Page 94 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son

I lean down to whisper, “Apparently team is too queer. Is fine. Reporters loved it.”

Worry fills his eyes as my stomach drops. I can already see tomorrow’s headlines. Why did Jason have to say anything?

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Dmitri

“Dmitri, conference room,” Coach barks into the locker room before vanishing.

I strip, then hurry to the shower. The heat is normally relaxing, but now uncertainty races through each vein, leaving my body stiff. After a rushed shower, I towel off and dress. Conference rooms are for important meetings, and I’m not entirely surprised when I see Vince, Daniela, Coach, and Oskar in the conference room. I’m more surprised when I see the Japanese billionaire owner of the team.

“Ah, Dmitri Volkov. Our troublemaker.”

“I don’t mean to be.”

There’s nothing polite about his smile. Maybe he’s not technically berating me, but he is displeased.

“You’ve been in the papers quite a bit lately,” he says.

“Is correct.”

“Articles about immigration fraud.”

My jaw stiffens, my muscles tense. I feel discombobulated, each part of my body aching, like I’ve been broken and put back together ineffectively, with tape and glue-sticks, and at any moment, body parts will start sliding off me and landing on various parts of the conference table and conference room floor.

Oskar’s eyes are round and worried, but he pulls out the chair beside him. He gives me a reassuring smile, and I hurry toward him, ignoring any risk of limbs breaking off before I collapse beside him. His hands are folded together, an image of professionalism, but he wraps his ankle around mine. My racing pulse steadies, as if my body needs his to remind itself at what rhythm blood is supposed to pulse through veins.

Tanaka steeples his fingers. “This is an unexpected problem.”

The room is quiet. Coach pats his forehead. Vince’s face looks the shade of green used to depict absinthe in old paintings, like the ones in that art history documentary Oskar and I watched once.

“I should not have to remind you that the Blizzards do not condone immigration fraud. In fact, we do not condone any type of fraud. We don’t condone anything illegal.”

“Yes, sir,” Coach mumbles.

My stomach drops. What if Tanaka decides to replace Coach? Coach has that beautiful house in Arlington with his wife and children. What if all that goes away because of me? What if Oskar’s mother has to move away from her friends? If Oskar’s sisters have to start a new school? No one likes switching schools, and they’ve already moved from Sweden.

Am I harming the people I care about most? Am I destroying their future?

“This whole team’s reputation has plummeted,” Tanaka says.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, sounding nothing like a professional athlete.

He probably can’t believe that I even play hockey. I sound like a frightened man who rarely ventures into the real world.

He looks at coach. “I’m sure you could have found a player to replace Mr. Volkov. You didn’t need to break the law. We’ve already had sufficient share of bad publicity.”

“You have?”

He glowers at me. “Our captain moved in with his defenseman. Our first-line winger eloped with another player. Our alternate captain went on a dating show to prove he was straight—then ran off with the male host!”

“They’re all in love.”

“No one needs to hear about a hockey player’s love life, especially when their love life is so... unconventional.”

Oskar inhales sharply. I reach out and squeeze his thigh, as if I can knead away his troubles like some baker extraordinaire.

Tanaka narrows his gaze at us. “Stop touching your husband, Mr. Volkov. No need to pretend. Everyone knows you’re straight.”