Page 5

CHAPTER 4

GUNNAR

Sunlight streams into the strange hotel room as Emerson and I sit on the bed, staring blankly at one another and sipping water from the smudged hotel glasses, until Brian bangs on the door and starts hollering for me to open up.

I do so, and he bursts in, shaking his head and popping Tums into his mouth. “G Stag. I saw you twelve hours ago, man.” I don’t mutter that it’s been more like sixteen. I just wince. Brian gestures at me with his bottle of antacid. “I can’t control things if you can’t stop and think before you act, kid. You’re like a damn puppy.”

“Stop and think” has always been tricky for me. As a goalie, if I stop to think, I’m fucked. I operate off instinct and fast-twitch muscles. On the ice, I’m praised for acting before I think. Off the ice, well … I do shit like anxiety-puke in the locker room sink and get married in Vegas.

Brian sinks onto the pull-out couch and presses a palm to his chest, closing his eyes. “Okay. We’re going to fix this.” He springs back to his feet and stares at Emerson. “Tell me your name and if there is anything I should know about your family.”

Emerson frowns and shares her name, then sighs and adds, “My father is the director of the New York City Symphony. He’s going to really, really hate this.” I know I don’t know her well but I sense a little bit of smug excitement at the idea of pissing off her father. I can’t relate because my parents are amazing, but I do love a good act of spite. I’m happy enough to help her with that if I remember correctly all the things she told me about him.

Brian nods and starts pacing. “I’m going to need my cleanup crew for this. When does the team fly back to Pittsburgh?” He looks at his watch. “Well, you missed that flight, G Stag.”

My heart sinks at that news. Just what I need…to be perceived as a flake right when I need to be proving myself after a huge debut loss. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Brian rolls his eyes.

My hungover brain shrinks from Brian’s volume as he moans and groans, looking shit up on his phone and hollering when he sees photos of me on social media, staggering through the casino with my arm around Emerson’s cello, which is strapped to her back. We look pretty cute together, I think. But I don’t say that out loud because I value my life and trusted it to this agent.

Emerson finishes her water, rubs her temples, and raises her hand. Brian blinks at her and then gestures for her to speak. “Um, I was just curious why this is such a bad thing? We can probably get it annulled pretty easily, right?”

Brian sits down again, this time in the chair next to my wife. “Ms. Saltzer. Emerson. You were seen.” He shows her an article from Buzz Chat , featuring a picture of us exiting the chapel with Emerson tossing a small bouquet at whoever took the photo. The headline proclaims, DID HOCKEY HEIR MARRY MUSIC ROYALTY? In another photo, I’m kissing her neck. I wish I could remember doing that and what she tasted like. I adjust myself in my seat, focusing on the sensation in my junk. I don’t think I had sex last night. I’d feel it if I had. So at least I didn’t do that while we were shitfaced.

Brian explains that he literally just signed the paperwork for me to be an ambassador for the children’s hospital, about our strategic goal of presenting me to be photographed with kids and puppies to enhance my swoon factor and let the public pressure the Fury to start me on the reg.

Brian chugs another mouthful of Tums. “You grew up at a country club, right?” She nods, looking miserable about it. “Then you know why we can’t just ignore this sort of thing.” He gestures at her with the bottle. “And now you’re the woman who took this stud off the market, so brace yourself for that backlash.”

There’s a knock at the hotel door, and Brian stands up to open it, revealing a pair of suited women wielding laptops. One appears to be East Asian, angry, and in charge, while the other has dark olive skin, deeply furrowed brows, and a couple of pencils tucked into her bun. The women nod briefly before placing their things on the hotel table, casting glances at me until I vacate the chair. Emerson follows suit, sitting beside me on the pull-out couch as Brian engages in conversation with his “cleanup crew.”

“Okay,” says Brian a few minutes later, rubbing his palms together. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

He gestures toward one of the women—the angry one—who nods and says, “It was love at first sight. Devastatingly romantic.” Her voice is utterly flat as she explains how Emerson and I knew we were destined for one another immediately.

“Like a movie. Very exciting,” her companion asserts, equally without enthusiasm. “Look at them gazing at one another. They’re insatiable.” Brian squints over her shoulder at some images on a screen–a series of social media posts with hashtags and everything.

“Gunnerson?” I look up at Brian, confused. He shrugs.

The fixers nod. “We’ve decided that’s your ship name. We’ve generated these images based on the ones already online, adjusting to bump up the palpable sexual tension between you.”

My heart skips a few beats at this spy crap. The fixers have somehow created pages and pages of comments and reactions to news of my whirlwind romance. “Holy shit, Brian. How are you doing all this?” He waves a hand at me and then snaps his attention back to his crew.

“Right.” The pencil-bun woman frowns and looks at her screen. “Emerson flew out here on a whim to audition for a new job at the Velvet Mirage when she met this guy. A romantic evening ensued, and like Lady and the Tramp, they fell ass over tits for each other.”

The bossier fixer hums. “Emerson is obviously moving to Pittsburgh with her husband. She will be center ice at the Fury season opener and be at Gunnar’s side for the children’s hospital fundraising gala, perhaps volunteering to perform. This is to be discussed.” She snaps her laptop closed and stands.

Brian sighs in relief and leans against the wall by the door. “This is why I pay top dollar for good people,” he tells the room at large. Then, he turns to me and points a thick finger in my direction. “We’re pivoting the strategy. Keep the kids, adopt the puppies this time. You are now a FAMILY MAN instead of a chick magnet. You are devastatingly romantic. You shower your wife with gifts and gestures. Get your act together, make arrangements to relocate your bride, and you’d better call your parents before they hear about this online and get insulted.” Brian hesitates, chews his gum, and points at Emerson. “Your parents will probably freak out, too.”

“They will,” she says, but doesn’t add anything further. She stares at her cello with an expression I don’t know how to classify.

I’m probably supposed to be upset by the things Brian and his team are saying right now, but it doesn’t feel like much of a lie to promise to act hot for Emerson Saltzer. But of course, we’re strangers. It’s not like she’s going to run back to my house with me and become my instant soul-mate. Without the encouragement of those blue neon drinks, things will probably feel awkward as hell. But we’ll have to smile and ignore all that, I guess.

Brian and his crew leave the room in a cloud of mint gum fumes and antacid dust.

Emerson licks her lips and stands, refilling her water glass and chugging it down before turning to me. “Sooo, this is a lot.”

I puff out a laugh. “Yes. Yes, it is.” I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and rub my temples. My head is starting to feel better, but now I’m hungry and I have to try explaining this situation to my parents, which is pretty much the only thing worse than sucking at my job on an international stage.

Emerson’s stomach growls, and I glance at her. “Let’s order room service and make a plan.”

She starts to protest and rummage around for her wallet. I sigh and grab the room phone, ordering a bunch of salads and sandwiches. I don’t know what she eats, but I’m in season and have food rules. See, I’m thinking before I act…sort of. She presses her lips together, sitting opposite me at the small hotel table.

“Okay, so I have to fly back to Pittsburgh. I’m already going to get in trouble with the team for missing the flight.” I look around. “This isn’t even my hotel room. I have to find all my shit. Did I book this room for you?” She shrugs. “Well, you can stay as long as you want.” I fish in my wallet and pull out my credit card. My signing bonus didn’t quite get me the black card, but I’ve got a credit limit that is high enough to get her to Pittsburgh in comfort. “Take this. I’ll write down my address. Our address, I guess…you can?—”

“I don’t need your money, and I don’t need you to tell me what to do, okay? I’m here to get away from a man who uses his money and status to bully me into doing what he wants me to do.” Emerson balls her hands into fists, and I want to rush over to her, wrap my arms around her, and apologize. This is the awkward part, happening already.

“I’m really sorry. That all came out wrong.” I take a deep breath, and there’s a knock at the door. I hold up a finger, greet the room service staff, and grab the tray from them, tossing a handful of bills into the person’s hand before I set everything on the table.

I gesture for Emerson to choose and smile when she grabs a chicken sandwich and dives right in. I’ve always wanted to hang out with a woman who likes to eat as much as I do. I grab the turkey-BLT and eat half before admitting, “I’ve never done anything like this.”

She laughs. “What? Got drunk and married? Me neither.”

I tilt my head in acknowledgement. “Are you okay coming to Pittsburgh for a little while and rolling with Brian’s plan? I can compensate you for your time.”

She licks those lips again and moves to the sofa, tucking her thick legs under her and facing me. “Considering I just blew up my own life, I have nowhere to live and no job…yeah, Gunnar. I’ll try this out for a bit. Honestly, it’s a good idea to put physical distance between my parents and me anyway.”

Relief washes over me, but it’s short-lived because I still have to call my parents. Then she adds, “And I won’t be taking your money.”

I try not to growl. I want her to let me take care of her, but apparently, I can’t force her to accept anything. I’m not sure why I feel so protective. “We can talk more about that later.” I cram half a salad into my face and wash it down with more water. “I mentioned you’d have your own room, right? And your own bathroom. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to seduce you or something.” Her expression falls. “Shit. I didn’t mean I don’t want to seduce you. You’re hot as hell, and I’d be–”

Emerson clears her throat. “Seduction isn’t necessary.”

I arch a brow, suddenly super turned on. “You don’t want to be seduced?”

She laughs. “I think I can manage.” I am going to have to follow up with her about that later, too. After waking up with all that boobage in my hand, I’m really hoping she’s at least interested in fooling around once she knows me a little better. But maybe that’s just the hangover brain talking.

Emerson and I make a plan for her to fly to Pittsburgh. I remind her several times that the fixers said I’m supposed to shower her with gifts. She lets me buy her ticket—and one for her cello to ride next to her. And then she leaves the room, promising to message me as soon as she lands. This gives me just enough time to call my parents before I get myself situated.

I take a leak, chug some more water, and lie back on the bed, feeling my heart pound behind my ribs. I pull up my phone and click the star next to Dad’s name, knowing he will always answer, no matter what. I’m not even sure what time it is back home or if Mom is in court or something like that.

“Gunny!” Dad sounds excited, which kills me because I’m about to ruin his day. “Tough break last night, kiddo. Are you back in the ‘burgh already? Want me to come over and talk it out with you?”

“Hey, Dad.” I breathe in the silence for a minute and hear Dad pacing around, fidgeting. “So, um, that’s not why I called.”

“Oh. Okay…what then?” I hear voices…are the twins over at my parents’ house already? “Hey, your brothers just got here. Why aren’t you with them?”

“Dad, I need to tell you something.” I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, waiting.

“Okay, let me duck out back.” The porch door slides open and shut on perpetually squeaky ball bearings. “Hit me, Gunny.”

“Dad, I, um…I did it again.”

“What’s that, buddy?”

I close my eyes. “I acted without thinking.”

“Hmm.” His voice is reassuring. “Well, you know, that is a crucial part of goalie life. You gotta move that glove toward the puck before your brain registers that’s what you’re doing. You’ve always been my boy with the best quick-twitch muscle fibers and–”

“Dad,” I interrupt. “I got married last night.”

There’s a clatter, and I’m sure Dad dropped his phone. I hear cursing, rustling, and then he is yelling. “You what? To who? Why?”

I bite my lip. This is the tricky part. “Her name is Emerson. She, um, plays the cello.”

“So, you what? Got drunk and eloped in Vegas? Without the family?” His voice shakes, and I know I’ve wrecked him. Dad has been all in on the family since Mom got pregnant with my brother Odin. In fact, Dad retired from the pros to stay home with us while Mom ran for judge. Shutting him out of a marriage is the meanest thing I could do to him. My guts churn as he draws a deep breath. “This is unreal!”

Dad has shown up to every single hockey event, helping coach, throwing his name around, making connections. I’m not Gunnar Stag so much as I’m Ty Stag’s kid . And now I’ve made a huge public mess and robbed my family of a chance to celebrate together. “I know I fucked up, okay? And the press is already all over it, and Brian is apoplectic, and you don’t have to remind me that I’m a spastic fart, okay? I saw her playing music and bought her a bunch of drinks, and … we eloped.”

I hear Dad breathing, slowly, steadily. I hear a bird chirping in the background, and then I hear his teeth click together. “I see,” he breathes in some more. “When can we meet her?”