In the kitchen, she leans against the counter, exhaling slowly.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
“They’re lovely. Wonderful.”
“But?”
She meets my eyes. “But they keep talking about the future like I’m part of it. Like this is permanent.”
The words tighten inside me like tape around a hockey stick. “Would that be so bad?”
She runs a hand through her hair. “No, it’s not that. It just feels like waking up the morning after Christmas. All the anticipation is behind you, and what’s left is ... I don’t know. Reality?”
I’m not sure what to say to that. The kitchen feels too small suddenly.
“We don’t have to pretend for them,” I offer again.
“It’s not the pretending that bothers me. It’s how easy it is,” she whispers, at least, that’s what I think she says, because loud hooting laughter comes from behind us.
Before I can respond, Graham bursts into the kitchen. “Are you two making out in here? Mom says to hurry up with the pie.”
Bree’s face flushes and she grabs the dessert plates.
“Brothers, I tellya,” I mutter.
At the gamethe next night, Bree wears my spare jersey. It’s too big on her, but my name and number are bold across her back. I shouldn’t like the sight as much as I do.
From the box seats, I watch my team battle through three periods, ending in a shootout win. The crowd roars, my family cheers, and Bree jumps up with them, genuinely excited.
“That was amazing! I’ve never understood hockey before, but it’s actually fascinating when someone explains the rules,” she tells me afterward, eyes bright.
“Who explained the rules?” I ask, amused.
“Your dad. He wasn’t even analytical about it. More like a sports announcer, making it funny and easy to understand.”
“Don’t tell him that. It’ll go to his head.”
We laugh, and for a moment, it feels real. Us, together, sharing this moment, life.
However, at dinner, we nearly slip up. Mom asks how we decided to get married so quickly, with the emphasis onhow,which amounts to a digital signature on the Heartland Happily Ever After website.
“Well, there was this website—” she says.
“—where we connected. After running into each other at a mutual friend’s house.”
Bree nods, eyes wide. “Right. The website.”
“What kind of website?” Bradley raises an eyebrow.
“For people. You know.”
They don’t look like they understand. How close can we come to the truth without totally exposing it or outright lying?
“I’d figure you’d have an assistant to set up dates now that you’re in the big leagues.” Bradley chortles.
To irritate him because he hates social media, I pick up my phone, swipe, and quickly pan around the room. “Fam, say hi to the hockey fans!”
Everyone except Bradley cheers and I clickpost.
