Page 31 of Sin Bin (BU Hockey Season 2, #1)

Fallon

W e had to drive a few miles out of the city, but the diner my brother found is charming with its black-and-white tile and red vinyl booths.

Even better, it’s not too crowded. There are some families who’ve clearly just come from church, and a few truck drivers at the counter, but no one is paying any attention to the two of us, and that’s just the way I like it.

Especially after the circus in my hotel room.

I’m studying the menu like there’s going to be a final exam on its contents, when Booker taps my hand.

What is going on? he asks.

When it’s just the two of us, we sign without speaking. It’s easier and faster because ASL and English aren’t perfect matches. ASL is its own language, complete with grammar rules, so speaking just to clue in the hearing folks can be a chore.

It occurs to me that Ollie does the same thing, and I’ve never stopped to think too deeply about it.

My brother is waiting for an answer, so I give him one, even though I know he won’t like it. I’m looking at the menu. I hate when there are a million choices. It all looks so good.

Booker rolls his eyes in frustration, but after the hissy fit he threw in my hotel room less than an hour ago, I think he deserves a little bit of my attitude.

You’re getting waffles with whipped cream and strawberries, because that’s what you always get at places like this. You’ll order bacon on the side, but I’ll steal most of it. I know how breakfast is going to go, Fallon. What I don’t know is how in heck you ended up married to Ollie?

Shutting my menu, because dammit, he’s right, I don’t hesitate to answer. Because I’m a grown up who can make my own decisions.

I usually look forward to any time I can spend with my brother, but this is different.

Booker loves me unconditionally, and I know without question that if I tell him I got drunk last night and made bad decisions that I regret, he’ll whisk me out of here so fast that I’ll still be spinning when we sit down in front of a lawyer to undo the mistake I made.

The thing is, it feels wrong to call Ollie a mistake.

I mean, marrying him sure as hell wasn’t on my agenda, but I know myself.

And I don’t do things I don’t want to do, no matter how drunk I am.

Margarita Me had reasons for saying the words “I do”, and I’m sure Ollie had his reasons, too.

Airing out our personal business before we’ve even had a chance to talk—even to my brother—just doesn’t feel right.

Although, since Ollie posted it for the enjoyment of anyone with wifi, I can see why Booker wants answers.

You are an adult who can make her own decisions , Booker says. I’m just surprised that one of those decisions is marrying a man you don’t like.

I can’t help the smile that crosses my lips. Turns out, he’s not all bad.

Booker winces. I don’t want to know those details. What I do want to know is if you’re really happy?

As he places our order with the server who stopped by to refill our coffee cups, I think about his question, because let’s face it: happiness is relative.

And happiness is never something I equated to marriage.

Am I happier with Ollie than I am being subjected to a line of suitors from Gran and Grandad?

Definitely. Am I happier with Ollie than my mom was with my father?

No doubt. Am I happier with Ollie than I would be on my own?

Time will tell. But there seems to be more to Booker’s line of questioning, and I’m determined to find out what it is.

I pour a little more creamer into my coffee before facing my brother.

What are you getting at, Book?

I’m ready for him to tell me that Ollie’s not good enough for me or that if I change my mind, I can move out here until I figure out my next steps. But when he opens his mouth and tells me what’s on his mind, I’m not ready for his words.

Did you marry him so you could access your trust fund? Because there are ? —

What? No. I’m stunned. Stunned and hurt that Booker would draw that conclusion, but I guess it makes sense.

We all have trusts from gran and grandad that we can’t access until we’re twenty-five or married.

I never planned to get hitched, so in my mind, that money would be out of reach for another four years.

It’s not that I haven’t thought about the trust or what I’d do with it. That kind of money could fund my dreams of seeing the world. But it wasn’t my motivation for marrying Ollie. I know that for sure.

Booker breathes a sigh of relief and just when I’m about to reach over and punch him for thinking the worst of me, the torn look on his face has me holding my temper.

I know Gran and Grandad put a lot of pressure on you. And I know you deserve your freedom, just like Em and I do. I didn’t know if you and Ollie made some kind of deal or something. It sounds dumb now that I say it out loud, but it made sense in my head.

My anger dissipates. I think you’ve been watching too much TV.

Probably, he admits, smiling . I just—I know I lost my mind on Ollie this morning, but the two of you mean the world to me, and I don’t want to see either of you getting hurt .

Well, we have that in common, but somehow, I don’t think I’m coming out of this unscathed.

Ollie managed to book us a later flight, which means I had time to see Booker’s apartment and spend some quality time with my brother before heading to the airport.

It also means that we can fly back home without the whole team watching us like hawks and trying to put the pieces of a mismatched puzzle together.

When we’re settled in our seats and well-versed in flight safety, Ollie turns to me.

I've been waiting for and dreading this moment in equal measures all day. What if he’s changed his mind?

What if he’s realized how crazy all of this is?

What if he’s remembered every detail of our wedding and he realizes that what felt like a fun, impulsive decision was the worst mistake of his life.

Saving me from my doom spiral, Ollie reaches into his carry on and grabs a pack of gum.

He offers me a piece, and I take it gratefully, if only because it gives me something to do with my hands.

I’m not usually one to crash out like this, but the last twenty-four hours have been a roller coaster, and based on our meeting with Coach Baylor today, the ride is just getting started.

Ollie nudges me and smiles. “ It’s been a total mindfuck, right?” he says, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips because that’s the perfect word to describe the events that have happened since he and I were last on a plane.

Are we crazy? I ask. I think the general consensus is that we’ve lost our minds.

Ollie winks at me. There’s not a person on campus who thinks I’m sane.

I smile because he’s right, but then I realize his whole expression has sobered. When his eyes meet mine, they look heavy with regret.

Oh shit. Here it comes.

I’m sorry, Fallon . His words are simple, and he offers no more explanation, but I need the words, dammit.

What are you sorry for? I ask.

Because this is all my fault.

Okay, that is not what I was expecting him to say. How do you figure that? Do you remember what happened?

He shakes his head. Still only bits and pieces.

Some are clear as day, some are hazy, and some moments are just blank.

But I know myself well enough to know that getting married in Vegas had to be my idea.

That’s got Oliver Louis Jablonski written all over it.

We’d been drinking and those margaritas hit hard.

I know you never would have agreed to stand at the altar with me, or hell, stand in the same room with me, if we hadn’t been drunk and I hadn’t had a ‘brilliant’ idea.

And now, you’re stuck with me, at least for the foreseeable future.

There’s no way that was on your plan for this year, so… yeah. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry .

His words are almost my undoing, but I manage to keep myself together.

In case you’ve forgotten, Ollie, I’m not someone who responds well to authority.

I don’t do things unless I damn well want to, so don’t torture yourself with the idea that I’m some poor girl who got duped and now I’m stuck married to a hunky hockey player.

He brightens a little at that. You think I’m a hunk, huh?

You know you’re good-looking, I sign back. You don’t need me to feed your ego.

But you’re my wife , he signs. Isn’t that in the job description?

Playfully, I tap my finger against my chin. Hmmm…I don’t remember reading that in the brochure at the wedding chapel, so I’m gonna go with no .

Ollie sobers once again. Maybe we should talk about that.

The wedding chapel? I ask.

No, the job descriptions. I mean, we’re doing this, right?

Coach and Val made it pretty clear that we need to look the part of the happy couple so that the media runs with the fairytale story instead of the dumb drunk decisions version.

So, if you’re still on board with that, then we should probably lay some ground rules or at least make a game plan.

I’m absolutely okay with it, I assure him.

I’m the one who asked you to trust me, right?

I have my own reasons for making this marriage look legit, and their names are Jim and Carol.

My grandparents are lovely people, but their expectations can be a little intense.

They’re old-fashioned to say the least and they definitely think a woman’s place is right next to her husband.

So, they’ve been introducing me to guys from their church in hopes that I’ll see the light and want to settle down and raise a family.

But you’re still in college. Isn’t that a little young for the marriage track? He glances down at our rings and shrugs. The typical one, anyway.