Page 47 of Lucky Puck

She scrunches her brows. “I don’t know—quickie chapel weddings?”

I nod. “Exactly⁠—”

She screeches and covers her mouth in shock, then horror, and then bursts into laughter, shaking me as if that will rattle the real story from me.

“You didn’t?”

I shake my head, and she snorts and swats my leg.

“You jerk! Don’t tease me like that; I nearly had a heart attack.”

“You’re right. I didn’t get married. Not exactly…” I pause as jittery nerves sneak up on me and my tummy levitates. The butterflies are back, and they all seem to have taken flight at once.

“What do you mean by not exactly?” She lowers her voice and stills.

I gulp, suddenly nervous to admit the crazy truth even to my best friend, who I know will absolutely not judge me no matter what.

“Tell me,” she prompts, her voice serious, her hand finding mine and squeezing it to reassure me.

“I faked a quickie Vegas marriage.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it, her forehead furrowing and her brows knitting together like a zipper. “That’s… something. More weird than wild⁠—”

“That depends on who I’m pretending to be married to, doesn’t it? And depends on who we told about it⁠—”

Her brows go back to zipped. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m pretending to be married to Brody Holden, and we told the press⁠—”

She leaps off the bed and screeches. “You what?”

Because even my allergic-to-sports friend knows who Brody Holden is.

Chapter Twenty-One

BRODY

In my own bed last night, with the familiar and comfortable surroundings, it was easy to forget—or pretend, because I’m getting good at that—and sleep like Vegas never happened, like the proverbial baby. But at the rink this morning, as I get off the elevator and walk down the hallway toward the locker room, reality roars in the back of my mind that I’ll need to tell coach… something. A lie.

I’ve never been nervous coming to hockey practice in my life. The rink is like home to me, the place that suits me down to the cracks in the boards, and playing hockey is as natural to me as walking and breathing. I’ve always felt like hockey was designed specifically for me, to match my talents and skills exactly down to the last twitchy muscle in my pinky, as if I were made in the perfect shape and size and with the exact kind of quickness and strength, the exact match like the last piece at the center of a million-piece jigsaw puzzle.

The rink is the one place where I’ve always belonged. I resent the nerves kicking in now. All-Star weekend should have been about showcasing my talent and representing my team. Instead, all the focus is on the Vegas wedding, and the only thing on my mind is why the hell I’m carrying the lie. I fist the hand with the wedding band that seems to scorch my skin as I walk through the empty corridor. Fuck.

It’s time to get back on track in spite of the constant social media pings on my phone. The noise not only aggravates my headache, dragging it from a low level up to hard to ignore, but it drives me crazy. So as soon as I shove inside the locker room doors, I pull the phone from my pocket and shut it down.

Today begins my focus on hockey—and only hockey.

Too bad my teammates have other ideas. Sabien, Link, Windy—aka Windham Bekham—and Jason Hall all pounce before I make it to my cubby.

“Well, who would have thought?” Windy slaps my back. “The heartbreaker himself is tied up in a matrimonial knot.”

“Congratulations.” Link’s smile is tentative, but he gives me a fist bump. At least he’s sincere.

Jason grins, shaking his head, and gives me a bro hug, thumping me on the back. “Good luck, man.”

I glare at Sabien because he could have kept a lid on this, could maybe even have told the team the truth with their promise to keep it secret.

But no, he’s actually fully invested in the whole newlywed scene and all the crap. Even when Windy launches into a dissertation on the joys of marriage, he doesn’t do a thing to quiet things, to put the focus back on hockey. I’m contemplating what I can say to refocus things without sounding like a disgruntled groom when Coach Logan walks in.