“Letting me coach my team would go a long way to convince me to say yes. So would paying me out as if I were playing.”
I watch my team file onto the ice as those words settle between us. Bet Tate’s not used to waiting for what he wants. He seems more like an ask-forgiveness-rather-than-permission kind of guy. So, why’s he bothering to ask my permission?
He taps his fingers on the arm of the leather chair, his mouth twisting with the bitterness this roadblock brings him.
“If you still earn the money, why would you marry me?”
“For the other stuff.”
“Alright,” he says, slowly. “I’ll allow it, but you don’t get that for free.”
“Of course, not.” It’s hard to hide the sarcasm. “What do you want?”
“Show me what I’ll be getting in a husband. Practice being mine.”
I have no idea whatbeing hisentails or how I’m supposed to show him. I’m going to have to assume—seeing as he’s a hockey coach—that it’s some kind of mindset thing. Fake it till you make it, maybe?
His steel-gray eyes are so intense that I have to look away briefly, blinking the dryness away from my eyes.
No. Go fuck yourself.All simple words I can say—the ones I should say.
“I can do that. Practice being y-yours,” I say instead with a hitch in my breath. Mayhem erupts around us. Looks like The Voiceless scored. But there’s more chaos exploding in my chest. What am I doing? What the actual fuck am I doing?
Tate’s focused on me. As if we’re not in the middle of a hockey arena. As if no one else exists.
“Perfect,” he says.
7
TATE
Fucking McKinnon, bitching at me about the fundraisers he’ll have to attend this year during practice. It’s standard at other schools, but he’s had it easy because Daddy pays for everything. Oh, to have a rich parent who actually cares about you. I’ll never know what that’s like. McKinnon takes his father for granted.
And of course, my fucking brother is falling hook, line, and sinker for the rich brat. I can see it in Luke’s eyes. I don’t think Luke knows it yet. Their budding relationship isn’t ideal for me, but other than my verbal protests, I don’t plan to do anything about it. He’s smiling again. If McKinnon puts that smile there, so be it, but if McKinnon breaks his heart, he’s going on a permanent field trip to a mining camp deep in the Rocky Mountains.
Anyway.
I have my own problems. Real problems. I did something spontaneous. Something I didn’t put much thought into.
I never fucking do that shit. I’m calculated, meticulous, always in control. I don’t do things on … what’s that phrase people use? Right, a whim.
Never. No whims. I lead a whimless life.
But Clarence came in with his bullshit again, and I’m living with the ever-present pressure cinching my skull because I need to find a husband before Luke loses everything he sacrificed his childhood for.
… and then Ryan.
Marrying Ryan was the only thing that made sense to my animal brain. Until he left, and another feeling took over.
One that promised my destruction.
Taking it back, never speaking to Ryan again, that’s the logical move. Am I going to do that? Absolutely fucking not. I want him more than I’ve wanted anything, so why shouldn’t I have him? I have enough self-control, and with the way I’ll dictate things, I can keep things between Ryan and me controlled at all times.
Isn’t that what marriage is actually for?
And I have a legitimate reason for bringing Ryan to Shadowridge. Money. I’m well aware of all the legacy bullshit in the elite circles. Henry won’t be an easy sell, but with Ryan’s help, it’s a possibility.
The only thing that can cure me of that sour mouthful from McKinnon this morning is the text I got from Ryan. I shut the door to my office to drown out any small bit of noise that might interrupt my viewing. He’s awake at this ungodly hour, too, likely also just finished with practice. But he sent the text as I was getting ready to step onto the ice.
