Page 121 of Rule 1: Never Accidentally Marry Your Teammate

Something is different, and when I scan the crowd, I realize the crowd is silent. They’re not cheering. I’m not Noah Fitzpatrick, husband of their beloved star player. Instead, I’m Noah Fitzpatrick, separated husband of their beloved star player, and they haven’t decided yet whether to hate me. I feel their curiosity, their disappointment.

Most people loved our romance. I can feel them whispering and wondering whether we were a publicity stunt, or whether I’ve done something so horrible, so shocking that there was nothing Finn Fitzpatrick could do besides try to look for an annulment.

I fill my mind with good thoughts, and some of the lines from the affirmation soundtrack Finn played when we were in Vegas right before our marriage appear in my thoughts.

I’ve got this. I’ve totally got this.

I see a flick of black, and hurry toward the puck. I don’t need the cheers and applause of the audience. I’m not here because I am Finn’s husband. I’m here because I am good.

I steal the puck from our competition and pass it to Jorge. It slides across the ice, and I move after it, so he can pass it back to me. We continue passing the puck between us, avoiding Colorado players, until something on the ice changes.

I have a shot.

And so, I take it.

The puck whams into the goal, between the goalie’s legs, and the light flashes.

Cheers erupt. The Blizzards’ fans go crazy. It’s our first goal of the night.

I did it.

I fucking did it.

We are now ahead, 1-0.

Joy bubbles through me, and when our line returns, I catch Finn’s gaze. He beams at me with pride and shoots me two thumbs up.

Something settles inside me. Maybe he didn’t want to remain married to me, but he was the best guy I ever met. I’m lucky to have known him as well as I did.

Then I think back to my goal.

I got it.

I did it.

I scored those goals when I played for Providence in the AHL. That’s why Coach Holberg sent for me. Perhaps I can belong here on my own.

My heart beats happily in my chest. I want to recount the goal to Finn. I want to tell him everything.

But Finn isn’t my person anymore. He’s a teammate. Spending time with him in Coach’s office was terrible. His hand was beside me, but not touching me. His scent and that Tom Ford cologne wafted around me.

Every cell in my body was confused, wondering why the subject of all my dreams could be so close, but not behave like a dream guy.

Because in my dreams, we’re married. In my dreams, we’re happy. My dreams, it seems, are the fantastical sort.

I let Luke and Troy lead me to a sports bar to celebrate. Pictures of Troy and Evan and Finn hang in the bar, and I try not to gaze too openly at Finn’s smiling, 2-D face.

Glasses clink, people chatter, loud happy music blares.

“They’re here!”Someone shouts, and suddenly drinks are being forced into our hands, women are fluttering their lashes and adjusting their halter tops to reveal more cleavage, and the room thunders with applause.

A twenty-something man in a tight Blizzards shirt slinks over to me. “I’m sorry to hear about your marriage.”

“Uh, thank you.”

He darts large doe eyes up to me. “I can help make you feel better.”

I blink, and he stiffens.