The Penalty Box: A hockey sports romance novel (A Vancouver Wolves Hockey Romance Book 3)

by Odette Stone

  “I didn’t tell a soul.”

  “Nope, people just like to be around you. Get this. We asked for donations to cover the costs. After the fact, we ended up with an extra twenty-six thousand dollars.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Now people want to get you two a wedding gift with that money. Any ideas?”

  I winced and rubbed my eye. “Can you donate it to Charlie’s favorite charity?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, that’s nice. Which one?”

  “She loves dogs.”

  “On it. I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks.”

  I checked my phone. No answer from Charlie. Yet.

  Ryan interrupted my thoughts. “Zoey sure likes Charlie.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “She invited Charlie to come to the next game with her.”

  I mentally made a note to put Zoey in my will. “Thank her for me.”

  “So how is this whole marriage thing working out?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You two sure seemed to have fun last night.”

  I didn’t want to talk about what I didn’t understand. “It’s complicated.”

  He laughed. “Is that your Facebook relationship status?”

  “Nope. My status is that I’m married.”

  He swung another look at me. “Is it complicated because the marriage isn’t real?”

  I felt my expression harden. “My marriage is real.”

  I could tell he was working to keep his expression neutral. “I can see why it’s complicated.”

  “Shut up.”

  He laughed. “It’s okay, buddy. It happens to the best of us.”

  I knew what he was implying. “That’s not what’s happening here.”

  He didn’t answer, but the smile he was fighting told me he thought otherwise.

  Practice with a hangover wasn’t pretty, but three of the rookies puked, so I figured I got off easy. Ryan dropped me off at the hotel, so I could pick up my vehicle.

  Still no answer from Charlie. I decided I would pick her up whether or not I heard from her. Krista’s words about how the transition would be tougher for Charlie came back to me. This might not be a marriage that involved a marriage bed, but I needed to step it up in the husband department. Where I came from, men took care of their women, no questions asked. I dropped by the bank and then drove home.

  I pulled into my driveway and noticed a car parked across the street. When I got out, Detective Wallace got out of the car and started walking towards me. I had no intention of letting him back on my property without a search warrant, so I walked down the driveway, meeting him on the sidewalk.

  “You lost?” My tone was flinty hard.

  He pulled his cheap sunglasses off his face. “Heard you got married.”

  I narrowed my eyes on his face. This clown had no business talking about Charlie. “Last I checked, marriage was legal in Canada.”

  “Heard you served in the military in Russia.”

  “Is there a point to this conversation?”

  “I want to know what you’re hiding.”

  “I want to know why you think harassing an innocent citizen is acceptable.”

  He puffed up his chest. “I’m doing my job.”

  “Not very well.”

  “Your wife’s brother is serving a lengthy sentence. It’d be a shame if things didn’t go well for him in prison.”

  I threw him a dirty look. “The only way to fight corrupt assholes like you is never to give in to your threats, bribes, and harassment. Next time you talk to me, I want my lawyer present.”

  His face flushed puce. “You’re a dick.”

  “And you’re a fat fuck with your head up your ass.”

  That killed the conversation. He sloped back to his car, and I headed inside.

  I was just getting off the phone, ordering replacement furniture for the living room, when Charlie walked in the door.

  I had planned to pick her up. “How did you get home?”

  “The bus. Krista sent me home early. She said she was too hungover to work.” Charlie avoided my gaze. So, we were back to that again. Frustration rolled through me.

  “I could have come and got you.”

  “I’m good.”

  I worked not to escalate this. Things felt fragile between us. I needed to bring us back from last night and move us towards becoming compatible roommates.

  “Thanks for helping me out last night.”

  Her gaze met mine and then she blushed. Hard. “You’re welcome.”

  I stood up and started to pull out ingredients for dinner. “I’m just about to cook dinner.”

  “I can help,” she offered. “Just let me change.”

  A few moments later, she appeared beside me. “What can I do to help?”

  My eyes roamed over her skintight leggings and baggy T-shirt. Last night I had grabbed handfuls of that ass. My fingers itched to do it again. “You want to chop that onion?”

  “What are we cooking?”

  “Beef Stroganoff.” I watched as she deftly picked up a knife and started to chop.

  Her tone teased. “Really? That sounds kind of fancy.”

  “I like to cook.”

  We worked in silence for a bit longer, then she asked, “So, where did you learn to cook?”

  I debated how much I wanted to share with her. “My nanny loved to cook. She would often kick out the cooks, bring me into the kitchen and we’d cook together.”

  Charlie stopped chopping to glance up at me. “You had a nanny growing up?”

  Damn. I hadn’t wanted to tell her that much. “I had a nanny.”

  To my relief, she didn’t press that issue. “So what kinds of stuff did you cook with her?”

  “Borscht. Solyanka, which is a thick meat soup, but my favorite was pirozhki, which are these little pastries stuffed with potatoes, meat, cabbage or cheese.”

  I fell silent as memories washed over me. Memories I had spent a lifetime trying to forget.

  Charlie slowly chopped. “My mom taught me how to cook. We lived in this shitty little trailer with a stove that only had one working burner, but she told me I needed to know the basics. She worked all the time and she must have been exhausted, but those cooking lessons were some of our best times together.”

  Our eyes met.

  I wanted to know more. “Tell me about your family.”

  Her shoulders went up and then down. “Dad was a deadbeat. Left before I was born. My older brother was angry at the world. He didn’t listen to my mom, and he was always getting into trouble. He got caught shoplifting when he was five. My mom said that was the day she knew he would have a tough life. No matter what my mom did, it seemed like he didn’t care what anyone thought or felt.”

  So, every guy in her life had let her down. “What about your mom?”

  She pressed her lips together. “One night after work, she was walking home from the bus stop in the dark and someone hit her. They didn’t even stop.”

  I stopped what I was doing, so I could give her my complete attention.

  Her voice faltered. “I called the police when she didn’t come home, but when they found out she was from the trailer park, they told me she was probably out drinking. My mom didn’t drink. So I walked the length of her route with a flashlight.” She swallowed hard. “I was the one who found her.”

  I imagined Charlie, walking the length of some deserted road with a flashlight and coming across her mom’s broken body. It was a heartbreaking vision. “I’m so sorry. Did they ever find who hit her?”

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  I was shit at dealing with this stuff, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care. “How old were you?”

  “I was eighteen. I had just started grade twelve.”

  I couldn’t imagine what that had been like for her. “That must have been hard.” My words sounded lame considering what she was telling me.

  She nodded. “She was my world, my anc
hor. I didn’t know how to function without her. I had a lot of growing up to do when she left.”

  “What about your brother?”

  She rolled her eyes. “He’s reckless. Was always getting into trouble. He thought he could never get caught, but he always did. He didn’t care if he hurt other people. He did what he wanted.”

  I put down my knife and studied her. “How did you survive?”

  “I had a teacher who believed in me. I wanted to fall apart, but she wouldn’t let me. She made me apply for dozens of scholarships. I ended up getting a full scholarship to attend college for marketing.”

  Pride swelled in my chest. “You’re a lot tougher than you look.”

  She looked up at me. “Do you still talk to your nanny?”

  I felt myself shut down. “She died.”

  I wanted to tell her about Nadia, but I couldn’t even bring myself to speak her name. I turned my back to Charlie, feeling like a dick after she had just opened herself up to me. As much as I wanted to tell her, it was impossible to speak about that part of my life.

  “It’s okay.” Her voice was soft. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.”

  I cleared my throat, but no words came out. That part of my past was encased in ice in my chest, like some sort of wound my body had never coped with. It made other parts of me cold, like my heart.

  She came around the island with the cutting board of chopped onions. “So, are you going to show me how to make real beef Stroganoff?”

  I worked to rein in everything I didn’t want her to see about me. “The two most important parts about making Stroganoff are the beef broth and the cut of meat.”

  To my relief, she stepped closer. “Show me.”

  During dinner, we kept the conversation light. Together we cleaned up, and I decided things were going about as well as they could go. I needed to broach a sensitive topic.

  I wiped my hands on the dishtowel. “Could we talk?”

  She froze, her eyes wide, before she nodded. She climbed on one of the barstools and the look on her face told me she was dreading whatever I had to say.

  I opened a drawer and placed an envelope on the island in front of her. “I opened a bank account for you. Money for you to use for anything you need. Clothes, groceries, going out. I’ve also added you as a user on one of my credit cards. The cards are in there.”

  Her gaze clashed with mine. Bewilderment clouded her expression. “You don’t need to give me money. I have a job.”

  I was blunt. “You’re my wife.”

  “In name only.”

  “We’re married. And while you are my wife, I’ll take care of you.”

  She lifted her hand up to her forehead. Her wedding ring glittered on her finger. “You’re making this complicated.”

  “I told you I’d take care of you.”

  “You have,” she rushed. “But this is way too much. This marriage isn’t even real.”

  Why did everyone keep telling me this marriage wasn’t real? It was starting to piss me off. “Just because we’re not sleeping together doesn’t make this marriage any less real.”

  She thought about her response. “You’re doing all the giving in this relationship. You pay the bills, let me live here. You bought me a new wardrobe. It feels uneven.”

  I shook my head in disagreement. “You gave up your home. You quit your bar job. Every day that you are here for me, you’re giving up your freedom to give me hockey back. Let me do something for you.”

  “You’ve done enough.”

  “I want to buy you a new car.”

  She threw her hands up in frustration. “That’s not even close to being a measured response.”

  God, she was cute when she got riled up. I pulled the NHL card. “All the hockey wives are driving luxury cars. You need a better car.”

  She crossed her arms. “I really don’t.”

  “Let’s go car shopping this weekend.”

  She slid off the barstool. “Let’s not.”

  “You going to fight me on this?”

  “If I have to.”

  I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. “Game on.”

  She shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

  Her open defiance turned me on. “Good chat.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Don’t forget your bank cards.”

  She huffed with frustration before she disappeared into her bedroom, but she didn’t shut her door. And for some fucked up reason, that felt like progress. Towards what, I didn’t know.

  Chapter 13

  CHARLIE

  I sat across Krista’s desk, eating lunch with her.

  “How’s married life with Mica going?” she asked, giving me a pointed look.

  I squinted. “I don’t know.”

  “You two seemed to get along at your party.”

  I felt myself flush. My memories of that night still plagued me. I spent far too much time thinking about what a fabulous kisser he was.

  “That was for show.”

  “You still sleeping in the guest bedroom?”

  “Krista!”

  She laughed, long and hard. “It’s an honest question.”

  “Separate bedrooms.” I stabbed my salad. “He wants to buy me a new car. And he opened a bank account for me.”

  She shrugged. “You need a new car.”

  “Doesn’t mean he needs to be the one to buy it for me.”

  She eyeballed me for a moment. “What’s the real issue?”

  “He keeps telling me this marriage is real. I signed up for a fake marriage with a roommate situation. He’s making this a real marriage with an expiration date.”

  Her tone filled with pity. “You’re falling for him.”

  A half-lie came out of me. “No! I’m not.”

  “Okay, you’re worried you will fall for him if you let him make this real.”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “Tricky.”

  “I don’t understand why he keeps insisting this marriage is real.”

  She thought about her answer. “Because everything Mica does is real. His friendships are real. His commitment to hockey is real. The guy doesn’t play games. So it makes sense that even if he didn’t want to be married, he’s seeing this as a real marriage.”

  I spoke through clenched teeth, thinking about my big, mushy heart that ached for real. “That’s not what I signed up for.”

  “Hold on to your boundaries. Make this work for you too. But you definitely need a new car.”

  “He shouldn’t have to spend all this money on me.”

  She shrugged. “So give it back to him on your way out. But you signed up to play the part of a hockey wife. Driving a five-hundred-dollar car does not fit that role.”

  “What about the other stuff?”

  “Find common ground. Forge a friendship. If you want to sleep with him, then sleep with him, but if you can’t emotionally handle it, then stick to your guns. He’ll respect your decision.”

  I was starting to question my reasoning. Was I giving up the best year of my life because I was afraid of getting hurt?

  “What about the money?”

  She winked at me. “Spend it. God knows, living with that man, you will earn it.”

  Friday night, I attended another game, this time with Zoey at my side. We had a lot of fun watching the game, even though the Wolves lost. Afterward, we waited in the family room for the players to come out.

  Mica was quiet after the game. He didn’t speak much on the way home and he seemed distracted. Still trying to figure out his moods, I decided this might be one of those nights he needed his own space. I retreated to my room to read and got lost in a book. I only realized how late it was when I finished my book.

  Outside my bedroom, the house was dark and quiet. I changed into a T-shirt and then washed up before crossing the dark room to get into bed. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. A large menacing figure, its face obscured by a dark hood
, stood just outside my balcony doors looking in on me.

  My mouth opened to scream, and at first, no sound came out, but then the most piercing, horror-movie shriek escaped my throat. I almost fell over as I bolted out of the room. I ran through the dark with only one thought.

  Mica.

  In the dark, two strong arms grabbed me. I screamed harder, fighting to get away.

  “Charlie, it’s me.” Mica’s voice penetrated my fear.

  “There’s a man…” I babbled. “Outside.”

  He charged across the living room. I watched in mute horror as he disappeared out the balcony doors.

  I rushed after him, stopping at the doorway. I saw him sprinting barefoot across the deck before he disappeared into the dark. I stood there, heart pounding, imagining the absolute worst-case scenario. After a lifetime of anxiety, he reappeared on the deck. He walked towards my balcony doors and was looking at the deck. He was wearing nothing more than a pair of black boxer briefs. Half of my brain was freaking out about the potential intruder, and the other half was trying to compute the vision Mica created.

  He was built like a Greek god, with broad shoulders, rippling abs, a tight ass, and monster thighs. He turned and came back towards me, unabashed that he was wearing only his underwear. I, on the other hand, tried to look anywhere but at the manly bulge that promised to be in proportion to the rest of his huge body.

  He was slightly out of breath. “I didn’t see anyone.”

  “There was someone there, I swear.”

  I could tell he was debating how much he wanted to tell me. “There are muddy boot tracks outside your balcony door. Someone was there.”

  Stress made my voice get progressively higher. “Who was that person? What did he want? Was he trying to break in?”

  Mica put two hands on either side of my face. “It’s okay. Just calm down.”

  I clung to his wrists as my body trembled in a very un-calm state. “What’s happening?”

  His expression was grim. “I don’t know.”