The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey)

by Gina Azzi

  It’s for the best if we stick to the arrangement. Today was beautiful; it was more than perfect. But it was also dangerous and I need to remember that. My heart can’t handle any more breaks. At least, these are the rationalizations I feed myself as I toss and turn all night. Around 3 a.m., I finally fall asleep.

  When I wake in the morning and step into the kitchen, Torsten’s gone. He’s already left for his flight. A simple note is tucked under a coffee mug on the island.

  Ri, Be back in three days. Here’s a card for whatever you need. Torsten.

  A lump squeezes my throat painfully. I pick up the gold credit card, threading it through my fingers.

  “Dammit.” I toss it back on the island. Tears rush to the surface and a few of them spill over, tracking down my cheeks.

  If I’m keeping things casual, then why the hell does this sting so badly? Yesterday morning, I felt cherished and desired.

  Today, I just feel cheap.

  What’s worse? I deserve it.

  9

  Rielle

  “I can’t believe you got married yesterday,” Claire mutters as she drives to my old apartment, where Sally is parked. I still owe several months of rent and need to move out the rest of my things. Torsten promised to help me sort it all out when he gets back from Tampa but after everything that went down between us, I don’t want to become overly dependent on him.

  I didn’t touch the gold credit card he left me.

  Torsten is taking care of my Jerry Jensen loan. It doesn’t feel right to let him settle my three months of overdue rent and haul my boxes to his penthouse. I’m the one who pushed him to adhere to the terms we agreed to. I made my bed and now I need to lie in it. Even if it fucking sucks.

  “Yeah,” I agree, looking out the window.

  “Ri? What’s going on?” Claire asks, turning into the parking lot of my apartment building. She parks and turns off Easton’s car.

  I drop my head back against the headrest, rolling it to meet her expectant expression.

  “Before the wedding, Torsten and I…” I pause, weighing my words.

  “You slept with him, didn’t you?” she deadpans, not looking remotely surprised.

  “No! I mean, we did stuff.”

  Claire snorts. “Stuff? What are you, fourteen?”

  I feel the blush work up my cheeks and Claire’s mouth drops open. She points at me. “You really like him, Ri, don’t you?”

  I squeeze my eyes closed. “I can’t like him, Claire. I mean, I can’t like him more than just a friend. We made an arrangement; we signed a contract.”

  “So?” She shrugs. “Things change.”

  “When we did…stuff—”

  She sighs.

  “It was intense. Real.” I widen my eyes at her.

  “Okay.” She widens her eyes back.

  “Then our wedding was so much more than I thought it would be.”

  “It was pretty magical,” Claire agrees. “A hell of a lot nicer than most real weddings.”

  “I know. It messed with my head. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. The room was decorated so beautifully and then Torsten kissed me and I was freaking melting like one of those girls.”

  “What girls?”

  I glare at her. “Like Indy. Or you.”

  She snickers.

  “And then, the freaking flash of the camera went off and Torsten gives me this knowing look, like ‘Hey, we’re killing the documentation for our papers.’”

  Claire winces.

  “Sometimes, he looks at me like he cares about me more than anything in the world and other times, his words make it seem like this is all about the arrangement. It’s confusing and I don’t like feeling like this.”

  “Like what?” Claire shifts in her seat, giving me her full attention, her expression serious.

  “Like I don’t know which way is up. It’s unnerving and frustrating. And frankly, I’m not good at it.”

  Claire nods. “You like to be in control.”

  “I am in control.”

  “Okay.” She holds her hands up in surrender.

  I roll my eyes. “Which is why last night, I told Torsten we need to stick to the agreement. But it’s stupid that we’re going to both forgo sex for two damn years, right? I mean, people have needs. And it’s not like I’m not attracted to him. So…”

  “You had sex on your wedding night?”

  I bite my bottom lip and nod.

  “And?” she prompts.

  “It was incredible in terms of our chemistry. But everything else,” I sigh, exasperated, “it didn’t feel anything like it did when we just did stuff.”

  Claire winces. “Ri, I have no idea how you’re holding everything together right now. The past week, your entire life has been flipped upside down. Everything you’ve been working your ass off for has disappeared career wise and you’re married to a guy you barely know but it’s obvious, you want to get to know.”

  I snort.

  “Cut yourself some slack,” Claire advises. “You and Torsten will sort things out but take it from someone who’s been in weird, relationship-y limbo, honesty really is the best policy.”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  I shrug. “I’m overwhelmed.”

  “Fair.”

  “I’m fine with our agreement. I need to find a job and Torsten needs to focus on the playoffs.”

  “Okay.” Claire drags the word out, trying to figure out where I’m going with this.

  “But I can’t just give up all my control and let him take care of my life, of me. We’re not just moving my boxes today. I’m going to sell Sally, pay off the rent money I owe, and hustle for a job. He left me a freaking credit card and it just made me feel so…”

  “So…what?”

  “Needy,” I supply.

  Claire rolls her eyes and huffs. “You’re really overthinking this. Torsten left you a credit card because part of your agreement is that he looks after the finances. You don’t have to sell Sally, reacquaint yourself with public transportation, and pinch pennies because you’re too proud to take what he’s offering.”

  When she puts it like that, I sound like an overindulgent child, throwing a tantrum. Still, using my own money fills me with a sense of security that I crave. Claire won’t understand the depth of it because I’ve never let her in enough to truly understand. Instead of explaining, I shrug. “I’m doing it anyway.”

  She rolls her eyes but doesn’t look surprised. Living together for four years has proved that when I make my mind up about something, there’s very little that will alter my decision. “Who’s buying your car?”

  I glance out the windshield and tip my chin up when I spot Merck. “Merck’s hooking me up with an interested party.”

  “Oh, brother,” Claire grumbles, but she follows me out of the car.

  “Hey, Rielle,” Merck greets me, his neck tattoo stretching when he cranes his neck to get a look at Claire. “What’s up?” he says to her, sliding his baseball hat off of his head, turning it around, and placing it back down so it’s backwards.

  “Hey,” she says. Then she turns to me and holds out her hand. “Give me your keys. It’s a relief you rented a furnished apartment and we don’t have to carry a couch down the stairs. I’ll start boxing up your things.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  She sticks her tongue out at me and I snicker, placing my keys in her palm.

  Merck and I watch Claire in silence until she steps through the door of my apartment building.

  “You still owe three months of rent,” Merck reminds me in his thick Southie accent. The cool April sunlight gleams off the hard planes of his face as he turns his head to gesture for a green van to exit the parking lot.

  “I know. I’m going to settle up with you today.”

  Merck looks heavenward, as if asking God for patience. He’s a little bit scary and does a shitty job maintaining the apartment building but he’s always been fair. �
��You really want to sell your car?”

  I nod.

  “Rielle, I don’t know what the hell you did to end up here.”

  “What—”

  He shakes his head and my words die on my tongue. Merck waves a hand in my direction. “Girl, you and I both know you didn’t grow up in parts like these.”

  I bite my bottom lip. He has me there. I grew up in an 8,000 square foot home with a closet larger than my apartment. I grew up donning the hottest trends, flying private, and looking down at the world from penthouses in cities around the world. I grew up with a mother who made me feel like I could do anything I set my mind to and a father who made me feel like I couldn’t.

  “I see you hustling. I know you’re on your grind. But girl, really, you’re not cut out for this life and I’m not trying to be a dick when I say I’m glad to see you go. You call Daddy and apologize for whatever the fuck went down?”

  “Nah, I finally reached out to my friends for support.”

  “Good call. There’s an expiration date on living like this.” He swings his arm wide to encompass the dilapidated apartment buildings, the cracked asphalt with weeds that look like mini forests sprouting up, and the trash that litters the space. “You stay too long, it gets under your skin. If it gets too deep, you can’t get rid of it. It’s a stench that follows you everywhere. It’s not just a period in your twenties but your whole fucking life.” He raises his eyebrows at me.

  I bend mine back. “How do you know that?”

  He snorts and pulls a cigarette pack from his back pocket. He taps the end of the pack against his palm a few times before pulling one out and slipping it between his lips. He offers me one. I shake my head and his grin grows. “I didn’t grow up like this either, girl. But I didn’t heed the warnings when I got ‘em either. I didn’t reach out for the support like I should’ve. Like you are. But I always knew you were smarter than me.”

  “It’s not too late for you, Merck.”

  He chuckles, his eyes scanning the parking lot before piercing mine. “Yeah, it is.”

  A car pulls into the lot and Merck raises a hand over his eyebrows, squinting against the sunlight. “That’s Rick. Whatever you get for your car, we’ll call your rent paid in full.”

  I jerk back by the offer. We both know Sally isn’t going to fetch three months of overdue rent. Rielle from last week would have insisted on paying back every single cent. Rielle today is taking degrees of help when it’s offered and doing her best to be okay with it. “Thank you, Merck.”

  “Better not see you back here, girl.”

  I glance at my old apartment door. “You won’t,” I promise.

  An hour later, I wave goodbye to Sally. As her burned-out taillights bump out of the parking lot, I breathe out a shaky exhale. I got two grand for her. Right now, I need to be grateful for that and not upset that I no longer have a ride anywhere.

  I steel my shoulders, smack the envelope with cash against my palm, and head to Merck’s office.

  “That was fast.” He grins when he sees me.

  I pass him the envelope. “It’s two thousand.”

  He peers inside the envelope and nods. “Take care of yourself, Ri.”

  “That’s it?” I shuffle from one foot to the next, waiting for the fine print I missed last time.

  But Merck proves to be a much more considerate person than Jerry Jensen. “That’s it. Have a nice life.”

  I snort. “You too. And Merck?”

  He slips an unlit cigarette between his lips and leans back in his chair, waiting.

  “Thank you,” I say sincerely.

  He snorts and waves me away but I see the color that heightens in his cheeks.

  I laugh and make my way back to my apartment.

  When I enter, Claire is rolling my old suitcase to the door. “Hey. How’d it go?”

  “Sally is gone.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “I’m sorry, Ri. I know you loved her.”

  “She was my ride or die,” I admit.

  Claire flips me the middle finger before gesturing to the boxes she packed up. “I’m your ride or die, bitch.”

  I laugh and toss an arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, you are. Thanks for doing this.”

  “You’re welcome. So, you’re all settled with rent?”

  I nod.

  “Good. I sorted through your clothes.” Claire points out several bags. “One is for donate, one is for sell, one you need to go through. But some of these designer pieces could fetch some good money.” She shakes her head at me. “If you’re set on not touching Torsten’s credit card, or accepting any of my help—”

  I wrinkle my nose in objection.

  Claire rolls her eyes. “Then you’re going to need some cash to hold you over until you find a new job.”

  I nod, knowing she’s right. “That’s genius, Claire. I don’t know why I didn’t sell my clothes earlier.” Thanks to my affluent upbringing and the suitcases packed with clothes I snuck out of my dad’s home the night I ran away to college, I always looked better than I lived. Even though I scraped and scrimped for the past year, I also learned how to wear the same basic staples and accessorize smartly to give the appearance of having more than I do.

  Now, my clothes are coming in handy in a different way.

  “Stop.” Claire holds up her hand. “I can’t handle thinking of how you lived over the past year and never told me. Or worse, how I didn’t realize it.” She turns her big blue eyes on mine. “I’m sorry, Ri. I was so caught up in my own drama, in not having a job, in getting swept up with East…I’ve been a shitty friend.”

  I hold my arms wide to encompass all the boxes and bags she sorted through and packed up. “Stop. You’re my best friend. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you.”

  She gives me a big hug and squeezes too tightly.

  “I’m really fucking hungry,” she says as her stomach grumbles. “So I need you to accept my invitation to lunch because I don’t want to eat alone and I don’t want to waste time having one of those dumb back-and-forth conversations where we argue over who is going to pay the bill.”

  I laugh. “Deal. I happily accept your invite. I’m hungry too.”

  Claire rolls her eyes. “I don’t know how you worked up an appetite. All you had to do was stand in a parking lot and talk to a couple of guys with sick ink while I slaved away up here, doing manual labor.”

  I snicker and pick up a box. “Shut it. We’ll load up the car and go eat.”

  “The Mexican fusion restaurant I’m obsessed with?” she asks hopefully.

  “Whatever you want, Claire,” I agree. “Thanks for today.”

  “Duh. As if you’d piss off your new husband with anyone but me.”

  We both laugh as we carry my few boxes down to her car. As we pull out of the parking lot, I glance at the building one last time in Easton’s car’s side mirror. Relief rolls through me as it grows smaller. I’m happy to be putting it behind me, just like Merck said.

  10

  Torsten

  My thumb runs along the length of my wedding band.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  After a flight to sunny Florida, a skate to help clear my head, and some good-natured ribbing by my teammates, I should be over it.

  Rielle and I made a deal. We signed a contract.

  It shouldn’t bother me that I stroked and coaxed her body into the sweetest submission one night and fucked her hard and dirty the next. I should be happy that our sexual connection, our chemistry, is off the goddamn charts.

  Instead, I’m pissed off; that one night she looked at me like a man she trusts, like a man she could give her heart to, and the next, like a stranger who can get her off quickly.

  What the hell changed in the time between kissing her rosebud mouth at the altar and being on the receiving end of her glare on our wedding night? Does she regret getting married? Did she finally wake up and realize all that she’s sacrificing by making this commitment? The years in her twenties
that she could be out, dating, settling down with a man who truly owns her soul, making babies?

  Fuck. I spring from the desk chair in my hotel room, restless energy coursing through my body like electricity. There’s nowhere for it to go so it keeps building, layer upon layer, until I feel ready to combust. My hands clench into fists and I check the time again.

  I have another hour to kill before I can head to the arena. I’m desperate to get on the ice and play tonight. The game, the mental focus it requires, the physical release it encourages, I’m ready to lose myself in it completely.

  A knock at the door has me striding toward it and pulling it wide open.

  I grin when I see it’s James Ryan, the other Hawks defenseman. More than anything, I wish I had confided in him about my sham of a marriage. I know Rielle and I desperately needed to limit the number of people who knew the truth but James would have been a solid guy to reach out to for advice.

  “Hey,” I say, holding the door open wider. “What’s going on?”

  James squints at me, his expression grave, his eyes searching. “You tell me. You in some type of trouble?”

  I chuckle and shake my head. “Why would you think that?”

  James gives me a look and pushes past me into my hotel room. “You got married out of the blue to a girl no one knew you were even dating. You’re broody—”

  I blanch. I don’t brood. Glower, maybe. But broody?

  “You’re quieter than normal too.” James points at me accusingly.

  I shrug. “Just got a lot going on right now.”

  “Torst, my life is a mess. It’s been one big fucking disaster for the past year. For me to even notice that you’re checked out means you’re more than checked out. So, what’s going on?”

  I wince at the bluntness with which he says the words. A little over a year ago, James’s wife passed from cancer, leaving him and their young twins behind. He’s been grappling with her loss ever since, existing on autopilot. He shows up when and where he’s supposed to. He volunteers for field trips and waits in school pickup lines. He signs autographs when someone asks him to. But I haven’t seen him really smile since Layla died. I’m not sure if he knows how to anymore.