s devastated expression.

“I hope so,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure how the coach is going to take it, but…”

“They’ll cut you,” Malcolm volunteered. “I’ve seen it repeatedly. They’ll cut you the moment they find out, so if I were you? I’d start packing and parlaaay-vousing some el-francaise, my boy.”

“You know that’s not French,” he chuckled. “And I know some from working with Batiste and Thierry over the years. I think I’ll be able to manage.”

“And your bride?”

“Huh?”

“It’s not just you now – the team will pay for language classes for your bride, and, I guess, anyone else you need. If her family is relocating with her, then we’ll ask for an allotment to cover everyone. They are being very generous with their offer, and I think you did the right thing. You’ll love the Wolverines.”

T he words echoed in Dustin’s head, over and over, like a bell tolling in the distance—final, inescapable. He stood in the sterile, impersonal office of the Justice of the Peace, his voice steady as he repeated vows he’d never once imagined saying.

Not like this.

Not to her .

Laurel Evans… was now Lafreniére .

She had been off-limits in every possible way. From the moment he turned sixteen, he had avoided her like his life depended on it. The way she looked at him back then—soft, searching, expectant—had made something inside him uneasy. He hadn’t understood it, hadn’t wanted to. So, he stayed away, dodging every lingering glance, every invitation to linger in her orbit, until the day he packed up and left for college.

Distance had been his safety net.But now, there was no escaping her. She was standing beside him, silent, stiff, her hand limp in his - clammy.

Dustin turned his head, searching her face, and a frown pulled at his lips. Where was the girl he remembered? The one with those big hazel eyes full of light, the one who laughed too easily, who had been so devoted to his sister, Madeline, that she had practically become family?

The woman next to him now looked like a shadow of that girl. She wasn’t glowing—she was pale. She wasn’t smiling—her lips were pressed into a tight, worried line. And her eyes? They held no warmth, no spark, just a glassy, dazed sort of detachment as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down at something dark and bottomless.

He had seen players who lost a championship with that same devastated expression that screamed, ‘ Why did we even bother ?’.

“Mr. Lafreniére, you may kiss your bride.”

The words blindsided him.

Dustin jerked slightly as if someone had slapped him across the face. His stomach twisted. The idea of kissing Laurel—it shouldn’t have rattled him. He had no problem with what they were doing, but somehow, this felt... wrong . Like he was stealing something from her, something sacred.

Laurel must have sensed his hesitation because she let out a breath—one that sounded more like an empty surrender than obvious relief.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, her voice flat, drained. If she had muttered an “oh, bother,” she could have been the living embodiment of Eeyore.

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could speak.

“I’ve got the… I’m sick .”

The lie was so obvious it nearly made him flinch.

“Oh,” Dustin murmured, glancing at the magistrate, who looked just as perplexed as he felt. He nodded, clearing his throat. “She’s not feeling well. Thank you for this.”

The older woman behind the desk peered at Laurel with concern. “You should get her home—some tea or chicken broth might help, dear. You look like you’re about to drop.”

“I feel that way,” Laurel admitted softly.

That wasn’t a lie.

She was swaying slightly, and instinct took over. Dustin reached for her, his hand curling gently around her arm, steadying her as they stepped outside.

“You should have told me you were sick,” he murmured, keeping his voice low, calm. “I wouldn’t have?—”

“I’m not.”

She pulled her arm from his grasp, the movement small but decisive. Cold air filled the space between them, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from feeling the weight of what she said next.

“And you’re welcome.”

Dustin blinked. “For what?”

“For lying so you don’t have to kiss me.”

The words landed like a punch to the gut.

He faltered for a second, completely thrown. By the time his feet started working again, she had already taken several quick steps toward his car, putting distance between them like she couldn’t get away fast enough.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

Sure, he hadn’t expected romance or fireworks, but he had thought—hoped, even—that they would at least smile at each other. That there would be some mutual understanding, some moment of recognition that they were doing this for the right reasons.

Instead, Laurel looked sick.

Shattered.

And the worst part?

He felt it, too.

For the first time in his life, Dustin wondered if he had made a terrible mistake—not because he regretted stepping up, not because he doubted his ability to take care of her and Kendall—but because he had never seen anyone look as heartbroken as Laurel did right now.

And that, more than anything, made him question everything .

T hree days later, Malcolm’s words proved true.

Like clockwork, the moment news spread about his plans—along with Coeur and Boucher’s impending moves—Dustin was cut from the team. No fanfare, no second chances. Just an abrupt ending, leaving him standing on the outside, watching the only life he’d ever known slip through his fingers.

That night, as he stood at the sink brushing his teeth, his gaze lifted to the mirror. The harsh bathroom light cast shadows across his face, deepening the lines of exhaustion and uncertainty. But it wasn’t just fatigue staring back at him—it was something more hollow, something that twisted like a knife in his gut.

A haunted look. One he’d seen before.

Laurel.

The same expression had flickered across her face at the wedding, just for a second, before she’d masked it. He hadn’t understood it then, but now? Now, it hit him with the force of a freight train.

Heaven help him—he finally knew.

He had taken something from her. Something she loved. Something she’d built her world around. The same way he’d lost his team, his friends—his sense of belonging—she had lost hers. He could see it so clearly now. She felt untethered, lost in a sea of change she never asked for. And what had he done? He’d given her space, let her go, convinced himself it was what she needed.

But space wasn’t what she needed.

He gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles turning white. The taste of mint lingered on his tongue, but all he could feel was regret.

"I'm such an idiot," he whispered, the words heavy with realization.