Page 7

7

JEANNIE

This was her first sports game ever – and to say that Jeannie was completely bowled over would be the understatement of the decade. There was loud music, flashing lights, and smoke machines, and she jumped nearly a foot as fireworks detonated within the building sending a shower of sparks into the air above their heads.

As the players were introduced one-by-one, some booed and some cheered. She had no clue what to expect as they called out Matthieu’s name. She shot into the air, yelling and waving nervously, unsure what she was supposed to do and saw him skating directly toward her. His eyes held hers as he skated out holding his mask at his side and his hockey stick and stopped in front of her. Her heart clenched wildly in her chest, waiting.

He stood there for what felt like forever, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that was staggering, neither speaking - not that the other person would have heard it over the crowd anyhow. He gave her a slow nod, slipped on his mask before her, and bowed.

She smiled.

Oh gosh, did she smile.

Her husband was bowing to her in front of everyone like she was important, special, or something to be revered. Nothing could wipe that smile off her face as she held his gaze, watching as he skated away backward easily, only turning to take his place at the goal.

He was starting.

Matthieu had told her there was a great chance he would be starting the game, but she hadn’t realized what that meant truly until now. Her husband was at the goal, alone, as the other players lined up toward the middle of the rink. Two other men slid back into position in front of Matthieu – but not for very long.

The moment the puck was dropped – it was chaos.

Her eyes were all over the rink, trying to keep up with the little black puck that was moving faster than lightspeed before her. People were yelling all around her excitedly, which included a few bloodthirsty children, shockingly enough.

“Hi,” a woman with glasses turned in her seat and smiled happily. “Are you Jeannie? Larsson’s wife? I’m Dustin’s wife, Laurel, and this is my younger sister, Kendall.”

“The dump truck’s sister-in-law,” the teenager informed her openly, causing Laurel to roll her eyes as Jeannie laughed. “What? They stink after practice, and that’s with a shower. I’m sure the flies swarm their pits and…”

“Enough, Kendall,” Laurel chided, looking embarrassed. “The fun never stops – even at home.”

“Sounds like it,” she smiled, pointing at the ice. “Is it always this fast?”

“Sometimes even faster,” Laurel admitted, looking at her curiously but remaining silent. “Wait until they get close to the period ending. Those last few seconds are frantic usually and when we’re getting close to the end of the game – it’s vicious.”

And Jeannie sucked in her breath as the puck came flying toward Matthieu – and he flew down to his knees, blocking the puck as the other players rushed him.

“Butterfly…” she breathed, stunned, and saw him jump up like it was nothing, giving the puck to the referee.

“Man, that was a great block,” Laurel said openly.

“Not bad,” Kendall chimed in.

“He’s amazing,” Jeannie whispered, watching her husband with admiration, pride, and something of wonder. The game continued. Matthieu blocked shot after shot, and it amazed her at the lengths he would go to stop the puck from getting into the net. Just when she didn’t think she could handle the intense excitement of the game and the anxiety each time they got close to her husband, there was a scuffle on the ice, a large fight, and they traded out her Matthieu for the other goalie, Lafreniére.

“Woohoo! Dustin’s up!”

“How mad do you think he would be if we got the crowd chanting ‘Let’s Go, Dump Truck’?” Kendall beamed – and both Laurel and Jeannie gave the girl a horrified look of disbelief. “No?”

“Noooo,” both exclaimed.

Jeannie would be mortified to be called a ‘dump truck’ publicly, much less having it chanted by a crowd of this size. Instead, the game started once again, the chant forgotten, as she started watching the game once more, only to hear her phone ring.

Answering it, Jeannie put a finger in one ear and held the phone up to the other, shocked.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Hang on…” Jeannie tapped on Laurel’s shoulder, nodding to her. “I’ve got to step out for… for work,” she began, not wanting to elaborate more. The woman nodded, turning back to the game and Jeannie said openly into the phone. “Hang on a few seconds longer,” moving into the aisle and hurrying down the walkway into the massive atrium before taking a seat on a nearby bench.

“Mom? Can you hear me better?”

“What was going on?”

“I’m at a hockey game…” Jeannie began only to get cut off.

“Where?” her mother said sharply, and she heard a noise as her father took the phone. “Where are you, young lady? Is it true?”

“What do you mean?”

“I had you investigated…”

“WHAT?” she yelped, shocked and horrified.

“You think I’m going to have my only daughter go traipsing off across the globe and not have you watched? You represent me. You are my child. I don’t care how old you get – you are still a Thornton…”

She listened, stunned, as her father continued, berating her and talking to her like she was a child.

“And then I find out that the man I’ve had watching you, following you, nearly gets beat up by some guy and…”

“Wait a second,” she whispered in disbelief and disgust as it suddenly clicked in her mind what was going on. “You had me followed by someone – who told you that they were nearly beat up – and, oh, I cannot believe this! I cannot believe you would put someone up to this! Was it a guy named Jim?”

“James, yes, and he was following you for a…”

“He was stalking me!” she said, growing hysterical as angry tears threatened to choke her. “The person you hired was stalking me and sexually harassing me in front of my coworkers and boss.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You don’t believe me?” Jeannie got up from her seat and walked outside, hoping the fresh air would calm her down or keep her from screaming like a banshee in utter disbelief that her parents, someone who was supposed to be supportive, loving, and protective, could hire some sleazy guy to follow her – and then brush off her concerns when she told them. “How can you not believe me when I am telling you that he was harassing me, following me? He moved into the building I used to live in…”

“To protect you…”

“He scared me,” she snarled, crying now as she marched blindly across the parking lot to her car. “He frightened me, he touched me, he followed me, and this was because you hired him to watch me and report back to you.”

“Now, now, Jeannie – don’t get hysterical about this. If you made good choices,” her father said coolly, “we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

Jeannie let out a breathless, humorless laugh, pressing her forehead against the steering wheel. “I do make good choices—for me.”

“They’re terrible choices because now you’re living with some guy claiming to be married, and we both know you’re not.”

Jeannie sucked in a sharp breath.

She hadn’t told him. She hadn’t told anyone.

Her father had been digging, prying, tearing apart her life without her knowledge.

Oh gosh.

Her stomach twisted violently.

She knew what he was capable of. She had seen the ruthless way he moved through life, cutting down anyone who got in his way. She had been raised by this man—she knew the depths of his control, the lengths he would go to to keep his image pristine.

And now he had his claws in her again.

“You think I didn’t follow up on that? My daughter suddenly disappears from Seattle, where she ‘ had to be because it was cool,’ he continued mocking her. “Only to show up in a foreign country, pretending – yes, pretending – to be married to some hot shot hockey player. How do you think that looks to me, to your family, to friends, to voters… that my daughter is living in sin, in another country.”

“Daddy, don’t do this…” she begged, her voice cracking.

She wasn’t pleading for herself.

She was pleading for Matthieu.

Sweet, thoughtful, determined Matthieu—who had done nothing wrong except befriend her.

“My daughter, an American citizen, has shacked up with some man who’s a liar, a con artist, and now he’s boldly telling people you’re married to further his career. You think you’re so smart, but I know that little tid-bit, too.”

Jeannie sucked in a shaky breath, her vision blurring.

“Daddy…”

“I know everything.” His voice was sharp and triumphant, every syllable dripping with power. “A parent knows. I know when you’re lying. I know when you’re hiding things. I know everything about you— because I raised you. ” her father was screaming at her now on the phone, and Jeannie was openly crying within the confines of her car.

The car that Matthieu had been so proud of buying her.

Her sweet Matthieu, who hugged her, who was trying his hardest to fit in and find his footing, her sweet friend who wanted a shot at being the best there was and her father, whom she did know, she had been raised by him, and had witnessed just how cold-blooded he could be to get his way, now had the keys to put her under his thumb.

“Here’s what you are going to do, young lady…” he began, and Jeannie spoke, her voice broken and full of fear.

“N-Nothing,” she stammered tearfully. “I’m not doing anything because I’m happy here. Matthieu is good to me.”

“Because you are a means to an end for him, Jeannie.”

“He puts me first…”

“He puts himself first trying to advance his career – which you are stupidly giving him. You look like a tramp living with a man who will not marry you, and the whole world knows it. My daughter is a tramp…”

“Goodbye,” she whispered, pressing the button, her father’s voice vanishing into silence.

For a long, breathless moment, she sat there, the word echoing in her skull like a bullet.

Tramp.

A sob clawed its way up her throat, but she swallowed it back. She couldn’t panic react, she couldn’t breakdown, she had to think, to find a way to outsmart her parents because this wasn’t over. Her father wouldn’t call back, instead, he would find a way to punish her for disrespecting him, and she knew it.

With shaking fingers, she dropped her phone onto the passenger seat.

Matthieu.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her lips together to stop the flood of emotion threatening to drown her.

She had to protect him.

I have to protect myself and my home - Even if it meant facing the monster that had raised her, she thought wretchedly, looking around in horror and awareness. Was there another person hired to watch her? Did her father have Jim head to Quebec to continue his employment? How far would he go to keep her under his thumb?

And worse yet, when would her father announce it in the papers, or in the media, ruining any chance at happiness or a future she had here? She’d experienced his sort of destructive love before, thinking he was helping her out. That was the reason she left for the west coast – to get away from the east coast, where her family had her practically trapped one way or another.

No, she was going to have to tackle this monster on her own to protect Matthieu and save any semblance of peace that she had in her life.

J eannie shoved another shirt into the suitcase, her movements jerky and frantic, as if speed alone could outrun the suffocating dread clawing at her throat. The house was eerily silent, save for the rustling of fabric and the occasional sniffle she refused to acknowledge.

Then her phone rang again.

The sharp sound sliced through the tense air, making her heart hammer against her ribs. She hesitated, swallowing hard as she glanced at the screen. Matthieu.

Her fingers trembled as she accepted the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” his voice was quiet, cautious—worried. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

She forced a neutral tone, but even to her own ears, it sounded brittle. “It’s nothing.” Another shirt landed in the suitcase with more force than necessary.

Matthieu didn’t buy it.

“It’s not nothing because I spoke with Laurel, and she said you had to leave for work—we both know that you aren’t working yet and?—”

“Well, see,” she cut in, her voice sharp, defensive. “That is where you would be wrong. I do work. I work for myself. I’m just not very good at it, which is why I was waiting tables—but if you even asked about me…”

A long pause, then a gentle, almost pleading interruption.

“Jeannie?”

The way he said her name made her stomach twist painfully.

“Jeannie, you are right. I’m not sure what is going on right now, but you are always welcome to unload on me if whatever is happening becomes too much—I’m here.”

The simple offer shattered something deep inside her. No one had ever been "here" for her before. Not really. Not without conditions, without expectations. He didn’t demand an explanation, didn’t push or pry—just stood there, waiting, offering himself as a safe place to land.

It scared her more than anything.

Her throat burned.

Her vision blurred.

“I’m leaving,” she whispered, the confession barely making it past her lips. The silence on the other end of the line was thick, stretched tight like a wire about to snap. Then?—

“What did I do?” Matthieu’s voice was raw, open, almost desperate.

She heard the unmistakable chime of his car, then the low rumble of the engine coming to life.

“Don’t leave me without saying goodbye or giving me a chance to make things better. I’m on my way, and I’m warning you now—I didn’t shower after the game. I was so scared that something was wrong when you left…”

Her breath hitched. “Something is wrong.”

“Baby, tell me what is going on… please,” he urged, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t make me wonder because I can think of twenty million screw-ups I’ve done to ruin this and?—”

A strangled, broken laugh escaped her lips.

He called her ‘Baby’?

“It’s not you,” she finally admitted, her voice cracking. “Never you. My father knows we aren’t married, and he called.”

A beat of silence.

“So?”

“So, you don’t know him,” she rushed, her words stumbling over each other in panic. “You don’t know how vindictive he can be when he doesn’t get his way. That guy that was following me in Seattle? He hired him.”

“What!?”

Matthieu’s outrage hit her like a gust of wind, strong and unwavering. The sheer force of his reaction steadied her, reassured her that she wasn’t overreacting, that the weight pressing down on her wasn’t imagined.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.” Her lips trembled as she popped the ‘p’ at the end of the word. “I wish I were, but no. He hired the guy to follow me, which is why he lived in the building and was coming to my work.”

Matthieu sucked in a sharp breath. “Did you tell him about the grabbing, the filthy things he said to you…?”

Jeannie let out a hollow laugh, but there was no humor in it. “He said I was overreacting.”

The words hung in the air like a slap, and then?—

Matthieu cursed viciously, a raw, furious sound that sent a shiver down her spine. His anger wasn’t directed at her—she knew that—but it was fierce, protective, and laced with the kind of fury that made her feel seen and validated.

“That was almost as intense as my reaction,” she murmured, a weak attempt at levity. “You know, you sure are making me feel better—almost justified in how I feel right now.”

“Baby, there is nothing wrong with you in the slightest.” His voice softened, but the anger still simmered beneath it. “That’s pretty sick and twisted—to have your own parents hire someone to follow you, to stalk you, and then take their word over their child’s.”

A shudder racked her frame.

“I thought so too,” she whispered, sinking onto the edge of her bed. Her hands fisted in the fabric of her jeans. “It is messed up, isn’t it? It’s not me. I’m not wrong for wanting to distance myself from that… am I?”

Matthieu inhaled sharply.

“Don’t cry.” His voice was thick, rough with emotion. “Baby, please—no crying, because it just rips my guts out… and everything is already pretty sore after the game. I’m right around the corner from the house. Don’t do anything.”

Jeannie squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’ve got a ticket to fly out on the next red-eye. I’ve got to?—”

“Cancel it.” Matthieu’s tone was sharp, brooking no argument.

A second later, she heard it—a screech of tires, the unmistakable slam of a car door.

“Or buy two,” his voice echoed through both the phone and the house, the words ringing in her ears, in her bones. “Because you aren’t going alone…”

Jeannie’s breath caught as she turned toward the front door, her heartbeat a frantic, erratic rhythm.

And then, there he was.

“Where are you?” he demanded, his voice thick with emotion.

Matthieu stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling with exertion, his bright blue eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

He hung up the phone.

Jeannie swallowed hard, wringing her hands and feeling so emotionally raw, so confused, so lost right now. She didn’t want to leave him, but she would do anything and everything to protect him. She cared, despite it all; she cared about this man, her very own golden guardian angel.

The room was steeped in silence, thick and oppressive, pressing down on Jeannie like the weight of the ocean before a storm. She could feel it—this moment—slipping between her fingers, fracturing like delicate glass as she stood frozen, her heart warring with her mind.

And then his voice, raw and desperate, shattered the quiet.

“Don’t ever leave me.”

Matthieu’s words weren’t a request—they were a command, a plea, a confession all rolled into one. His voice, thick with emotion, sent shivers down her spine. She forced herself to look at him, but the anguish in his brilliant eyes nearly undid her.

“You’re not leaving.”

A lump rose in her throat.

“But…” Her voice cracked. She was torn, splitting in two, unable to bear the ache in his face.

“I don’t care if he knows,” Matthieu said fiercely, his jaw clenching as his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t dare. The helplessness in his expression, the sheer vulnerability of him standing there—so raw, so open—stabbed at something deep inside her.

“Matthieu…” she whispered, her voice trembling with unshed tears. “The contract, the job, the house?—”

“I don’t care about any of that,” he cut in, his voice like gravel, rough and desperate. “You cannot leave me, Jeannie.” His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as if he was barely holding himself together. “If you leave, then how am I supposed to fix this? Fix us ? Who’s going to go for last-minute ice cream with me just so I can see that beautiful smile and hear that sweet laughter?”

Her stomach twisted, pain curling around her ribcage like an iron grip. His voice softened, turning into something fragile, something almost broken.

“You can’t leave,” he whispered, his plea barely audible now as if saying the words aloud would somehow make them true. “I want more between us, and you’re right—I should have asked more questions, should have fought harder. But if you leave, how can I fix it?”

His bright eyes burned into hers, filled with every unspoken word, every regret, every thought hidden behind them that neither was prepared to say, to put into words.

“I want to know more about you,” he admitted, stepping closer, his voice thick with desperation. “Your job, your childhood—so I know whose tires to slash and who it was that hurt you.”

Despite herself, Jeannie let out a choked, tearful chuckle, the sound barely escaping past the tightness in her throat.

Matthieu exhaled a shaky breath, and the anguish in his features only deepened.

“Who’s going to cheer for me on game night?” he murmured, his voice laced with something more than longing—something dangerously close to devastation. “Who’s going to hug me, Jeannie?”

The words broke something inside her.

She didn’t think.

She just moved.

Three steps. That’s all it took.

And then she was in his arms, his scent—salt, sweat, something so inherently him —surrounding her as he crushed her against his chest. His arms clung to her like she was the only thing keeping him standing, his grip tight, desperate, possessive .

“You can’t leave me,” he whispered against her hair, his breath hot and unsteady. His body trembled ever so slightly as if the thought of losing her was more than he could bear. “Not when we’re finally starting to be a part of each other’s lives.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the back of his shirt like it was her only tether to this moment, to him.

The air between them felt charged, thick with the unspoken weight of love, fear, and desperation. Matthieu’s arms tightened around her, locking her against the fierce, steady beat of his heart. His breath was warm against her hair, but there was an edge to it—frantic, raw.

“You’re not going,” he whispered, pressing his lips against her temple. His grip on her was unyielding as if he could keep her there by sheer force of will. “Not without me.”

Jeannie pinched her eyes shut, her body trembling as she clung to him. The weight of his words settled over her like a shield, but she knew he couldn’t understand—not fully. He didn’t know what she was up against.

“You don’t know him…” she breathed, her voice a fragile whisper in the space between them. A shudder ran through her as she fought the memories clawing at the edges of her mind. “They push and push until they get their way, and?—”

“I’m pushing back,” he growled, a fierce protectiveness burning in his tone. His hands slid up, framing her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. She gasped at what she saw there—anger, devotion, terror. “I’m not letting anyone bully my friend, my partner… my wife .”

Her lips parted to argue, to remind him that this—whatever this was—wasn’t meant to be real. But before she could, a sound broke from him, something rough, broken, almost a laugh, yet nothing about it was amused. His thumb traced her cheek with aching tenderness, his eyes searching hers with an urgency that stole her breath.

The clock on the mantel ticked softly, a reminder of time slipping through their fingers, but at this moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just them.

“You’re my person,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, unsteady.

Something inside her cracked wide open at the way he said it. Reverence. Vulnerability. Fear. It wasn’t just a declaration; it was a plea.

She would never forget this moment—the way his breath hitched, the raw emotion shimmering in his eyes as he laid his heart bare before her.

“You are the best part of me,” he admitted, his voice shaking. “And it scares the crap out of me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you here.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. “It’s a piece of paper, and I don’t know why it bothered me, but we’re gonna fix it. We’re going to fix this between us.”

The words hung between them: a promise, a lifeline.

She held her breath, waiting.

“Let’s take the only lead away from your father so he can’t touch you, can’t bother you again…”

Jeannie blinked, her heart slamming against her ribs. “What do you mean?”

Her hands found purchase against him—one gripping his elbow, the other splayed against his hip, desperate for something solid, something real. She wasn’t sure if she was holding onto him or this moment; she was terrified that either one might slip through her fingers.

Matthieu hesitated for only a second before forging ahead, his words tumbling out, laced with nervous determination. “We’ll say we’re renewing our vows… but let’s take this chance. Let’s make it legal so no one can ever threaten our friendship, our relationship together.”

Jeannie’s breath stalled in her throat.

“Are you serious?”

His laughter was thick, choked with something unspoken. “I think I am,” he admitted, a wobbly smile pulling at his lips. “I’m scared to death, but for so many reasons other than the one it used to be—because I don’t want to go back to living alone. I’m not the easiest guy to get along with. I’ll admit I can be a selfish turd and a sloppy housekeeper…”

Despite the storm raging inside her, a watery laugh broke free. “I don’t know why you had coasters in Seattle…”

He chuckled, his own eyes glistening. “I don’t plan on using them here either.”

And then, just as quickly as the lightness appeared, it faded. His grip on her tightened again, his eyes darkening with something deeper, something desperate.

“Will you stay and trust me to handle things… please ?”

She couldn’t speak. She could only nod, holding onto the emotions flickering across his face as though they were the only truth in the world.

Matthieu exhaled slowly. “It’s gonna be okay—I promise you.”

“I believe you,” she whispered, and she did.

His jaw tensed, his expression softening into something almost hesitant, like he was testing the words before fully committing to them. “We’re going on a date.” His voice was softer now, almost contemplative like he needed to say it out loud to make it real. “We’re going to go out and have fun— together . And it’s gonna be wonderful to have you close to me.”

Jeannie felt something shift inside her. It wasn’t just the words; it was everything behind them. He was saying it aloud for himself – and for her. He wasn’t just asking her to stay.

He was choosing her.

Her throat tightened as she stared up at him, drinking in every detail—the way his lashes cast shadows over his cheekbones, the tension in his jaw, the raw vulnerability in his eyes. He wasn’t saying everything she longed to hear, but in his own way, he was laying down the foundation for something she never thought she’d have.

A future.

A chance…

With him.

“You’re not leaving me,” Matthieu breathed against her lips, his voice low, intense, searing.

Her breath hitched, her body arching toward him as her eyes fluttered shut.

“Never leave me…”

“Never,” she vowed, clutching him as though letting go would mean losing him forever.

Matthieu’s lips ghosted over hers, teasing, barely there, and then?—

“Mine,” he whispered, the word reverberating through her like a promise, a claim, a prayer.

Then he kissed her.

Fiercely.

Desperately.

Her knees buckled under the weight of it, but he was there, holding her up, and anchoring her to him. His mouth moved over hers with aching intensity, pouring every ounce of fear, love, and longing into this moment.

Jeannie melted against him, her own need rising to meet his as her hands fisted into his shirt, tugging him closer, needing more, needing everything.

Matthieu wrapped his arms around her, enclosing her in a warmth she never wanted to leave. A breathless chuckle escaped between them as they pulled apart, only to come together again, their laughter tangled with the taste of shared relief, of unspoken promises.

She was his.