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twenty-one

CAROLINE

Austin, TX, USA

“Can we go back to before the game started?”

At the reporter’s question, Dad, Rhett, Luke Buckner (our goalie, better known as Buck), and Ragnar Lindt (our star left-winger, who everyone calls Rags) all nod from their seats at the press table.

We only landed back in Texas a few hours ago, still riding the high of last night’s win.

Honestly, the whole day in Sin City was a blur—and a success.

“Rhett, you got married,” the reporter states.

And here it comes. The crash back to reality.

Rhett leans forward, folding his hands on the table—his wedding band fully on display for every person and camera in the room to see.

“I did,” he says, smirking.

“Think that had anything to do with your performance?”

Rhett’s eyes flick to me in the back of the room.

“Maybe. I’m sure the adrenaline helped. ”

“I mean—a wife, a goal, two assists, and a win,” the reporter chuckles. “That’s a hell of a night.”

“It was,” he agrees. “But it was a great night for the whole team. Buck was a brick wall in net, and Rags was a machine out there scoring those back-to-back goals in the second period. We’re pumped to get our first win of the season—and one with that much energy.”

“Rags?” a journalist in the second row speaks up.

He straightens, all charm. “Yeah?”

“What was the team’s reaction to the wedding?”

His smile falters. “Uh… well, Sutty told us in the locker room before the game. Definitely an interesting surprise.”

“Surprise? So you didn’t know beforehand?”

Rags scratches the back of his head, glancing at Rhett.

“No, we didn’t. But hey—we’re happy for him.” His eyes flick to me, then back to the press. “Happy for them .”

“So, no teammates at the ceremony?”

“We kept it intimate,” Rhett jumps in smoothly.

I ignore the two male journalists that clearly don’t realize I’m a few feet behind them whispering, “ I bet they did ,” as Rhett adds, “Just family.”

My family.

And suddenly I realize—his wasn’t there.

Did he invite them? Did he tell them the marriage is fake? Did they try to stop him?

Why haven’t I asked him any of this?

“Sutty, looking ahead a little—” another reporter says.

“Please,” Rhett says, clearly welcoming the shift in subject.

“The Storm’s annual charity gala is next weekend. That’ll be you and your wife’s first public appearance together, right?”

Shit. The gala. I forgot.

“We’re on a tight schedule,” Dad cuts in sharply. “Let’s stick to hockey questions. We’ve got a full week ahead. ”

“Right,” another reporter speaks up. “You’re headed to Toronto later this week. Rhett, that’s your own backyard. How’re you feeling going into that game?”

“Toronto’s off to a strong start,” Rhett muses. “But we’ll be ready.”

“Since you'll be back at home,” another reporter adds, “surely your family will be in attendance to welcome you and your new wife?”

My spine stiffens.

And there’s another thing I apparently had not thought of.

I have to meet Rhett’s parents.

Surely, deep down, I had to have known that if he and I were going to be spending the next three to five years together— deep breath —I was going to have to meet them at some point. I just didn’t expect it to be now. A couple of weeks after our spur-of-the-moment marriage.

Now, I’m suddenly feeling a whole lot like Sanda Bullock in The Proposal .

Should we start preparing binders of personal information to exchange and study on the flight to Toronto so we actually appear to know each other like two people in love?

Come to think of it—Rhett’s never said much about where he comes from. Besides hockey with Bennett… nothing.

He hasn’t answered the question yet.

When I glance back at the table, he’s tense—rigid—jaw tight.

“That would be a fair assumption,” he finally says.

“Speaking of parents, Bear, we should bring you into this,” the reporter adds. “Since this involves your daughter?—”

Your daughter.

The one who apparently doesn’t have a name. Because—not that I’ve been counting, but—this is verging on the fifth question about my and Rhett’s marriage, and my name has not been mentioned a single time.

Just Rhett’s wife and Bear’s daughter.

Sounds about right.

“That won’t be necessary,” Dad cuts in. “I said everything I needed to in last night’s statement. Caroline and Rhett are happy. We’re happy for them. But they’ve got jobs to do, and that’s their priority. Let’s keep it on hockey.”

There’s a collective groan, but it fades when someone up front changes the subject.

“Buck, Toronto picked up Callahan this offseason. You ready to face him in net?”

And just like that, the pressure in my chest loosens.

Back to hockey.

The rest of the press conference is uneventful.

I wait in the back, hoping to slip out once the crowd thins?—

Until a voice stops me cold.

“Well, well. Nothing going on, huh, Care Bear?”

I grit my teeth.

Mick.

“You know, back in school, people used to ask me if there was something between us with the way we were always at each other’s throats. I always told them it was nothing.” His smirk is pure slime. “But hey, by your definition of nothing, maybe I should’ve held out longer.”

“I would rather staple my tongue to a wall, Dick.”

“Funny, I’ve heard you say similar things about Slutty Sutty in the past—and then you married him.” He snorts. “In Vegas? Thought you were classier than that.”

I take a step closer. “Don’t call him that.”

“You know who you married.”

“You’re right,” I say. “And you know absolutely nothing about him. ”

“To think you fooled us all. Makes me wonder what else you’ve lied about.”

“I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation. My personal life is none of your business.”

“Well, now it’s the entire NHL fan base’s business. You two made sure of that with your cute little coordinated Instagram posts.” He holds up his hands in air quotes. “‘Couldn’t Barrett any longer #SuttonlyMarried?’ Really? Who came up with that?”

I certainly didn’t. But I know if Addie were still here running the Storm’s social media, she would’ve come up with something so much better—and far less gag-inducing.

“Are you done?” I ask. “I have places to be.”

“Where next? The CEO of the NHL’s office? Do you two have a special appointment?”

“Mick, that’s enough.”

“You know, even though we never really got along, I always saw it as friendly competition. I respected you.” He laughs.

“Never thought you’d be the type to sleep your way to the top.

But here you are—whoring your way up the ladder.

From the baby crib to a custom California king with more notches in its bedpost than either of us can count. ”

My vision goes blurry. My voice comes out small but sharp. “Fuck you.”

“Way to set women in sports back twenty years?—”

“She told you that was enough.”

Mick and I both turn to find Rhett standing behind us.

Mick straightens quickly and offers his hand. “Hey, man. Congrats on the game.”

Rhett just stares at the offered hand like it’s beneath him.

“Put that away,” he says. “Before you regret it.”

Mick lowers his hand, adjusting his tie. “Sorry if there was a misunderstanding. I don’t have a problem with you?—”

“Yeah?” Rhett takes a step closer. “Well, anything you’ve got with her—” he points at me “—you’ve got with me now.

So think long and hard before you open your mouth about Caroline again.

I’m guessing your bosses prefer you camera-ready.

And it’s probably kinda hard to do your job with a busted jaw.

So if I were you, I wouldn’t do so much as breathe in her direction. ”

He turns to go, pauses, rubs his mouth with the back of his hand, then swings back around and closes the distance between him and Mick.

“And you want to talk about setting back sports? Someone who only knows icing as what’s on top of a cupcake shouldn’t be commentating for the NHL.

Maybe take the time to learn who your team’s players are and how to pronounce their names rather than fumbling through them every game like a kindergartener learning to read.

It’s lazy, ignorant, and disrespectful.”

Rhett’s gaze drops, and he points at Mick’s chest.

“And that tie? Wrong shade of green. Clashes with the whole damn set. Even a blind guy could tell you that.”

Mick glances at me. I give him nothing. Just stare back, blank.

He mutters something under his breath and walks off.

Silence stretches between us as his footsteps fade. One second. Then another. Or maybe a minute. I can’t tell.

“Too much?” Rhett finally asks.

Honestly?

No.

If anything… not enough.

Right up until the last part.

I turn to face him. “Why don’t you just piss on me next time, Rhett? Save yourself the speech.”

His jaw ticks. “If that’s your thing, Cub, just let me know. Actually—go ahead and make a list of all your kinks while you’re at it.”

“Seriously? Now is when you make a sex joke? ”

“Might as well. Doesn’t matter what I say—apparently I’m always wrong.”

I exhale. “Look, I’m sorry. I appreciate you standing up for me. I just… I don’t know how to do this. What I’m supposed to be okay with. How I’m supposed to act.”

“Well, let me help you out. Start by acting like you like me. I know that might be hard for you, but most people at least pretend to like their spouses.”

I scoff. “Sorry. Faking it doesn’t come naturally to everyone.”

Rhett presses his tongue into his cheek, stepping closer.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Cub, but when it comes to you, there’s a reason my act looks so natural.” His voice drops. “Because I don’t have to pretend to want you.”

My lips part. No words come out.

Rhett watches me for a beat, then scoffs—a sharp, humorless sound.

“Rhett, I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Well, that’s a first.”

“Rhett—”

“It’s fine.” He sniffs, then brushes past me. “I’ll see you at home.”

I go still.

Home.

Not Rhett’s home.

Because, as we found out from Linda this morning…

Apparently, I live there now too.