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twenty-three

CAROLINE

Austin, TX, USA

“You could not be further off, Rhett.”

“What? How?” he huffs. “Why wouldn’t it go in this cabinet? It’s a bowl.”

“It’s a colander.”

“Okay—without using scientific terms—they’re basically the same.”

“Is it practical for the milk from your cereal to land in your lap? Or when you eat soup? You trying to get second-degree burns down there? Pretty sure that’d be detrimental for you.”

“Well, A,” Rhett says, “I’m not fifty-five, so I don’t eat soup?—”

“What’s wrong with soup?”

“If I don’t have to chew it, it’s not a meal.”

“That’s ridiculous?—”

“And B,” he continues, “though your concern for my manhood is touching, refer back to A.”

He drops the colander on top of the bowls and returns to the kitchen island where boxes of my things wait.

Linda was kind enough to send movers to lovingly bubble wrap and pack my entire life before ripping it away.

I get it—if Rhett and I are married, we can’t live in separate apartments.

But I’d hoped the impulsivity of our Vegas wedding and the fact I’d just renewed my lease might buy us some time.

I argued we’d be together constantly anyway—with work, practice, games, and travel. Maybe people wouldn’t notice.

Linda disagreed.

“People may have been caught off guard, but they believe it—and they’re eating it up,” she says. “We can’t risk anything. If this gets out, the damage will be irreparable.”

So that was that. The moving truck was waiting at my apartment when we landed. And waiting again at Rhett’s after the press conference.

We were exhausted—emotionally and physically—but neither of us could relax until we made a dent. Turns out, we’re both neat freaks.

“Your ‘manhood’ could shrivel up and fall off for all I care,” I say, grabbing the colander off the bowls and tucking it next to the salad spinner.

“It’s a bowl,” Rhett mutters.

“It is not. And a cutting board is still not a plate?—”

“Can you eat off it?”

I throw my hands up. “By that logic, everything’s a plate. You can eat off anything if you try.”

His brows lift. “Should I add that to your list of kinks or?—”

I chuck a sponge at his head. “Shut up!”

He blocks it, laughing. Despite myself, I laugh too.

“I swear,” I shake my head, “it’s like you’ve never been in a kitchen. ”

“Believe it or not, I’ve been in this kitchen plenty. Considering it’s mine.”

I sigh. “You’re right. I’m the one invading. I’ll ease up.”

“You’re not invading, Cub,” he says. “You’re joining. We’ll both have to compromise.”

“I can do that.” I think. “Anyway, it’s not like we really have a choice.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not spend the next few years sleeping with one eye open in case you bash my head in with a colander.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I say. “Maybe with a bowl though.”

He smirks as he unpacks my teacups, lining them beside his coffee mugs.

I lean against the counter. “While we’re on the topic of boundaries…”

He looks up.

“This needs to be a safe space. There are no people and no cameras here. So no need for us to pretend. No funny business. No flirting. No unnecessary touching.”

“So…no sex then?”

I just stare.

He lifts his hands. “Fine. I won’t lay a finger on you. Unless you ask me to.”

“So, never. Perfect.”

“Anything else?”

I cross my arms. “If you’re planning to…do that with anyone else, I need two hours’ notice. So I can either leave or barricade myself in my room with snacks and noise-canceling headphones.”

Rhett straightens. “Cub, I don’t think that’ll be?—”

“And I’ll do the same for you.”

He goes still. “You’ll what now?”

“If I bring anyone back here, I’ll let you know. So you’re not blindsided. ”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “I thought we needed to be careful.”

“And we will,” I say. “But a girl has needs.”

The air stretches tight between us. Rhett steps closer, folding his arms to mirror mine.

“You’ll be watched more than me,” I say softly. “Just keep things here. And keep me in the know. I don’t want any surprises.”

Something shifts in his expression. The teasing dulls. “Baby?—”

“Promise?”

A beat. Then he nods. “I promise.”

I exhale. “You know, I’m surprised by your place. When I woke up here, I never would’ve guessed it was yours.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s so…white. Pristine. Trendy decor, no clutter, no personal touches. And instead of a hockey bag and sticks shoved in the corner, you’ve got a blanket ladder and pampas grass.”

“That fluffy stuff has a name?”

“It does,” I confirm, smirking. “You know, this whole place looks straight out of a catalog. Like it’s a showroom.”

“Well, it kind of was,” he says. “I walked into a furniture store thirty minutes after getting the keys and told them to bring me whatever was on display.”

I tilt my head. “Not into decorating?”

Rhett shrugs. “I’m rarely home. Didn’t think much about it.”

I hum, opening another box. “Can I ask you something?”

“If it’s about whether I think a spatula is a spoon, you probably won’t like my answer.”

I blink, then decide to not even entertain that thought. “Why don’t you have a house?” I ask. “You’re in your thirties.”

“Barely. ”

“Still. You’ve been in Texas for a while, and it’s not like you don’t have the money.”

“Less commitment,” he says. “Easier to break a lease than sell a house. In case I get traded or something.”

“You’ve been with the Storm for ten years.”

“You never know.”

Before I can push further, he changes the subject.

“Were this many packing peanuts really necessary to move your things ten minutes across town?”

“My things are valuable.”

Rhett holds up a pack of Zoo Pals plates.

“To me,” I add.

He pulls out another. “Three packs?”

“They were on sale. I enjoy the compartments.”

“So I’m expected to buy a house, but you’re twenty-five and eating off cartoon animals?”

I press my lips together.

“Just saying.” He smirks.

“I’ll clean up the peanuts,” I sigh. “Where’s your broom?”

“Cub, it’s fine?—”

“Broom, Sutton.”

He sighs. “Hall closet.”

I head down the hall, opening a door to an entirely packed closet.

“Boys,” I mutter, and wedge my arms between the coats, shoving coats aside in search of the broom. All I find are hockey sticks and a life-size cardboard cutout of Rhett in his Storm uniform, which I choose to ignore.

Just as I’m about to give up and call for help, something catches my eye—a small wooden jewelry box, delicate and old. I drop to my knees, reaching for it, and run my finger over the delicate white flowers hand-painted on the top before flipping the little silver latch and lifting the lid .

Empty.

“What are you doing?”

I jolt. Rhett’s behind me.

“Looking for the broom,” I say. “You said hall closet.”

He holds up the broom. “That hall closet.”

I spot an open door across the hall—shelves neatly stacked with cleaning supplies.

“Well, you could’ve been more specific,” I huff. “Not everyone has a penthouse with twenty-five closets.”

“It’s just a three-bedroom apartment on a high floor. And there are only like six closets?—”

His eyes fall to the box in my hands. Something flickers in his face—there, then gone.

I stand and offer it to him. “Found this while broom-hunting. What is it?”

“It’s a jewelry box.” He clears his throat. “I think.”

I wait for more, but that’s all he says.

“It looks really old,” I say.

“It’s definitely from another lifetime.”

He stares at it, his jaw tight, and for some reason, he looks almost…sad.

I suddenly feel guilty for even touching it.

“Well, it’s beautiful,” I say softly. “Sorry for snooping. It just caught my eye. I’ll put it back.”

He swallows, but doesn’t stop me. I tuck it away, take the broom, and return to the kitchen.

We finish unpacking in silence. When the kitchen’s done, I grab a bedroom box.

“I’m gonna get settled in my room,” I say, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, of course,” Rhett says. “Grab the guest room. Make yourself at home. ”

I head down the hall, toward the open door but pause when I notice another door cracked open. Curious, I peek inside.

“Hey, not this one,” Rhett says, suddenly there, blocking me.

I blink up at him. “Why not? It’s a guest room, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he says. “But not the guest room. Not the main one.”

“There’s a difference?”

He shifts, blocking me again. “The other room’s better.”

“They look identical.”

“This one’s farther from the bathroom.”

“It’s closer to the kitchen,” I counter. “And I like the west-facing windows—I want the sunset view.”

“But you’re a morning person. Wouldn’t the sunrise make more sense?”

I narrow my eyes. “Rhett, is there a reason you don’t want me in this room?”

“I’d just really prefer you stay in the other one.”

My brows raise.

He hesitates, fingers raking through his curls. “A lot of people have been in there, that’s all.”

My spine steels. “A lot of women have stayed in there, you mean?”

“Been. Not stayed.”

I recoil. “Oh my God. It’s your sex dungeon.”

“I didn’t say that?—”

“You don’t need to.”

I grab my box and bolt.

I’m unpacking when Rhett appears, startling me. The box is knocked over, its content spilling across the floor.

“Rhett!” I groan. “You won, okay? I’m out. The sin den is yours.”

“Shit, sorry.”

We kneel to gather the mess. But Rhett goes still, hand hovering mid-air. I follow his gaze .

He’s staring at my prescription bottles.

“What are those?” he asks, voice low.

“Um, since we’re legally bound by a work contract, I’m pretty sure that’s a HIPAA violation to ask.”

My tone is clearly deadpan, laced with sarcasm, but Rhett doesn’t seem to register it..

“They’re just my ADHD meds, Rhett,” I say. The only response I get is the slight furrowing of his brow. I reach over, picking up the bottle and spinning it to display the label reading Adderall . “See?”

He blinks a few times, and then his gaze shifts to the second bottle on the ground.

“And that’s Ambien. I…” My voice falters. “ I have a hard time sleeping when it storms.”

Rhett finally lifts his head to look at me, and I don’t know what it is, but something between the tense silence and the heaviness in his gaze makes the words spill out of my mouth.

“They’ve always scared me, ever since I was little. I don’t even know why. My parents tried everything. Sleeping masks, earplugs, white noise machines…And it only got worse once Dad started coaching in the NHL and was gone all the time.”

I feel my throat tightening, but I swallow it down.

“Then, one night when Dad was out of town, there was this horrible storm. Lightning hit a tree in our front yard, and it split. One of the branches came crashing through my bedroom window. I was seven, I think. So that didn’t exactly help anything.”

I exhale, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I’ve learned to manage it some over time, but it’s still hard sometimes,” I admit. “Especially since I’ve been living alone the past few years. So, sleeping pills help on bad nights.”

I glance back at Rhett. He’s still watching me, his expression unreadable .

“I’m—” he starts, but doesn’t finish. A second later, he shoots to his feet. “Sorry. Just gonna—bathroom.”

Before I can process what just happened, he’s out the door and down the hall. A moment later, I hear his bedroom door click shut.

I sit there, stunned.

“Uh, okay then.”

I pick up the bottles, finish unpacking the box, and head back to the kitchen for another one.

Just as I’m about to grab it, my phone rings.

I slip it out of my pocket and feel my stomach drop when I see Addie’s name on the screen.

“ Shit ,” I mutter, raking a hand through my hair. I let it ring three more times before finally picking up, knowing I can’t avoid this conversation forever.

“Caroline Barrett, what in the actual fuck is going on?”

“Hey—”

“You said you’d call me back,” Addie continues. “You didn’t. Then I see pictures plastered all over social media of you leaving Rhett’s place after a steamy night of passion ?—”

“Jesus, Addie, really?—”

“After you’ve insisted, repeatedly, that you can’t stand him—which I’ve always known was a lie, but still?—”

“Addie—”

“Ask her where Rhett is,” I hear Bennett’s muffled voice ask in the background. “Tell her to tell him to pick up his goddamn phone.”

“You’re on Rhett duty,” she tells him. “And Caroline isn’t his handler.”

I sigh, smiling. “Thank you?—”

“She’s just his wife , apparently.”

My eyes squeeze shut.

“I mean, excuse me, but I feel like I’ve missed about twelve chapters in the span of forty-eight hours. So, care to clue me in, Care?”

“Addie, look, I promise I will?—”

“No, ma’am. You are not hanging up this call. Caroline, you and Rhett Sutton got married ?—”

“ We didn’t! ” I whisper-shout.

There’s a beat of silence.

“You didn’t?”

I pinch my nose. “Okay, like, technically, we did?—”

“ Caroline! ”

“But it’s not real. I mean, aside from the legal sense.”

A longer beat of silence.

“I am so confused.”

“It’s just for PR purposes,” I tell her. “And it’s only temporary. We didn’t really have a choice in the matter.”

I hear the sound of a door closing, and Addie lowers her voice when she speaks again.

“Are you okay? Are you being held captive?”

“Not far from it,” I mutter under my breath.

“What?”

“No, I’m not,” I assure her. “I’m okay.”

As okay as I can be.

“But you’ve just found yourself in a real —but not really real —only-for-PR-purposes—but still legally binding —marriage situation?—”

“You can’t tell anyone. I mean it, Addie. Please. Promise me.”

She huffs out a sigh. “Okay, I promise. But you have to tell me what’s going on.”

“And I swear, I will.” I start to hear movement from Rhett’s room. “Just—let me tell you as much as I can before he comes back out?—”

“Who?” she asks. “Rhett?”

“Oh… yeah. We’re kinda living together now. ”

“Caroline. Start talking.”

“Okay. If I hang up suddenly, I’ll call you back later.”

So I begin explaining, talking as fast as I can.

But it turns out there’s no rush.

Because Rhett doesn’t come back out of his room for the rest of the night.