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

by Gina Azzi

  I shake my head, pulling back to grin at him. “Uh-uh. You’re the patient. Let me.” I bite my bottom lip, reaching for the tie of his sweatpants.

  He half groans, half chuckles, dropping his head back to look to the ceiling, as if for patience. Or strength. Either way, I set to work and shimmy his pants off his hips. Then, I sink to my knees, in the space between his propped leg and his other foot which is bouncing against the floor. I place my hand over the top of his foot to stop the bouncing and he snorts.

  “You nervous?” I ask coyly.

  “Nervous I’m not going to last,” he admits, glancing down at me. “Seeing you like this is enough to put me over the edge.”

  I chuckle and pull the impressive tent he’s already pitching out of his boxers. My hand wraps around his heated skin, silky and already rock hard. I sigh, loving the feel of him, the weight of his need, against my palm.

  I stroke him from shaft to tip, pressing kisses along his inner thigh. The closer I inch toward him, the more I let my tongue slip and swirl against his skin. He hardens even more in my hand, his breathing growing ragged.

  My heart is pounding at how much I affect him. Torsten’s reputation has always preceded him but right now, he seems nothing like the perpetual bachelor. Instead, he seems like a man warring with himself to keep it together. I like that I affect him so deeply, especially since it’s been years since I’ve given a shit one way or the other how I make a man feel. Sex has always been a casual exchange for me.

  But since Torsten, it’s almost too much. Even though my touch is sure, my mind is overflowing with thoughts. And pleas to a higher being that I can make this as spectacular for him as he makes every single thing for me. I lick up his shaft before putting my lips around him. He swears as I begin to bob my head, his fingers lacing through my hair, massaging my scalp. I switch up the pace, alternating between fast and slow, deep and shallow, and he groans, his thigh tightening under my hand. I don’t know how much time passes because I’m so focused on making this good for him, that everything except the feel of his length, the heat of his skin, his groans filling the air, disappear.

  His hands tighten in my hair. “Ri, fuck baby, that’s good.”

  I hollow out my cheeks, taking him until he hits the back of my throat, and he swears, tugging on my hair.

  “Baby, I’m gonna—”

  He explodes in my mouth, sticky, salty ribbons of pleasure that I swallow without a second thought, taking an extra moment to lick him clean while his hand wraps around my arm and tries to pull me up.

  When I lift my eyes to his, he’s staring at me in awe. “Rielle, you didn’t have to—”

  “I wanted to,” I cut him off.

  “Come here.” He motions for me and I climb back into his lap.

  He winces as my foot catches on his injured knee and I freeze. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Shh,” he cuts me off, gripping my waist and pulling until I collapse against his chest and he presses the deepest, dirtiest kiss to my mouth. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, this, but fuck, Rielle, I’m happy you’re here. And it’s got nothing to do with—” He lifts his chin toward his cock, which is already starting to harden for round two.

  I snort and he blushes, endearing me to him further.

  “Well, maybe not nothing,” he amends. He wraps his good arm around my waist and tries to roll me but I hold firm.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Tonight’s about you.”

  He freezes, his eyes dropping to the button on my jeans. “Sweetheart, I’m not going to leave you hanging like that.”

  I laugh and stand from his lap, popping open my jeans and shimmying out of them. I pulled off his jersey when we first came through the door. Now, clad in just a black camisole and lace panties, I grin. “I promise, you’re not. I wanted to do this, to make you feel good. Come on, let’s shower.”

  His eyes widen further.

  “You won’t be able to manage on your own and if you play nice, I’ll let you soap me up.” I waggle my eyebrows and he chuckles.

  I lead him to the bathroom and flip on the shower. As we wait for the water to warm, I slowly undress him, careful not to rattle his shoulder or knee. He watches me, his gaze intense, his eyes dark like sapphires. It’s intoxicating, the feel of his gaze on my heated skin. Even now, injured and hurting, he makes me feel worshipped with just a glance.

  Once the shower water is hot, we step inside. The water beats down on us and my hair sticks to my back and shoulders in thick clumps. Torsten moves his injured arm awkwardly, trying to brush my hair away from my face, his other hand braced against the shower tiles. “You’re so goddamn beautiful, Rielle.”

  “So are you, Torst.”

  He snorts and closes his eyes. When he opens them, I see all the hopes and fears he keeps buried beneath his good-time charm, his easygoing vibe, his desire to be well-liked. I step into his frame and kiss him hard.

  We make out like teenagers, fumbling around his injuries, quelling our own insecurities that rise to the surface, shifting our normal into new territory. The next level, a new layer, of our deepening relationship.

  When I help Torsten into bed, I climb on top of him. Our bodies, naked and still damp from our shower, glisten in the light from the bathroom. I can make out Torsten’s features, the shadows that play over our skin.

  I lace our fingers together and bring our joined hands up, over his head. I line him up at my entrance before sinking down. He throws his head back and groans. I whimper as he stretches me, filling me completely. My hands slip from his and my palms find his chest. With careful movements, I ride him, slow and deep. Our eyes connect and the vulnerability, the trust, that sparks in Torsten’s gaze is my undoing. We both break apart, filling the dark with our mutual desires. Once we’re cleaned up, Torsten reaches for me, wraps his arm around my waist, and hauls me next to him. Curled up against him, the rise and fall of his chest, the steady drum of his heartbeat, lulls me to sleep.

  I dream of our future. Together.

  16

  Torsten

  The shrill ringing of my cell phone wakes us both up at a quarter past three in the morning. I fumble for my phone, swearing as pain shoots through my shoulder.

  Rielle moves quickly, swiping my phone from the end table. She flips on the lamp as she passes it to me. The moment I read Farmor’s name on the screen, the pain in my arm dissipates and dread weighs heavily in my chest.

  I swipe right. “Farmor?”

  “It’s me,” my father’s voice comes through the line and I freeze. I haven’t heard it in more than five years and still, just two words, bring me back to my childhood. To the nights his eyes would bore into mine with disappointment bordering on hatred. To the day he told me he was done with me, that the family was done with me, since I never showed any of them my respect or loyalty.

  Since I chose a game, hockey, over them.

  “Where’s Farmor?” I whisper, clutching the phone so tightly, my hand aches and I briefly wonder if the phone will snap.

  Rielle’s wide awake now, watching me with curious eyes.

  My father clears his throat. “She’s in the hospital. I’m only calling because she asked me to. If you want to say goodbye, you better get on a plane.” He rattles off the details of the hospital and disconnects the call before I have a chance to respond.

  I sit in shock, a million questions ricocheting in my mind. Is she stable? Is she conscious? Are they taking good care of her? Will I make it in time? What about the playoffs?

  “Torsten?” Rielle touches my hand. “What is it?”

  I look at her, my mouth opening and closing several times but no sound comes out. My chest tightens and my head pounds. A barrage of memories, a flood of moments, an entire lifetime of being loved by a good woman race through me, shocking my system further. Farmor is dying.

  “Torst?” Rielle grips my fingers now, concern blazing in her black eyes.

  “It’s my,” my voice cracks and I clear my
throat. “My farmor. Rielle, I need to go home.”

  “To Norway?” she whispers, understanding dawning in her expression.

  I nod.

  “Okay,” she says quietly. “Okay.” Her gaze scans my room, as if looking for answers to unasked questions.

  “I need to be on the next plane. I need to say goodbye.” I try to shift from my bed, my knee groaning in protest, my shoulder burning. I swear and sit at the edge of my mattress, trying to muster the physical strength, the mental clarity, to make the next series of decisions.

  Rielle hands me my phone. “Call Austin. I’ll take care of everything else.”

  I glance up at her, my brow furrowing. Who is this woman? Who is this beautiful woman brimming with wild passion and deep understanding? How did I end up with a heart like hers?

  “Call him,” she murmurs, wrapping my fingers around the phone.

  I glance down at the screen. My fingers feel thick, uncoordinated, as I find Austin’s name and press send.

  While I wait for him to answer, Rielle springs into action. She darts to the kitchen and I hear her fingers flying across the keyboard of her laptop just as Austin says, “Hello?”

  “Aus, it’s me.”

  “Torst? Fuck, dude, it’s after three.” I hear him murmur something, a woman’s voice travels through the line, and I cringe. Did I interrupt him? Is he dating someone? He clears his throat and when he speaks again, some of the sleep is gone from his voice. “What’s going on? You okay?”

  “Austin, my grandmother…” I trail off, unsure what to say next.

  Austin sighs, “Shit, dude. I’m so fucking sorry. I know how much—”

  “I need to go home.”

  “For the funeral?” he guesses.

  “To say goodbye,” I clarify, my stomach twisting at the words. Each time I say them, the more real they become. A reality I never wanted to address.

  Austin must put together the incomplete puzzle pieces I’m giving him because he says, “Of course. What can I do? When do you leave?”

  “As soon as possible. I know we’re in New York on—”

  “Don’t worry about that now, man. You took a big hit tonight, you’ve got a lot going on, and Greta, she’s like your—”

  “Family,” I murmur. She’s my only family that matters. She’s more than a grandmother, more than a mother or a father or a brother. For the last three decades of my life, ever since my mother left, she’s been all of them rolled into one. “She’s all I’ve got.”

  “Go to Oslo. Say whatever you need to say. Find your closure, man. The playoffs will be here when you get back. And as much as I hate to say it, you won’t be playing in them anyway, Torst. Not after tonight.”

  Another reality that cuts deep. No more Farmor, no more hockey, no more anything I recognize.

  “Is Rielle going with you?” Austin asks.

  I glance up as Rielle flies back into my bedroom, rushing into my closet and coming out with a handful of my clothes.

  “I don’t know,” I say. Is she? Can she? Will she?

  “You shouldn’t be alone right now, man. You know if we weren’t in the playoffs, I’d be in the seat next to yours on that flight.”

  I let out a dry chuckle and nod, even though he can’t see me. My fingers pinch the space between my eyes. “I know.” I know Austin means it too. He’s more than just a captain, he’s a true leader on and off the rink. “You have a team to lead. Let me come home to some wins, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “Let me know the details once they’re sorted. I’ll handle Coach and Reland.”

  “Thanks, man,” I say, knowing Coach and Scott are going to be understanding of my choice to leave in the middle of the playoffs. Because one, I’m not suiting up again and everyone knows it. And two, they know I’m done for good. For real. It’s all over now. “Talk soon.” I hang up as Rielle comes to a stop in front of me.

  “Where do you keep your passport?” she asks, tapping a navy passport book in her hand.

  I frown, because my passport is red. As the dots slowly connect in my hazy head, I widen my eyes at her. “You’re coming?”

  She stops the tapping and grips her passport book in her fingers tightly. “I don’t have to,” she rushes to explain.

  I laugh, gripping the hem of her shirt and pulling until I can grasp the back of her neck and kiss her mouth. “You’ll really come?” I ask the question differently.

  I feel her smile against the side of my face. “Of course I will. But we have to hurry, Torst. We need to be at the airport in an hour and a car is coming for us in thirty minutes. So, tell me all the things you need me to pack.”

  There’s no hesitation in her tone, no uncertainty at all, and the sureness with which she agrees to fly across the Atlantic, meet and say goodbye to the only person who truly matters to me besides her, and step into the lion’s den of the Hansen family, fills me with a sense of peace. I breathe in a deep breath and slowly exhale, trying to catch up with all the moving parts.

  “Okay.” I look up at Rielle. “Here’s what we need…” I rattle off a string of clothing we both should pack, inform her where I keep my passport, extra cash, and a small gift I’d like to return to Farmor. When our shared suitcase is packed and our passports, wallets, and phones are in Rielle’s purse and my backpack carry-on, she helps me shuffle to the door. My arm is wrapped in a sling and I’m limping but I don’t feel the physical pain with my body knotted up in worry for Farmor.

  At the last minute, I remind Rielle to grab her camera. She shoots me a strange look, stows it in the carry-on, and laces her fingers with mine.

  Then, we head to the airport and board a flight for Oslo.

  I’m quiet for the majority of the flight and layover in London. While I’m beyond grateful that Rielle is sitting beside me, with her hand tucked into mine, the closer we draw to my home country, the more my thoughts swirl and my feelings twist.

  I’m going to come face-to-face with my father for the first time in years. I’m going to fulfill my promise to Farmor, the one I made decades ago, the one where I put myself out there, accept blame and wrongdoing, and try to make amends. I’m going to do it with Rielle by my side and the fact that she’ll witness me cowering before the man who didn’t even bother to raise me stings. But I’ll swallow my pride and do it because it’s the least I can do and the last wish of Farmor’s I can fulfill. If making things right with Father brings Farmor peace, then I’ll say the words that need to be said with as much sincerity as I can muster.

  As the plane descends over Oslo, a lump forms in my throat. No matter where life leads me, coming home always fills me with a rush of emotion. Positive, negative, a combination of the two, there’s no denying the lifelong association with the place, the people, and the home that raised me.

  I swallow thickly, watching the islands and fjords below grow closer. The snow top mountains are beginning to melt in the warmer May weather. As we descend over the city, my breath catches in my throat and I drink in the beautiful views of my birthplace greedily. After this visit who knows when I’ll come back?

  Next to me, Rielle squeezes my hand and leans over me, closer to the window. A soft smile touches her lips. “I haven’t been here in ages.”

  Surprise rolls through me. “You’ve been to Oslo before?”

  Wistfulness crosses her expression and she nods. “I’ve been all over the world. It’s all in a past life now.”

  “With your family?” I dig a little deeper, knowing we’re about to land and don’t have the necessary amount of time to delve into all of things I want to know about Rielle. But she’s not very forthcoming with information about her family and I don’t want to let this moment to slip away.

  She nods. “Before my mom died.”

  “Your mom…” I trail off, frowning at her. How did I not know her mother passed? How is she going to handle stepping into a hospital, meeting my farmor on her deathbed? “Rielle,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

 
She kisses my shoulder, her eyes sad when they meet mine. “It was a long time ago and still, it feels like yesterday. I’m glad we came, Torst. You need to say goodbye in person.”

  I wrap my arm around her shoulders, hugging her to my chest. “I don’t deserve you, Ri.”

  “You deserve everything, Torsten.”

  I kiss the top of her head, holding her, as we touch down in Oslo.

  She pulls away and offers a small smile.

  “Thank you for coming with me. Velkommen til Norge, Rielle.” Welcome to Norway.

  17

  Rielle

  “I’m just going to exchange dollars for kroners,” I tell Torsten as we stand at baggage claim.

  I take a step toward the currency exchange but Torsten grabs my wrist and shakes his head.

  “You don’t need to. I have everything we’ll need.”

  I open my mouth to protest but the look he gives me has me snapping it closed again.

  “Don’t argue with me about this, Rielle. Please.” His voice is sterner than usual too. It’s not laced with his usual protective concern but with a hardness that doesn’t suit him. I realize that he’s shielding himself in impenetrable armor for whatever comes next.

  Knowing that he’s battling a lot of feelings at the moment, I nod and roll my lips together. Torsten reaches for our suitcase when it circles toward us on the belt. He heaves it off and I can tell that with his sore shoulder and banged-up knee, even lifting the light suitcase cost him. He frowns, grabs the handle, and limps as smoothly as he can toward the exit.

  I trail him, noting the small nuances that have shifted in the past twelve hours. He’s as gorgeous as ever but his eyes are dimmer, his jawline tighter, his entire persona wrapped in a protective veneer. Is this how I would react to seeing my family again? Is he worried that I’m going to judge him? Or them? Is seeing his grandmother something he needs to do on his own?