“Oh, uh … right. Because people don’t know … right.” She swallows hard, blinking rapidly and looking down at the tablet again. “They just know we’re getting married. They don’t know it’s for insurance?”
“Bouchard knows that it’s because I want to help you out. But he’s the only one. I know Maggie knows we’re getting married, but I don’t think she knows all the circumstances, no. If she does, she won’t say anything to anyone. And neither will Bouchard.”
“What about … what did you say your captain’s name was again?”
“Abernathy.”
“What about him? Does he know?”
I shake my head. “No. I mean, he knows you’re here. And I’ve mentioned that we’re getting married, but no, he doesn’t know all the details.” When her only response is to press her lips together and flare her nostrils, I ask carefully, “Is that … is that okay? From my point of view, it seems better to keep those details to ourselves. If word gets out to media outlets …” I let that thought trail off. I don’t want to freak her out, but …
“Oh, yeah,” she says hoarsely. “Right. I hadn’t—I mean, I know you’re a professional hockey player and that sometimes means you get recognized in public and people talk about you online and on TV and stuff, but, I dunno.” She shrugs. “To me, you’re still just Jason.”
“There aren’t many people that I’m just Jason to these days, so I enjoy that about you.” All past attempts at a relationship have ended fairly disastrously because no one sees me as “just Jason” anymore. I’m always Chalmers, the Emeralds’ top scorer—well, as long as Abernathy hasn’t beat me out again. We staypretty close to each other in terms of total goals scored—and never just a cool guy they want to date. They want the status and benefits, and they don’t ever really care aboutme.
But Hailey? Even sick, she’s been doing her best to be considerate, to pick up after herself, to not bother me if she can help it, even after being repeatedly reassured that she’s not a bother. She’d prefernotto spend my money, even if she is letting me help her out for now. If her car hadn’t broken down, though, she’d still be in Wisconsin eking out a living, one disaster away from tragedy.
Well, more tragedy.
She’s had more than her share of that already. It’s high time for her to have some good luck.
Clearing my throat, I pull out my phone and send her a text. “That’s Maggie’s number. Text her so you two can go shopping. She’s excited to meet you, but has been waiting patiently for you to feel better enough to do something.”
Hailey shakes her head slowly, more like she’s mystified than saying no. “This is all so surreal,” she says quietly.
Not to me.But I keep that to myself. Wild? Sure. Unexpected? Definitely. But it feels very, very real to me. In a good way.
“The appointment’s tomorrow at one. Is that okay? Or do you want to call and reschedule?”
She blinks at me a few times before sucking in a breath. “No, uh, that’s fine, I guess. Where? How, uh?—”
“I’ll take you,” I cut in, intuiting what she’s having trouble articulating. “That way, if you’re satisfied, we can sign it there and have it notarized. Then we can meet up with Maggie afterward. You should text her, though, so she knows you want her to take you shopping. She wants to help, but she doesn’t want to be overbearing.”
“Right,” she says faintly. “Okay.” Then she meets my eyes. “Can you forward this to me?” she asks, pointing at the tablet. “I’d like to look it over again later.”
“Of course.” I hold out my hand, and she passes me the tablet. After tapping a few buttons, I say, “There. Sent. It should be in your inbox shortly.”
“Thank you.” She smiles faintly, then pushes herself up to standing. “I think I’m going to take a shower and then practice, if that’s okay.”
“What about your toast?”
She looks at the toast blankly, then shakes her head. “I’m full. Thank you, though.” Picking up the plate, she carries it into the kitchen, dumps the remainder of her toast in the trash can, rinses her plate, then places it in the dishwasher. Without a backward glance, she heads for her room. Not long after that, I hear the bathroom door close and the shower start.
Well. Maybe her breakfast habits aren’t just income related after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Hailey
I’m sittingin the office of Sara Velazquez, the attorney Jason set up an appointment with, for her to look over the prenup his attorney drafted. She’s dressed in dark slacks and a blouse, looking like nearly any other office worker, her dark hair pulled back in a sleek bun. She has a nice office—a set of oak bookshelves on one wall filled with books, awards, and knicknacks that look like souvenirs from her travels. The other walls have tasteful artwork as well as her degrees proudly displayed.
Her desk is more minimalist—glass-topped metal with a laptop and a second monitor off to one side. There’s a stack of folders next to her laptop and a file cabinet in the corner next to her desk within easy reach. She’s reading on the second monitor right now, looking over the prenup, her lips pursed, and her brow furrowed behind her dark purple cat-eye glasses. When she gets to the bottom, she scrolls back up again, her eyes narrowing as she quickly double-checks a couple of points.
Then she clears her throat and scoots over so she can face me fully, moving the laptop to the side and folding her hands on the desk in front of her. “So.”
“So,” I repeat.
Her mouth hooks to the side. “This is an interesting prenup,” she says at last.
