Page 21 of Pucks, Lies, and Sticktape

But he was unreadable.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” she admitted, the words slipping out flat, detached.

Because the truth was, shewassurprised. Not just that he had come to meet her, but that seeing him here—waiting, standing so effortlessly in her world—made something inside her ache.

She was starting to feel things for him.

Real things.

Dangerousthings.

And it was only going to end in disaster.

She was two weeks into this debacle built on lies and already struggling. Because Matthieu might be her husband on paper, but he wasn’thers. Not in the ways that mattered. He had never once asked her about her dreams, her ambitions, what made her heart race or her soul ignite. He’d never considered that theremight be more to her than the surface-level assumptions he had made. No, to him, she was nothing more than a convenience.

She had a role to play.

An obligation to fulfill.

And that realization hurt more than she’d expected.

“Let’s head home so you can see the house – and I’ll give you the tour tomorrow,” he said happily, taking her backpack from her.

She felt like she might be sick at how easy it was for him to play this part. He hefted her backpack onto his shoulder and held out his hand. They were in public so it wasn’t like she could say ‘no’ – and she sure wasn’t brave enough to ask if there was any chance at all for her in his future romantically.

The signs had been there all along. Subtle at first, but undeniable in hindsight. The distance crept between them like a silent, creeping fog, chilling everything in its path. The hushed phone calls, the way he would step out of the room whenever his family called, leaving her to sit in the quiet, staring at the walls. The nights spent side by side sitting on the couch yet miles apart—him glued to his laptop or engrossed in whatever show he had chosen, never once asking what she might want to watch. It was his home. It had always been his home. And she… she had merely been a guest in whatever this was supposed to be. A visitor who had overstayed her welcome.

And now, walking beside him as he spoke, all those little moments of doubt—the ones she had shoved down, ignored, swallowed—rose like bile in the back of her throat.

“Man, I think you are really going to love it here, Jeannie,” Matthieu was saying, his voice full of excitement, of promise, of something warm she wished she could hold onto. “The weather is amazing so far, but everyone keeps telling me‘just wait’because the winters are rough… but it gets cold in Seattle, so I think we’ll be just fine. And the arena—oh Jeannie—the arena isbreathtaking. There’s a huge room for the families to hang out and wait for us after a game, the lockers, the suites, the gym—it's all new, state-of-the-art. They’re really taking care of us. On top of it all—they said to let them know if we need anything at all. I’ve got tickets for you at each of the games and plenty for a friend, so you can invite people to go, too.”

She kept walking, nodding absently, but his words pressed against her like a weight she couldn’t lift. A friend. He said it so easily, as if she had someone—anyone—here besides him. But she didn’t. She had no one. No job. No car. No independence. She didn’t even speak the language well enough to order coffee without fumbling. The realization settled over her like a heavy shroud, suffocating, inescapable.

I’m going to end up heartbroken.

She turned her gaze to him, taking in his profile—the strong line of his jaw, the easy smile, the way the late afternoon sun caught in his hair, making him look golden and untouchable. He kept talking, so happy, so unaware of the slow, quiet breaking happening inside her.

“So… what do you think?” Matthieu’s voice cut through her thoughts, pulling her back to the moment. He turned to face her, his grin wide and boyish, his eyes searching hers. “I thought, ‘What would my Jeannie like and approve of?’—and I hope this fits the bill.”

“What?”

“Your car,” he chuckled, holding out a key. “I made a smart, economical decision with you in mind—and I hope I got it right. I don’t want you trapped at the house, but free to explore and learn your way around here. So, what do you think?”

She blinked at him, uncomprehending. “You got me… a car?”

“And I was good,” he whispered, grinning as he slung an arm around her shoulders in an awkward, friendly hug. The kind of hug that spoke of camaraderie rather than longing. “Isn’t it cute?It’ll be fun to drive around in during the summer and… you’re not smiling.”

Jeannie turned, staring at the small dark-blue Beetle convertible parked in front of them. The world tilted, her breath catching somewhere in her throat. He’d bought her a car. A used car. She should be grateful. She should be happy.

Instead, she felt like something inside her had just cracked.

Matthieu must have noticed the shift in her expression, because he immediately lifted his hands in mock surrender, his voice rushing now, as if trying to placate her. “Before you flip out, I was good. It was a used car, on sale, and I paid cash for it. There’s no car payment, and it’s in both of our names. I did the titling as ‘Matthieu or Jeannie’—so either one of us could handle it. If you decide to get something else later, you don’t need me present.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut.

You don’t need me present.

A slow, aching numbness spread through her, dulling everything. The air seemed colder. The world quieter.

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