I open my eyes and adrenaline shoots through me like a bolt of lightning when I see him start to unfold my marriage certificate. I leap to my feet and try and grab it from him, but Fisher is tall—like over six feet—and I’m not short at five-nine but he holds the damn thing above his head. When his eyes flare I know he’s read it. “Holy shit.”
“It’s a joke.”
His eyes narrow. “It’s got a seal of the state of Nevada on it.”
“It’s a mistake. It was a joke. We dared each other to get married when we were drunk. It’s not legal.”
“So you’ve annulled it?”
I snatch it from Fisher now that he’s lowered his absurdly long arms. “We are about to.”
He laughs as I stomp into my bedroom and shove the stupid paper into the top drawer of my dresser. When I emerge he’s drank half his Gatorade and is under the blanket on the couch punching the pillow to fluff it up. “I had no idea you and Nash were a thing. I thought you hated hockey players, I mean other than the ones you’re related to.”
“I don’t hate them. I just don’t get involved with them, like on a romantic level,” I explain and grab the scrunchie off my wrist and start pulling my hair back. I wander to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water to keep by my bed. “I love my dad to bits and he’s been an incredible father, but when I was younger and he was still playing, he mostly parented through phone calls and text. It’s the way it had to be, and he did the best he could but that is not what I want. Plus the sport leaves a lot of players with lifelong injuries and traumatic brain injuries, which you know from all the footage we’ve put together. And there’s a dark side to the sport. A side I won’t even begin to talk about.”
“Every sport has a dark side. A couple of bad people who are too talented to cancel. It’s not right but it’s real.” Fisher studies me. “But it’s also a free ride, right? The money, your mom stayed home with you, right? Do you know how many families can’t do that? My parents both worked forty to sixty hours a week. We were basically raised by our grandmother and then on our own when she passed when I was thirteen. And that was just to maintain our lower-middle-class life in a little townhouse in Encino.”
“Money isn’t everything,” I reply but I do feel a little ping of guilt because yeah, my mom did quit her job when we were born—although she did volunteer at the Veterans Hospital in Portland to give free physiotherapy to vets. “Besides I’ll make my own money if someone would just commit to this damn documentary. I mean hell, if they can make Americans pay attention to race car driving with Drive to Survive they can make them notice hockey with this. That’s the goal.”
“We’ll make it happen, Killer. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”
I sigh. I am so not convinced. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning. Bring bright ideas.”
“Will do.”
I go to the bathroom to wipe off my makeup and brush my teeth. When I emerge the living room is dark, but I don’t hear Fisher’s normal snoring.
"Hey, Ten?"
“Yeah,” I reply as I make my way down the hall to my bedroom.
“I can always jump into bed with you. Save my back from this lumpy couch and get your mind off your troubles.”
Fisher has made that suggestion in the past. I have not taken him up on it, although I have been tempted more than a few times. Until he hit on Mallory before she was my brother's girlfriend. I don’t want a man who thinks I’m filler or just one of many choices. I want a man who can’t think of being with anyone but me. That’s how my dad was with my mom. It’s a lot to ask but I’m worth it. Also, as long as we work together it would be too complicated. “I’m a married woman, remember? Talk to me after the annulment.”
I don't give a rat's ass about that piece of paper. My heart, soul, and brain aren't married to that robotic shell of a human in hockey skates, even if the paperwork says otherwise. But it's a convenient excuse for tonight. "Night Fisher."
“Night Killer.”
Chapter 2
Nash
I toss and turn all night so it’s no surprise when I open the front door to my loft the first words out of my twin’s mouth are, “You look like garbage.”
"I know," I grunt and immediately reach for the bag in his hand. I didn't expect him here. I mean, he didn't call and we didn't have a set rendezvous, but I knew, inherently, he would show up.
He had the good sense to bring Erewhon, which is my favorite, albeit incredibly bougie, food store in Los Angeles. I open the bag. He pulled out all the stops. He got me a turkey bacon, egg white burrito, Matcha overnight oats, and he’s holding a tray with a coconut cloud smoothie for me and a Malibu mango one for him. “You’re a fantastic brother.”
“I know.” Crew steps into the loft and closes the door behind him as I take the bag and smoothies and walk to the back of the loft where my kitchen is located.
Crew usually makes some kind of dig when he's at my place. He calls the kitchen a morgue because of the stainless steel countertops and appliances and the way it's always gleaming and spotless. He jokes about the starkness of the massive living room, usually commenting on why someone would own a massive cavernous space with fourteen-foot ceilings, and barely have any furniture. Crew's home decor style, like everything else about him, is very different than mine. The fact that he isn't teasing me now means that he thinks this accidental marriage is serious.
He drops himself onto one of the stools at my double wide kitchen island and I walk around and lean on the counter on the other side. I reach for a spoon and dig into the overnight oats. “You not hungry?”
"I cooked breakfast for Liv and me at home before I left."
It's so weird to me that Crew is so casual about his cohabitation. Liv Garrison, unlike her cousin Tensely, is great. And she's been an excellent addition to Crew's life. Unlike his ex-wife, Liv gets the hockey life and doesn't interfere with it or complain about it. She's younger than Crew's ex but leaps and bounds more mature. She's what I would call an old soul. Still, I worry about how involved he is with her. They've been dating for less than a year and she essentially lives with him.
