Page 98 of The Fake Husband Play
“What the?—”
“Graves, eyes!” Parker’s voice cuts through the fog of confusion and anger at hearing Elly’s name on this fucker’s lips. I jolt back to the play in time to see their winger scoop the puck clean.
Suddenly, our defense is scrambling—Blue lays out, trying to block the pass, but it slips under his stick. A quick feed to the slot, and Capo barely gets his pad down in time. The puck rings off the post, and my whole body jolts at the sound.
“The hell was that?” Parker hisses as we change. “You good?”
“Yeah. It’s nothing.” But my gloves are already soaked through. “I’m good.”
I’mnotgood. Next shift, Partridge’s words echo in my head. I can’t stop glaring at him every time we pass on the ice. As a result, my timing’s off and my passes are just behind the tape. But hell, at least I’mveryaware of where this fucker is at all times.
When he comes through the neutral zone fast, I step up to stop him, but I’m late, high, and my shoulder catches him in the chest.
He bounces up laughing. “Guess I hit a nerve, huh, buddy?”
The ref’s arm goes up. Two for interference. I skate to the box with cotton in my ears, my heart hammering.
Then Carolina scores on the power play, and my jaw nearly snaps in half.
The period drags. My legs feel heavy, and every time I touch the puck, I curse the fucking thing. By the time the horn sounds, I’m drenched in sweat and mad as hell.
At myself. At Partridge. At the entire Carolina locker room and whatever the fuck they think they’re listening to in there.
It’s not Elly.
It can’t be.
I’m first off the ice, practically running to the locker room. My helmet comes off before I reach my stall, my hair plastered to my skull as I chuck my gloves and grab my phone out of my locker.
“What’s going on?” Parker asks as he catches up a moment later. “Seriously, man, something is clearly off.”
“Partridge said something about Elly.” I shake my head as I type “hockey” into the search bar in the podcast section. “Something about them listening to her podcast and her voice being hot… I don’t know. It didn’t make any fucking sense.”
“Merde,” Jean-Louis mutters from across the room. “You really don’t know?”
I glance up sharply as the room goes quiet. I must have some kind of look on my face. Half the players in the line of fire take a step back, and Torrance leans back into his stall, seeking refuge.
In the end, Nix is the only one brave enough to say, “Elly has a podcast, man. I guess she made it before she met you or whatever. It’s called Love on Ice, some social media detective figured it out a few days ago.” He pulls his phone from his bag. “I can show you, if you want. I listened to one of the episodes. It’s actually not bad. I mean, she clearly knows the game and seems to like you a lot, so…”
My legs go weak. I sink onto the bench. “Play it.”
Parker steps forward, gloves lifting into the air. “Hold up, maybe we should?—”
“Play it,” I cut in, needing to know what everyone else knows about my wife.
My family.
Fuck. How did this happen? How did I let it happen? How did Schwartz let it happen? If this has been out on social media for a few days, we should have realized and made a plan to handle it by now.
And Elly should have told you. She really fucking should have,a voice in my head pipes up as Nix thumbs the screen, sending Elly’s voice floating through the room.
It’s her—undeniably, absolutely—but she sounds different. Her voice is deeper, looser. She sounds confident and playful and… fucking sexy. Just like that dick Partridge said.
“Okay, listeners, I wasn’t going to do another episode this week, but my roommate’s asleep, and I’m twoglasses of wine deep and I just…” She sighs, another sexy-as-sin sound. “Well, I need to talk to someone about a certain someone.”
My hands start shaking as dread dumps into my bloodstream, but I press them flat against my thighs.
What the hell is she about to say? In front of my entire team?
