Page 12

Wren

I go with Archer to the arena to see him off bright and early. The whole team is there, including Micah. He takes one look at us together, grunts, and then stomps onto the bus without a word.

I sigh, shaking my head. Why is he so stubborn? Why won’t he just talk to me like a normal person? Oh, right. Because he’s Micah. He’s annoying and bossy and overprotective…and I miss him. I really freaking miss him. We’ve never gone this long without speaking.

“It’ll be okay, baby,” Archer murmurs, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Just a couple more days, and he’ll have to accept it.”

“I know.” I just kind of wish he’d accept the possibility of me and Archer now. I don’t want our relationship to be something he accepts only because he realizes he has no choice. Maybe I’m asking too much, but I want it to be because he loves us both and wants us happy. Is that so wrong?

“On the bus, Graves!” Coach Lariat shouts at Archer.

I sigh, turning my face up to him for him to kiss me. He does, so thoroughly I forget that the whole team can see us.

They clap and whistle and catcall like the overgrown little boys they are.

Archer flips them off before Coach yells at them to get their asses on the bus before they piss him off.

I bury my face in Archer’s chest, laughing. “He’s cranky this morning.”

“Baby, Lariat is cranky every goddamn morning. It’s his permanent state of existence. Especially since he found out Nash is sleeping with his daughter.” He kisses me again before reluctantly releasing me. “I’ll be home on Sunday.”

“Okay. I love you.”

His expression softens. “I love you too.”

He turns and jogs toward the bus, only to stop at the door and look back at me. I lift my hand in a little wave. It’s ridiculous, but I already miss him. Away games suck. This is the third one since Vegas, and they suck a little more every time.

I lean against his car, waiting for everyone to file onto the bus. But instead of Joaquin climbing on, he steps aside, allowing Micah to jump off.

“Rushing, where the fuck are you going?” Coach growls.

I don’t hear Micah’s response, but he stalks in my direction. My heart stops beating for a minute before it starts again.

My brother stops in front of me, hands shoved into his pockets. “Hey,” he mutters.

“Hi,” I whisper back, wringing my hands together. “Um…”

“Fuck.” He yanks his hands out of his pockets, reaching for me.

I choke on a sob as his arms close around me, hauling me up against his chest for a hug. “I miss you so much,” I cry. “I hate fighting with you.”

“Don’t like it much either, baby sister,” he says, squeezing me tight.

“Then stop breaking my heart!” I tip my head back, staring up at him with tears in my eyes. “This is so stupid, Micah. Why can’t you just be happy for us?”

“Because I’m an asshole,” he mutters, guilt stamped all over his face. “I’m sorry, Wren.”

“M-me too.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, kid. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He sighs heavily. “I’m the one who hurt your feelings.”

“Yeah, you did.” I sniffle. “I’m not that reckless little girl anymore. Why can’t you see that?”

“I do see it. But hockey is his life, Wren. I don’t want you settling for someone who puts you second. What you need has always come behind this damn game. It shouldn’t be like that for the rest of your life.”

“You don’t know him as well as you think you do if you think that,” I whisper. “I don’t come second to him, Micah. He cares about me in a way no one ever has. He l-loves me in a way no one else ever will. And I feel the same way about him. Why can’t that be enough for you?”

“You love him?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.” Micah shoves a hand through his hair. “How the fuck did I miss this happening?”

“Because we didn’t want you to know,” I say quietly, swiping at my eyes. “We tried so hard to pretend we could ignore it because we didn’t want to hurt you. But that isn’t fair to either one of us. We deserve to be happy too, and that exists outside of your friendship with him. One way or another, we would have found our way to each other.”

Micah stares at me for a long moment and then sighs. “Give me time, Wren. Okay? Just…give me time to wrap my head around this shit.”

I nod dejectedly. That isn’t the answer I want. I want him back in my life. I want him to be happy for us. But…this is a start. It’s better than not speaking at all. It’s better than angry words and ignored calls and irrational demands.

“Love you, baby sister,” he murmurs, hugging me again.

“Love you too.” I squeeze him hard and then step back. “Good luck in Detroit.”

He jerks his chin in a nod and then jogs back to the bus. Just like Archer, he pauses at the bottom of the steps and glances back at me. But he doesn’t wave. He just pauses for a moment before jogging up the steps and disappearing onto the bus.

Tears spill down my cheeks.

Not even three seconds later, Archer leaps off the bus.

“Graves, what the fuck?” Coach growls.

“Just a second, Coach,” Archer says, not even sparing him a glance as he jogs across the pavement toward me. He takes one look at my face and then pulls me into his arms. “I’ve got you, baby.”

I bury my face in his shoulder, trying to get myself under control. Grateful that he’s here. That he knew I needed him. I think he’ll always know.

“I love you,” I whisper when I’ve finally got myself under control.

“I love you too.” He tips my head back, carefully drying my tears. “Are you okay now?”

“Yes,” I say with a nod. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? I’ll hold this bus up all day if that’s what I need to do, baby girl.” He cups my cheeks. “Whatever you need.”

I bite the inside of my cheek hard, trying to keep from bursting into tears again. Because I know he’d do it. If I told him I wasn’t okay, he’d stand right here with me all day, flight be damned.

And that’s what gives me the confidence to smile at him. It’s what makes me so sure that, sooner or later, Micah will come around. He’ll see the same thing I do—that Archer is exactly the guy he would have chosen for me if he weren’t so damn stubborn.

“I’m okay,” I promise. “They were mostly happy tears.”

“They didn’t look happy, Wren.”

“I didn’t expect him to get off the bus to talk to me. It made me emotional, that’s all.” I squeeze his arm. “Go, Archer, I promise, I’m okay.”

He stares at me for a long silent moment, reluctance written all over his face. And then he curses and drags me into his arms, kissing me again.

“I’ll call you as soon as we land.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

Archer is true to his word and calls me as soon as the plane touches down in Detroit. I’m at work, looking through intake paperwork for a set of twins who were born early. They’re both struggling to learn how to walk, and they’re nearly two. The little boy has cerebral palsy.

I set the paperwork aside, leaning back in my chair with my phone cradled to my ear. “Hey.”

“Hey, little bird. Are you okay?” He sounds worried.

“Archer, I’m fine,” I promise.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” I cry softly. “Stop worrying about me.”

“Never,” he growls. “It’s my job to worry about you.”

“Then I’m firing you.”

“You can’t fire me from loving you, Wren.”

I smile despite myself. Why is he so perfect? “What are you guys doing now that you’ve landed?”

“Going to the hotel and then to the arena to practice.” He heaves a sigh. “I’d rather be at home with you.”

“Yeah, well, you aren’t, so suck it up, buttercup,” I tease. “You have a team to lead and a game to win tomorrow. That’s what you should be worried about this weekend. They need you more than I do right now.”

“You saying you don’t need me, little bird?”

“I always need you, but your team needs you more right now,” I murmur. Things are a mess around there. They need their captain to pull them together and remind them that none of the outside noise matters. What they do on the ice is what matters. If anyone can help them shut out the barrage of noise and focus on winning, he can.

“I miss you already,” he sighs.

My stomach flutters. “I miss you too.”

“I gotta go, but I’ll call you later. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He grumbles and then disconnects. I just stare off into space with a big smile on my face for a long moment, the phone still in my hands. Micah is talking to me again. Archer loves me. It feels like the future of my dreams is right there, ready for me to grab it.

“Hey.” Laura pops her head into my office, her eyes wide. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?”

“A reporter.” She hurries toward me with his card in his hand. “Um, he said it’s about your husband.”

My heart stops beating.

“I told him that he must have the wrong person, but he insisted.” She eyes me sideways, waiting for an explanation. But I don’t give her one. I can’t.

I take the card with shaking hands, panic coursing through me when I see Charles Montaque’s name etched across the top. He’s half the reason the team is struggling right now. He just tried to blow up Logan’s life. He broke the story on Nash and Emilia, too. If he knows about me and Archer, this is bad. Really bad.

What am I supposed to do? How does he know about us?

“Um, give me five minutes, and then show him back,” I mutter to Laura.

“O-kay,” she says before turning on her heel, clearly annoyed that I’m not spilling the beans to her. As if I would. The woman wields gossip like a weapon.

As soon as she’s out of my office, I dial Archer’s number. It rings twice before going to voicemail.

“Fuck,” I mumble, and then hesitate for a split second before I dial Micah.

He sends me to voicemail, too.

I dial Alice, praying she answers. There’s no way I can do this on my own. I need help. Or advice. Or something.

“Hey!” she says on the third ring.

“Alice!” I nearly sob with relief.

“Wren? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have a lot of time to explain,” I hiss into the phone, my eyes glued to my office door. “But Charles Montaque is in my building right now. He knows that Archer and I are married.”

“He…hold on. You two are married ?” she growls. “Since when?”

“Um, since Vegas?”

“Jesus, Wren. Does Micah know?”

“No.”

“Fuck,” she mutters. “Don’t confirm anything to him, but let him in. We’ll see what he wants. Keep me on speaker.”

“Okay.” I inhale a panicked breath, trying to calm myself down. “I’m freaking out.”

“There’s no time for that. You need to breathe, and you need to act like you don’t have a care in the world. Don’t give him any fodder, Wren,” she instructs. “He’s looking for a way to redeem his reputation after the shit he pulled, trying to out Logan’s sister’s health issues. Do not let it be you.”

“Okay. Okay, I can do this.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself, but I have to do this. If Micah finds out about me and Archer from a reporter, he’ll never forgive us.

I put Alice on speaker, and set the phone on my desk, taking deep, calming breaths. Not even ten seconds later, Laura stops in the doorway with a man I recognize only from television. Charles Montaque. He’s smiling, but I immediately don’t like him. That smile is too false, his blue-eyed gaze too sharp.

“Mr. Montaque,” I say, motioning for him to come in. “You’re the last person I expected to see today.”

“Ms. Erikson.” He pauses, his expression hawkish. “Or is it Mrs. Graves?”

Laura’s eyes widen from the doorway.

“It’s Erikson,” I say before glancing at Laura. “Thanks for showing him back here. You can go now.”

Her expression slips, but she stomps away, leaving the two of us alone.

“Montaque, why are you harassing Micah’s sister?” Alice asks, taking him by surprise. “Didn’t you learn your lesson when you went after Logan’s sister?”

“Alice.” The way he says her name makes it obvious that he doesn’t like her much. It sounds like the feeling is mutual. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised she called you.”

“Of course she called me,” Alice snapped. “You’re a relentless little toad. Did you think she’d want to face you alone after everything you’ve done to her brother’s teammates lately?”

“I’ve only told the truth, Alice.”

“Right. And what truth do you think you’re trying to tell this time?”

“Were you aware that Wren and Archer Graves got married in Vegas twelve days ago?” he asks her.

I stare at him impassively, trying desperately not to give him a single reaction. Inside, my stomach is in knots, and my heart is pounding a million miles a minute. I feel like throwing up.

Alice laughs loudly. “I’m beginning to think you have no life of your own, Montaque. You spend so much time in everyone else’s business it’s honestly sad.”

“I’ll take that as a confirmation,” he says.

“I didn’t confirm anything. I made an observation about your unrelenting obsession with this team,” Alice retorts. “I’ve told you a million times, unless it involves hockey, you aren’t getting a comment from me about our players or their families. Are you done wasting Wren’s time now? She has a job to do.” She pauses. “An actual meaningful job.”

“About that…” Montaque meets my gaze. “Were you and Archer a couple before he founded this organization, Ms. Erikson? Or did your relationship develop after he became your employer?”

“What?” I gape at him, confusion churning through me. “Archer doesn’t…” I trail off when I see the self-satisfied, smug look on his face. Archer founded Helping Hands ? How? Why?

Oh my god.

“Are you claiming you weren’t aware that his company founded Helping Hands , Ms. Erikson? I find that hard to believe. By all accounts, he’s your brother’s best friend. You’ve been seen out with him multiple times over the course of the last year.”

“It’s not a crime for her to spend time with her brother who, as you said, is Archer’s friend. He’s also his teammate, in case you’ve forgotten,” Alice retorts sharply. “Of course they’d be seen together. In the company of her brother. And Archer may have founded Helping Hands , but if you’ve done your research, you’re very well aware that he’s behind numerous charitable ventures in this city, all of which operate without his direct oversight or involvement. He provides funding where it’s needed. That’s it. So if I were you, I’d be very careful about defaming a beloved member of this team, Montaque. Your reputation isn’t in any condition to take another hit right now. His, however, has always been above reproach.”

My face is frozen in a mask of impassivity. But inside I’m a riot of screaming confusion. Archer founded Helping Hands ? How is that even possible? We’re the charitable arm of a DC-based investment company, owned by a man who wanted to give back anonymously.

In DC, anonymity is the name of the game. People hide behind shell corporations to keep their involvement in various nonprofits and business ventures as quiet as possible. They work through proxies and boards installed to shield their involvement. It’s an extra layer of protection for politicians and important people who want to help without turning the work into a media circus or their own personal raison d'être.

I never questioned who owned the company. I figured if they wanted the credit, they’d have claimed it by now instead of letting the board make the decisions. But maybe I should have asked. Because the man behind the curtain isn’t some politician. He’s Archer .

Why didn’t he tell me?

God. Do I even need to ask?

I know why. It was one more way for him to keep me close. I was supposed to go back home to California when this job fell into my lap, literally out of nowhere. And I was so fucking happy about it because it meant I didn’t have to leave Micah. I didn’t have to leave him .

I was so excited when I told them about the job. They both acted surprised, but Archer knew the whole time.

Did Micah know, too? Is that what he meant when he said I didn’t even know Archer? Is that why he’s so damn mad? Because he knows Archer has secretly been my boss for the last six months? Does he know his best friend is obsessed with me?

My stomach churns with anxiety.

Montaque’s lips compress into a line, his irritation obvious, but he doesn’t negate what Alice said. “It’s just a simple inquiry, Alice. I’m trying to get the timeline and facts right, that’s all.”

“Right,” she snorts, disbelief heavy in her voice. “As if facts matter to you one little bit, Montaque. They never have. You’ll do everything in your power to paint a picture that makes him a villain, just like always. Meanwhile, the actual villain is the man looking back at you from the mirror every day. Wren has no comment. Archer has no comment. The Carvers’ organization has no comment.” She pauses. “I do, however. If I were you, I’d take a long, hard look at the facts of your life. That’s where your nose should be. Print that.”

Montaque opens his mouth to say something, but I can’t listen to this anymore. I can’t think. I can’t even breathe. I feel myself spiraling, questions whipping around in my mind so fast I can’t even catch the edges of them.

“Get out of my office, Montaque,” I say, my voice shaking with emotion. “I don’t care what story you’re trying to spin or why, I won’t help you do it. You know nothing about Archer or my brother, and you don’t know anything about me. So just get out.”

“Ms. Erikson–”

“Get. Out.”

He sighs heavily and then dips his head in a nod before turning for the door. “If you change your mind, you have my card.”

“I won’t change my mind.” It doesn’t matter how I feel right now—how confused or hurt I am. Hell will freeze over before I tell this man anything that might hurt Archer.

Montaque walks out without another word. For long moments, Alice and I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. I feel…numb.

“Wren?” Alice finally says. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I whisper.

She sighs quietly. “He’ll run whatever he has. Nothing we said to him today will stop that. I’m guessing he already has the marriage license or he wouldn’t have come to you. You need to decide how to break the news to Micah, sweetie. Before he finds out from Montaque.”

“Archer really owns Helping Hands ?”

“He does,” she says softly. “He has several different charities in DC.”

“Why this one?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

Yeah, I think I do too. I’m just not entirely sure what I’m supposed to do about it. He should have told me. And I’m mad as hell that he didn’t.

“What are you going to do?”

What am I going to do?

“I’m going to Detroit,” I say, determined to get to the bottom of this even if I have to drag the truth from my infuriating husband’s deceitful lips.