Page 13 of Pucks, Lies, and Sticktape

“Seriously?”

“Hey, I meant it. You have my back, and I will protect yours,” he said softly, his eyes gentle. “You think I want to risk losing my fake wife or having her run away at the last minute? No, let’s keep you close and show you how nice it is to be treated well by someone. I’ll never grab you or maul you like he did today.”

And a part of her withered slightly at the words he tossed out there, meaning to be kind. He was trying to reassure her, and he did – but it was also hard to deal with because he was handsome, and she understood the waitress’ interest.

“I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said simply, nodding. “Maybe when we get to my condo, we’ll have the house listings there to look at together. This is gonna be fun. A new team, a new place, a new city. It will be terrific.”

“Yup,” she smiled wanly.You forgot to mention a new ‘wife’ and a new ‘living arrangement’…

4

MATTHIEU

Matthieu was stunnedat the living conditions that Jeannie had – and knew deep in his heart that asking her to come with him was the right thing to do. The building was an older building… and while he didn’t have a problem with that in the slightest, the rest of the trip there was eye-opening.

“Don’t judge,” Jeannie said quietly and, in that moment, he knew she was proud as she put the key in the door lock and wobbled it several times to get it to open –withouthaving to turn the key. The lock wasn’t holding the door shut, gravity and the building settling, was doing the job.

He bit back any comments and drew in his breath seeing her place. Heaven help her, she was trying to fork out a living on her own. She’d mentioned her parents were on the East Coast and that she wanted to be out here where all the developers, computer gurus, coffee shops, and fun places to hang out were located.

As he stared at her nearly empty studio apartment, he knew she’d never been to any of those places or hung out with those people because she couldn’t have afforded to.

Jeannie’s couch was a green leather couch that had seen better days. There was duct tape holding together a split, and she had a threadbare blanket tossed on the arm to make the place cozy. There was a glass milk bottle she had a few flowers sticking out of to make it welcoming, and it was sitting on the tiny yellow laminate breakfast bar. There was a 5x7 photo next to it of a teenage version of Jeannie and obviously her parents on a boat, about to go diving… and that surprised him. To go diving you had to be PADI certified – or you should be.

He saw in the open doorway a twin mattress on the floor and swallowed. She lived like this, worked her tail off in a crummy diner down the street, and existed in this little corner of the world with almost nothing to show for it.

He was trying not to judge… oh man was he trying… but it was unfurling slowly within him like a bomb about to detonate.

Shelivedlike this.

She hadnothing.

“Leave it,” he said hoarsely, his eyes touching almost every surface as her surprised face leaned back, appearing in the bedroom door… and then darkened.

“Don’t… judge,” she said firmly, frowning at him. “I moved out when I was eighteen, and I was making this place mine. It might not be your fancy style like that car obviously is, but it worked for me.”

“Jeannie, we’ll be leaving for Quebec. Bring only what is precious or sentimental to you… like this,” he said, grasping at the photo and holding it up – only to see her expression turn even more upset.

“That’s my reminder ofwhyI work so hard.”

“Really?” he started, shocked. “It’s a nice photo.”

“I’m not going to spend money that I don’t have, kissing butts I don’t need to kiss in order to try to make a name for myself in politics,” she said angrily, not looking at him but shoving afew things in a ratty suitcase that was baby blue with a corner duct-taped. Everything she had, she had managed to scrounge together, repair, or did without… and that knowledge made him swallow painfully as he thought of his own loving home, his own upbringing.

Jeannie was obviously a fighter, a survivor, and extremely proud. He would not insult her further – even if the temptation to toss a match onto the couch and let it all burn was mighty. If something crawled across his foot, he might change his mind, though.

“Family comes first, not my boss or my reputation, and I’m sick of being second or third – so yeah – that’s my reminder of why I’m not in Philly or ‘working the polling phone banks’ to learn my way.” To his surprise, she paused and used finger quotes in the air to stress her frustration level with that sentence.

Maybe that was a discussion for another time.

“You’re right,” he replied quietly. “Can I help you?”

“I’m almost done,” she answered, hefting up the suitcase and putting it next to the bedroom door, moving to put a few things in her backpack now. The only thing she had of value here was that laptop she just slid into the backpack, and that was humbling.

He wanted to reassure her that he would take care of her, that he would provide for her and never leave her in this state, but he knew somehow it would only make her mad. She obviously came from money – and chose to live a life without it.

It wasn’t things she wanted but independence, respect, and freedom… and he was in the process of corralling her. That wouldn’t work, not for anything peaceful or lasting. She needed to choose, to decide, because while he might not know her very well at all… it was alarming to think that her family pushed her, so she ran – preferringthis.

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