Page 29 of Married As Puck
I want to argue, to shove him, to tell him exactly where he can stick his deals. But the truth gnaws at me because he’s right. My face, my career, my future—it’s all out there now, tangled up with hers.
Collins straightens, brushing invisible lint off his suit.
“Hop in. Let’s have breakfast,” he says, opening his door and without waiting for me to agree, he hops in. I roll my eyes but walk to the other side and get in.
“So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to smile for the cameras. You’re going to hold her hand. You’re going to convincethe world you’re madly in love. And in return?” He gives me a look so sharp it could cut glass. “You’ll get back on that ice. You’ll get your career back. And she—she’ll get her recognition.”
Recognition? For her.
Collins claps me on the shoulder, all fake warmth. “This is the deal, Gray. And whether you like me or not, you need me to make it happen.”
12
I wake up to my phone buzzing like it has a personal vendetta against me. Groaning, I drag it closer, already expecting an email from Miranda or some ridiculous office reminder. But no. It’s worse.
Julia sent me another headline.
Hockey Star Married? Fans Speculate Over Secret Bride.
I’m under speculation!
A picture of Cameron in his gear is plastered right below, followed by grainy shots of us leaving the apartment last night. My hair is tied up in a lopsided bun, I’m wearing sweats, and somehow the internet has decided I look like a blushing bride. Last night, Cameron had suddenly decided that he wanted Chinese takeout and said we should go get some. Seeing this, makes me wonder if he’s somehow in on it too. Is he doing it on purpose now?
I did spend the entire weekend holed up in my room, forcing myself to get mentally ready for work. The hours blurred together as I paced, scrolled, reread notes, and rehearsed conversations in my head. Cameron is hardly ever home. He disappears early and comes back late, worn out but lighter somehow, like being back on the ice fixes something in him. Since he’s rarely around, we haven’t argued, and the quiet that lingers in the apartment feels strange but relieving. I take it as borrowed peace, because I know the moment I step into the office, that calm is going to shatter.
I stare at the photo again and the headline and I laugh. Actually laugh. Because honestly? It’s so absurd it circles right back to hilarious. This is insane. I throw the phone down beside me. Married? To him? I can practically hear Julia’s voice in my head already.
So I call her, instead of texting back.
She picks up on the second ring, her tone groggy. “Brie? I know I texted you, but it’s—do you even know what time it is?”
“Morning…or as the internet calls it, the day I became Mrs. Hockey.”
I hear a shuffle and anhumphlike she had fallen or something.
“Shit.” She curses, “I just fell off my bed, trying to reach for my lamp. You’re actually going through with it? What about––”
“Why not, right?” I say, already grinning as I pace the room, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder. “It’s like my dream life in parallel with whatever life I’m currently living. I always wanted to be married by twenty-four. And I’m twenty-five now, so it’s not far off. To the world, I’m a married woman now. Forget vows, forget witnesses. All it takes is living with ahockey player and walking outside in sweats oh and of course, going to the store together.”
There’s a pause before Julia bursts out laughing. “Oh, my God. This is your dream life! Look at you go, Brie. Look at you go!”
“Okay, I’m not like celebrating likethat. It’s just fake, so I get to play pretend for a moment,” I say, though I’m fighting a laugh too.
“You’re loving this,” she screams.
“Shh!” I mutter and then whisper, “Do you know how awkward it’s going to be if Cameron finds out that this is like my little fantasy?”
“Oh, now you’re having fantasies of being Mrs. Hockey, huh?” Julia teases, dragging out the word in that way she knows annoys me.
“Okay, you know what? Never mind. I shouldn’t have told you my secret.”
She laughs. “Oh, I am going to have a good laugh about this the whole of today. Who knows, the both of you will pretend this marriage is real and accidentally get knocked up—”
“Oh, hell no! I refuse to have little moody replicas of him. He’s so miserable.”
She laughs, and right now, I don’t appreciate it. “You are so infatuated with him. You’re in love!”
“Bye!”
