Page 10 of The Pucking Fake Marriage (The Ice Kings #4)

NINE

PUSHING THROUGH THE PAIN (KEN)

Even before I see him, I can tell that Tools, my personal trainer, is going to be livid.

“You showed up today.” His voice rings out loud and clear, cutting through the entire gym and causing everyone in the vicinity to look around. “I’m pleasantly surprised.”

I force a grin as I stride up to him, ignoring the jibe. Tools is about the only man I know whose height and weight far outstrip mine. At six-foot-five and a whooping three hundred pounds of lean muscle, he’s the kind of guy you don’t want to mess around with. He’s also more than ten years older than me and has no reservations calling me out.

Which is exactly why I wanted him to train me.

“I missed one session,” I remind him, because he’s looking like he’s considering bashing my head in with a hammer. “Let’s not make an international incident out of it.”

He growls and nods toward the weights. I sit down on the bench and wait for his directions. Instead, Tools keeps glowering at me .

“Two. What’s the point of paying me if all you do is play hooky?”

“You should be happy,” I tell him. “Means you get to pocket all that cash for nothing.”

“Also means that people who know I’m training you can prattle about how much I suck. I’ll take a good reputation over good money any day of the week.”

I bite back the urge to remind him that I’m in great shape. The session I missed was a few weeks ago, when I decided I’d rather stalk Charlie at her gym than come to mine. The second one happened more recently, the day after she came to my house to tell me that we were married.

Every recent upheaval in my life is linked to her. Particularly the tumult going on in my head, every damn second of every day.

After a warm-up, Tools puts me to work. I follow his instructions, ignoring the fact that he’s punishing me, pushing me through the stances a little harder than he’d ordinarily do. My muscles strain as I begin to squat. A throbbing burn spreads in my legs, but I welcome it. Hell, I almost like it. Working out, having to endure Tools’s instructions, hearing the low thrum of other gym goers… This makes me feel more alive than anything has in a long while.

A different kind of alive, anyway. One that isn’t dependent on Charlie’s presence.

We move to bench presses. Streams of sweat are running down my face and my arms when we’re done. I stand up from the bench panting, tired beyond words. But I also feel better than I have in months.

“Thanks, man.”

Tools doesn’t seem in the slightest removed from his bad mood. “Miss another session and I’m going to have your head, literally.” He pulls out his iPad and consults his schedule. “Think we should focus on some accessory work now. You’ve missed leg day once, and your calves are looking pretty sorry.”

I open my mouth, a retort heavily loaded, until a voice cuts through.

“He looks pretty good to me.”

We both turn around. Standing behind me is a slim-figured woman. I instantly recognize her as one of the regulars. Her hair, with streaks of red, is in a smooth ponytail, and she’s clothed in a tank top and a pair of leggings. She looks casual enough, but there’s no mistaking the look in her eyes. I’ve had women look at me that way a million times.

I flash a grin at her, but Tools snaps on his usual, brash demeanor for situations like this.

“Not to me. Let’s load the machine. Now.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I’m Bailey,” she says, winking at me. “See you around.” Then she turns and walks away.

Tools lets out a sound of deep disgust before she’s completely out of earshot.

“I know you’re going to want to get with her, but I’ve got to warn you. We have another half an hour here, and…”

“I’m not.”

My words seem to stop Tools in his tracks. For the first time, he drops the murderous look and simply looks stunned. “You’re not? Atta boy, focus on your recovery properly.”

I bite back a tinge of irritation. It’s only natural he’s surprised, after all. I mean, he’s witnessed this scene play out a million times. And he’s never seen me turn down a girl who approached me during our workouts. The cycle is as trusted as Tools’s regimen: I’d meet up with them afterward, have a nice time back at the apartment, and send them on their way .

“We should get started with those calf raises,” I remind him.

For the first time since I’ve known him, he doesn’t jump into action after hearing me say “let’s get started.” Instead, he keeps gazing at me.

“You okay, buddy?” His tone is gruff, but there’s no mistaking the concern in his voice. “If I pushed you too hard, then…”

“No . ” My fingers ball into fists. Tools looks down at them, and then up at me. Something close to worry is etched deeply on his face, but he leads me over to the leg press and starts to drill me.

Bolts of fury roam freely in my skull as I follow. This time, working out doesn’t come with any sort of pleasure. In fact, I get more pissed as time goes by.

Not at Tools. Or at today’s routine. Or at the woman who approached us, whatever her name was.

No, I’m fucking pissed at Charlie.

Over the past few months, she’s messed up so many areas of my life. My job. My friends, who I have to avoid because they keep bringing her up. My brain. Hell, my fucking marital status.

And now, I couldn’t even think of being with another girl while she is back in my life. She’s screwed up that part so badly that even Tools notices.

Any woman who fucks with my head hard enough to get Tools to show concern isn’t just a woman. She is a damned siren.

The worst thing about Charlie is how she manages to screw my life by merely existing. I’ve only seen her a handful of times and haven’t spoken to her at all since she told me we were married. And yet, it feels to me as though I’ve been breathing her in every damn second of the day .

Our last conversation didn’t go the way I expected. Not even a little. From the moment she pulled out that certificate, my brain sort of broke in half. But then, it made a lot of sense. I remember feeling distinctly bothered when the word marriage came up in a conversation with Alex and Blake. A part of me knew there was more to that night than two old friends hooking up. I just hadn’t let myself sift through the memories well enough.

I’m a married man. For months now. Ironically, as I realized then, I am now the husband of the only woman who I’d considered committing to since I’ve been old enough to know what that meant.

My first impulse was to demand an annulment. It was either that or throttle her in fury. Even before she admitted to it, I knew that she needed the marriage to secure a loan—I still remember her speaking about loans with the gym dude. She could’ve come to me and asked for an arranged marriage, and I would have done it. Or just plain asked me for the money. I would have given it to her. This was her way of holding on to control, of cutting corners so she still wouldn’t have to talk to me.

She is holding on to her pride above everything. That pisses me off as much as being lied to.

So, I decided to hold off on asking for a divorce.

Instead, I chose another way to win: unravel her, layer by layer. Watch her let go of her pride and admit how human she is underneath her false bravado.

It started well, I think. Holding her, fingering her… It more than made up for the shock of our so-called marriage. Every single moment felt precious, too good to be true. It was overwhelmingly difficult, forcing myself to not plunge into her then and there.

But I managed it. Reminded myself that Charlotte Chapman is all sorts of dangerous. I wasn’t going to go all the way until Charlie admitted she wanted me, even outside the bonds of her plan. That if we were to live together, our sexcapades were going to be what she wanted, not just an unwelcome side effect.

I hadn’t even gotten her to say that when she fled. It’s what Charlie does best now: run.

I’m used to it. But for the first time, something about her departure feels like my fault.

And I can’t figure out why.

Tools is as good as his word. He keeps me sweating with single leg deadlifts, cable rows, and core work for another twenty minutes before moving me over to box jumps and medicine ball slams. By the end of the session, every single sweat pore on my skin is oozing. I collapse on the mat, exhausted beyond words. Normally, I’d be looking forward to refueling and taking a long nap. That, or hooking up with a puck bunny.

But I feel nothing of the sort today. Because as bracing as the workout was, doing the physical work doesn’t quiet my mind. It’s still muddled up, focused on only her.

Damn Charlotte Chapman to hell.

“I know I put you through the paces today,” Tools says, throwing a towel at me. He looks somewhat mulish. “But I’ve got to apologize, really, if I was a little short with that girl.”

“You weren’t.” Thankfully, I’m able to keep the fury out of my tone this time.

Tools nods and heads off to the showers.

I watch him go, my gut tightening. I came for today’s session hoping that working out would do something to the storm of thoughts raging in my head. But now I’ve got to come to terms with the fact that there’s only one thing that’ll give me the peace I’m searching for.

Confronting the beast directly.

I know it’s practically unchanged, but Charlie’s restaurant seems even more deserted when I walk through the doors for the second time. There’s an eerie stillness to the place, perhaps because the girl who was taking orders—Haley—isn’t even behind the counter this time. I look around the dim space. Shadows linger in corners, giving the space a gloomy, unwelcoming feel.

I hear a muffled curse coming from beyond the door labeled “Staff Only.” Charlie, I think. My body reacts before my brain can. I stride to the counter. Slipping underneath it, I walk past the half-open door into a quiet commercial kitchen filled with old, worn-out appliances and sparsely stocked pantry shelves. Lots of metal cupboards and tables, very little color anywhere in sight.

Charlie is standing a few feet from me. Her hair is tied back in a tight bun, her head covered with a beanie. She’s dressed in a chef’s jacket that looks a little too big on her. She seems to have just made a burger, the ingredients strewn on the table, and is now trying to cut it in two. She tries twice, but the clearly blunt knife doesn’t so much as make an impression on the topmost patty. On the third try, she curses again, and the knife goes sailing across the room.

“Hi.”

She jumps and looks around. Her face is torn between shock and fear. “Oh my God,” she mutters, taking a step back. “You scared me.” She looks back at the burger, and two blotches of color form on her cheeks. “How long have you been here?”

She doesn’t even sound embarrassed. Just resigned.

“Long enough.” I nod at the knife, lodged in one corner of the room. “You might want to invest in sharper knives.”

I expect a quick retort. But Charlie just stares at me for a few seconds. And then a guttural sound spills from her lips. Laughter , I realize a second later. She holds her palm to her stomach, giggling furiously.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her laugh in ten years. But the sound is hollow. It couldn’t be clearer that she’s not amused in the slightest. Her eyes are cold, and the tinge of sadness in them is hard to ignore.

Somehow, that stings. Makes me remember those times I could make her belly ache with real laughter.

“You’re right,” she mutters, as her giggles die off. “I should invest in sharper knives. You’d think someone who wants to run a restaurant would at least get that right. But I can’t even cut a fucking burger. And I thought I was gonna do something about this place.” She raises her arms wide, gesturing at the restaurant.

I stare at her, thrown off balance. This is not the version of Charlie I hoped to confront when I walked in here. Hell, I didn’t even know that this version existed. Tired. Exhausted. Angry.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her. I want to take back those words the moment I say them. And not because I deem them woefully inadequate. But because I’m slowly shifting gears. Switching from the man who cares nothing about her life…to the teenage boy who’s ready to do anything to bring her joy.

But that version of me is long dead.

It has to be .

Charlie’s eyes widen with angst. “Everything,” she cries. “My dad is sick, and I’m too useless to help out with bills. My best friend invested her whole life into this restaurant, and I can’t get it running. My life’s a mess. Again. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

There’s a burning in my chest. At first, I think I’m merely surprised because Charlie’s finally opening up to me after so long. Since we reunited, the most I’ve gotten to see of her is the aloof stranger who wants to fuck me and nothing else. To see her humanity spread out this way is disconcerting, almost refreshing.

A second later, Charlie bursts into tears. Holding her face in her arms, she starts to sob, her shoulders heaving and her entire body trembling. Her breakdown rents the air, filling the kitchen with its haunting quality.

Then I realize what the burning in my chest means.

Pain.

Even with Charlie’s betrayal, I still can’t bring myself to see her hurting and not want to right the world for her.

I cross the room instantly. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Going to her, crushing her in my arms. Holding her to console her. Also holding her to stave off the misery threatening to consume me. She buries her face in my chest as my arms wrap around her. She fits against me seamlessly. Like she was made for me.

But she wasn’t.

The hard reality knocks off some of the angst I feel. The woman in my arms has never been mine, truly. She was my brother’s for as long as I can remember. Hell, she’d probably still be with him if he hadn’t broken up with her. They don’t speak anymore, but Kali is always going to hold more of her heart than I ever will. Her newfound sexual attraction toward me doesn’t change that .

All of this is happening because she needs my help. Nothing more.

I’d be stupid to ever forget that.

Charlie pulls away a few beats later, wiping her tears and avoiding my gaze. I try to brush away the storm in my chest. Ignore the urge to pull her back to me and promise to fix everything.

If this is going to work, I’m going to have to suppress all of my inhibitions. I was wrong about my old self dying.

There’s always going to be a stump in my heart that grows stems and leaves the moment Charlie is around.

“I’m sorry for being an asshole,” I start.

Charlie finally looks up at me, her eyes narrowed in confusion. “You didn’t do anything. None of this is your fault.”

“You came to tell me about the marriage,” I say, taking a step closer. “I should’ve known you were going through something horrible for you to do something like that. Instead, I…” I take a deep breath. “I should’ve acted better. I had no idea your dad is sick. I’m sorry.”

It’s the truth. Charlie’s dad was rarely around, but I knew that he was her favorite parent. Not being able to help with his treatment must be killing her.

Charlie stares at me. She’s waiting for my next words, words we both know will define the next few months of our lives.

I pause for a second. As much as I want to help her, I know what this means. I know how careful I’m going to have to be. It’s important we’re on the same page.

“Move in with me.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Long enough till we get the papers for your loan. I’m ready to loan you some money upfront, for your business and your dad. You can pay me back with what you get from the bank and pay them off with your profit. You’ll have your life together in a couple of months, and you can move out again.”

I inhale deeply. The last part of my statement is the most important. I take a step further, focusing my mind on the fact that all I want to do is help Charlie find her feet. Only that. She’s lost so much in life already, and I owe this to her as my old friend.

“We’ll sleep in different bedrooms. I won’t touch you, I promise.”

She lets out a sound between a sigh and a moan. I swipe the thought away of how much throatier she’d be if I was buried deep inside her right now.

“Even if I change my mind?” Her voice is low, almost anxious. There’s an unreadable expression in her eyes. Fear? Worry?

Does she want that caveat to be removed?

I force myself not to dig deeper. “Even then.” I’m hammering a nail into my own skull saying those words, but I know that’s the right thing to do. And not just because it’s the best thing for Charlie’s business.

It’s the best thing for me, too.

Because I don’t think I could survive Charlie Chapman ripping out my heart for a second time.