And then sources close to Dawson revealed the suggestion of a contract, with terms.
Including a public breakup.
Further investigation revealed that Kane has been embroiled in controversy recently, with accusations of manipulation from social media influencer Ashley Morrison. Dawson’s sister is marrying Kane’s teammate Derek Munson. The timing of their relationship—conveniently coinciding with Kane’s image crisis and Dawson’s need for a wedding date—raises questions.
I reached out to both parties for comment. Neither responded.
Is their romance real, or is this hockey’s latest publicity stunt? You be the judge.
Alarms start blaring inside my head. Code red, code red!
“Is it true?” Maya’s voice is hollow, steady.
My head is spinning, working overtime to remember the details of the contract.
Listen, I’m no legal expert, but I’m pretty sure the contract said if our relationship is proven to be fake, we both lose everything. And even if I’m planning to break the contract anyway by telling Brody I want to be with him, I don’t want to do it like this. By shouting to the world while he’s out of the room that this whole thing was a sham.
So, I close my ears to that little voice telling me to come clean.
And I lie.
“I can’t believe someone would post this. No, it’s not true.”
Maya’s brows pinch. “Really?”
“Maya, no. None of this is true.” I scowl at the phone, as though this is the most absurd thing I’ve ever read. “This is crazy.” I scroll a little. “Hold on. ‘Sources close to Dawson’?” Now that part is crazy. Who would…
And that’s when the pieces fall together. It’s me. I’m the source close to Dawson. The screenshot of our contract was right in my photos, unlocked, practically waiting for Jennifer to find.
Which means…
Option 1: We go through with the contract. I dump Brody at the reception, make him look like the villain and myself the victim—and prove Jennifer right. It was all fake. Every moment, every touch, every smile. Just actors following a script to the bitter, contractually obligated end.
Option 2: I tell him I love him instead, refuse to follow the script, try to make this real—and we violate the contract. Brody loses his NHL renewal. His career. Everything he’s worked for. And I lose the money that releases me from college debt prison, saves my business, and gives me a real shot at being an author.
Option 3: We come clean together and ride into the sunset, broke and jobless. Perfect.
We’re trapped. Completely, utterly, devastatingly trapped.
“Chloe?” Maya’s voice breaks through my spiral. “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to pass out.”
“I’m okay,” I say, my voice coming out a little higher than normal. I glance at the time, partly for somewhere to look other than her knowing eyes. “You gotta get into your dress. Photos start soon.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” I paste on my best people-pleaser smile. “I guess this is just something I have to get used to dating a celebrity.”
Surprisingly, Maya grins, a breath of relief slipping from her lips. “Welcome to the club, sis.”
The rest of the afternoon goes just as planned. The photographer shows up, snaps some pictures of the bridal party in their robes, the girls waving their mimosas, cheering when Maya steps out in her dress—absolutely stunning. All lace and beading, and a train that goes on for days. Then we head out to the resort’s massive balcony overlooking the lake for a first look, after which Derek and the groomsmen join us for full party photos.
It’s all a blur—a tempest of timelines and simmering anxiety—but we all wind up back in the bridal suite, waiting for the last guests to arrive, and Maya seated beside me, holding my hand.
I can’t tell you which of us needs it more.
Finally, I peek my head into the hall. Everyone is seated, and the musicians are in place. The rest of the wedding party has lined up outside the ceremony space. We’re ready. I give the quartet a thumbs-up, and the music starts playing.
This is it, the point of no return.
