The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey)

by Gina Azzi

  And I hate myself a little bit for not learning them all sooner.

  Another week without Rielle passes and it nearly destroys me. My hands reach for her in my sleep, my thoughts circle around her during the day, and my heart craves hers.

  But tying her down to me, a man who’s relocating to Norway, a guy who needs to rebuild so many bridges with his family, a person who is financially secure, emotionally stunted, and mentally drained, isn’t fair. Not when she’s on the cusp of her life. Her twenties have barely gotten started. She hasn’t had the time to explore the kind of future she wants, to find the type of man who deserves to be by her side.

  If I’ve learned one thing in my time married to Rielle Carter, it’s that I’m not deserving enough. Not if I would drag her to Oslo, ask her to confront my farmor, and then push her away. Not if I would choose to stay behind and deal with my family business bullshit while she boarded a plane headed for the States.

  The only silver lining to my heartache is that things in Oslo, at Hansen Manor, are so twisted that I lose myself in the business, my family, and preserving Magnus’s legacy. The week after we bury Farmor, I spend a solid twenty-four hours drunk out of my mind. Anders, Daniel, Johan, and I sit on the back deck of the Manor and pass a bottle, then two, of whiskey, the good stuff, around. We get rip-roaringly drunk. The kind of drunk that serves as a truth serum. Shit from our childhoods, grudges we’ve held on to, hurts we’ve kept buried, all bubble to the surface and float away with the sunset at nearly 10 p.m.

  The four of us spring into action in the following week since Uncle Erik and Father have stepped aside. Father is spending some time in France while Uncle Erik went to visit a friend in the Middle East. It feels like we all breathe a little easier with them out of Norway. Even though Father and I spoke, it feels necessary to put some emotional distance between us.

  His absence leaves me with more time to focus on my other relationships. Like gaining back my brother and my cousins. Like spending time with my amazing nephew, a little mini me, who loves hockey and skating, and looks at me with stars in his eyes.

  I focus on all of this and try to ignore the dull throb in my chest where my heart used to be. Any thought of Rielle sets me back, distracts me, causes me to turn a million what-ifs and if-onlys over in my mind. During the day, I try to block her out, but it’s impossible. Everything I see somehow reminds me of a memory associated with her. Eating smoked salmon, a childhood staple, now has me recalling that first breakfast I made her in our kitchen. By the end of each day, I’m desperate for sleep to claim me just to ease the longing in my chest. Still, she finds me in my dreams.

  Twelve days after she left, I can’t take it anymore. I cave and dial her number.

  Listening to the phone ring has my nerves bouncing around, eager and insecure and hopeful.

  “Torsten?” Her voice comes through the line and I clench the phone. I take a moment to let her voice wash over me and it’s even better than I remembered.

  “Hey Ri,” I murmur.

  “You okay?” The concern is heavy in her tone and it causes emotion to swell inside of me because if she answered my call, does that mean she still cares?

  “I miss you,” I admit. “I miss you every second of every day.”

  She sucks in an audible inhale and I pause, giving her time to collect her thoughts.

  “I miss you too, Torst.” Her words are exactly what I want to hear but the emotion underlining them, the hurt and the thinly veiled anger, causes my stomach to twist.

  “I shouldn’t have pushed you away, Ri. You were right when you said I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I knew better and I did what I thought was best without ever considering your thoughts.” I blurt out the truth, needing her to know that I realize just how epically I messed things up between us.

  “Yeah,” she whispers. “It seems to be a theme in my life.” I frown but before I can ask, she volunteers the information. “My dad.”

  “Are you guys talking again?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I should tell her I’ve had eyes on her since she landed in New York but right now, I don’t want to rock the boat. The truth is, I’ll never not worry about Rielle. Panic seized me when she left Norway with no access to cash, no plan, no nothing. Immediately, I called a guy I know in the city to keep an eye on her. He keeps assuring me she’s fine and still, I can’t let her safety go.

  “Yes. We’ve been spending some time together. I’m staying with Jesse, my brother, in the city. Reconnecting with my family has been good for me.”

  “Good. That’s great, Rielle. I’m…I’m really happy for you.”

  “I’m happy for you, too. Mending things with your dad, fulfilling your promise to Farmor.” Her voice cracks and I wince.

  “Yeah,” I agree after a moment.

  She’s quiet for a long beat. “Too bad we couldn’t fight hard enough to fix us, huh?”

  The sadness in her voice squeezes me like a vice. “Rielle, I—”

  “Made your choice,” she finishes for me.

  “Don’t think. Just answer. What’s your choice?” I blurt out, my curiosity getting the better of me. My fingers nearly tremble from clenching the phone so tightly.

  She sighs. “Me. Right now, I choose myself. I have to.”

  Disappointment rocks through me even though on some level, her answer pleases me. I want her to put herself first. It’s what I’ve always wanted for her. But then why the hell does her confirming it hurt?

  “Good, sweetheart. You deserve everything. The best.”

  “That’s what I keep hearing.”

  I flinch at the hint of sarcasm in her tone. “Rielle—”

  “I’m not okay, Torsten. But I’m getting there.” She disconnects the call.

  I hold the phone in my hand and stare at it.

  An incoming email from Bill lights up my screen.

  Subject: Divorce papers?

  I swear and throw my phone down on the bed.

  I’m in love with my wife. I love Rielle Carter Hansen. And even though I have to, I don’t want to divorce her. I want her forgiveness and her love. I want to be her choice.

  23

  Torsten

  At the beginning of June, I fly back to Boston to sit on the bench and cheer on the Hawks as we play in the Stanley Cup Finals.

  “Missed you, man!” Panda smacks me on the back when I enter the locker room. A general cheer goes up and I grin and thank the guys for welcoming me back with open arms.

  I know if it wasn’t me, a guy who’s given most of my life to this team, and I wasn’t injured, I wouldn’t have been given the green light from the Hawks to stay in Norway and settle Farmor’s estate. But now, the team knows I’m not returning, that this is my last season, and that my life is headed in a new direction, across the Atlantic.

  To be received so warmly from the men who’ve been my family for more years than my own is touching and fills me with emotion. I sigh; I am getting too damn soft in my old age.

  James wraps an arm around my neck and for the first time, I think I understand a fraction of the sheer devastation he felt losing Layla. Because of Claire, I know Rielle is happy and whole, working at a photography studio in New York. Her happiness brings me comfort. To think the world could spin without Rielle would gut me and I realize now just how broken my old friend is.

  I place James in a headlock and he laughs, punching me softly in the ribs. “Don’t want to hurt you, old man.”

  I snort and drop my hold.

  James lifts his chin at me. “How are you holding up? All healed?”

  I nod, letting my shoulder rotate. It still clicks and cracks but it’s functioning again. Not that I’ll ever skate onto the ice as an NHL Hawk and give it a test, but it works for my everyday use. “Knee’s doing okay too,” I tell him.

  “Good. It’s good to see you.”

  “I’ll be cheering louder than anyone in the stands for you guys tonight.” I smack the back of Easton’s head.

&
nbsp; He turns to me and grins. “Don’t waste up all your lung capacity in one go. It’s only the first game of the series.”

  I flip him the middle finger but agree, “Fair enough.”

  Easton watches me curiously for a long beat and drops his voice. “She’s doing okay, man.”

  My chest seizes at the mention of Rielle, even though he didn’t say her name. My guy still gives me regular updates about Rielle’s safety but it’s not the same as knowing her thoughts. I think of her all the time and wonder how she’s coping with her new norm, her relationships with her family members. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. She’s happy in New York. Claire misses her fiercely, but Ri needed this separation from Boston. From reminders of you.”

  I frown at his word choice. Does she hate me that much? Will she ever forgive me for the sham of a marriage I dragged her through?

  “Rielle needed a change of scenery. Some time to grow. Some time to heal,” East continues, tapping me on the chest as he stows the last of his belongings in his locker. “Let’s go win the Cup.”

  I tip my head and force a grin. “Hell yeah.”

  I follow the team out to the ice and breathe in the cold air, holding it in my lungs. I take in the cheering crowd, the excited expressions, the jerseys the fans rock. Some of them still represent with my number and it’s humbling. Sure, this isn’t how I saw it all going down but Bill was right. I had one hell of a career.

  I sit on the bench in my jersey and cheer on my team for the entire game. I give East a few pointers, I remind James of some of his opponent’s strengths, I commend Noah on a beautiful breakaway. In a way, coming back for the Finals is the closure I needed. Because I can tell from my seat on the bench, that part of me has already moved on. Now that hockey is over, now that Rielle is gone, there’s nothing holding me here except memories. And even though the majority of them are great, the ones that aren’t hurt so deeply, they shadow the good times.

  We beat Dallas and a victory cry rocks the arena.

  Maybe I’m not on the ice but by the hugs and back slaps from my teammates, I recognize that my presence still matters to them. I’m still helping the team reach for a Cup win.

  Over the next week and a half, I spend all my free time at the arena. I help the guys prepare for every game against the Diamonds that I can. I’m able to skate a bit and help them set up the plays Coach Phillips wants to work out.

  Late at night, while Boston sleeps, I check in with Anders as he drinks his morning coffee. We run through the financials, discuss investment opportunities, and brainstorm ways to make our archaic family company more socially responsible and environmentally conscious. It’s definitely not the work I anticipated for myself after hanging up my skates but a part of me enjoys it. I like working with my brother and cousins more than I thought I would. I like connecting with my family again.

  With my time in Boston coming to a close, I consider selling the penthouse. I consider selling my Waterfront properties. I meet with a brokerage and discuss different scenarios but in the end, I can’t do it. I can’t cut ties with the city. I can’t move on from a place I’ve considered home for too long.

  And despite my reaching out to Bill, I definitely can’t bring myself to ask him to draft up divorce papers.

  Instead, I pour my days into hockey, into the Hawks. My nights into my family and the prosperity of the Hansens. I throw myself into everything and anything to blunt the hurt of losing Rielle. Still, she finds me in my dreams and I wake up longing for her the same way I used to before I ever had her. Now, it just hurts more.

  On game six of the series, the team’s nerves are on high alert. We’re leading the series 3–2 and this game will determine if we win the Cup outright or need to play game seven for a tiebreaker. For some strange reason I don’t understand, I’m even more nervous sitting on the side than I would be skating onto the ice.

  I take my spot on the bench, exchange a few words with Coach Phillips, and turn my eyes to the ice when I feel it. The sensation of someone watching me. The back of my neck chills and a strange sense of awareness spreads through my body. I turn my head and glance over my shoulder, my eyes scanning the crowd. On a whim, as if I can’t help myself, my attention travels to the WAGs box.

  Midnight eyes clasp onto mine and I freeze, my limbs locking down. Her hair is longer, wilder. Her lips are painted red and her eyes are so dark, their depths are unfathomable. She’s rocking my number and staring at me with an intensity that’s more like a gravitational force. I can’t look away. And I don’t want to.

  The arena, the game, the nerves, every single thing it took to get me to this point in my life, to this moment, fade away. There’s her and there’s me and there’s us. Our story which once had the potential to be my favorite but is still one I’d choose all over again.

  A slow smile spreads across her mouth and she lifts her hand in the tiniest of waves. Hesitant, vulnerable, and so fucking real, she makes the first move.

  I pounce on it and wave back. I gesture to her that we’ll share a drink after the game. Fans stretching the distance between us turn and stare, following our exchange with interest. Rielle laughs and it’s like staring directly at the sun. Bright, blinding, so beautiful it burns. She nods and mimes lining up a row of shot glasses.

  Fans’ necks swivel back to me as I chuckle and pretend to toss back the shots. Our eye contact never breaks and over the heads of hundreds of people, we have a conversation that only we understand.

  I give her a wink and turn back to the ice in time to watch the puck drop. Game six is one of the most intense, brutal, and awe-inspiring games I’ve ever witnessed. Austin scores a natural hat-trick, three goals in succession, that has both fans and haters on their feet with their mouths open. Claire, Indy, and Rielle dance in their seats, waving their hands wildly.

  In the second period, Panda dives for the puck and knocks it off the side post for a save that fills my chest with relief. Easton weaves through opponents like a demon, Noah has four successful assists, and James play like he did before Layla died—with his full attention, all of his talent, and every bit of his heart.

  When the final buzzer rings out and the Hawks win the Stanley Cup, emotion rocks me hard. We did it. We won. But more than that, I realize that my team is going to be okay without me. Just as they should be. I watch as the guys sitting with me on the bench rush the ice. I push off after them, gliding over the ice and throwing myself into the team celebrations.

  When Austin is awarded the Stanley Cup, he doesn’t hoist it overhead like tradition dictates. Instead, he points to me, skates over, and passes me the trophy. I shake my head at him but he grins. “Congratulations, Torst. Thanks for getting us here.”

  My hands tremble as I lift the trophy overhead. The team’s cheers are deafening. The jubilee of the crowd shakes the arena. My eyes find my wife and hold her gaze.

  In a handful of moments, I realize just how much my life has changed. And just how okay I am with it all.

  24

  Rielle

  I know the moment he enters Taps because a cheer works through the crowd. Fans whisper excitedly, some ask him for autographs or selfies, and everyone tracks his movement as he makes his way to the bar. To me.

  Claire and Indy are already in the private room at the back. Claire’s mom, Mary, has decorated the space with balloons and streamers and every throwback decoration you can imagine to make these big, brawny hockey guys feel the same magic of their childhood hockey wins. It’s sweet and thoughtful and something I know the team will revel in.

  But I stayed out front so I could remember this moment. The one where my husband walked through the door as a hometown hero. The one where I still got to enjoy calling him my husband, if only for a tiny bit longer. I waffled back and forth on whether to come to the game or not. But at Claire’s pleading and Mira’s urging, I booked a flight. I need to see if there’s anything between Torsten and me worth salvaging. Because my choice is him. Once he confirms that I’m not
his, that he doesn’t see a way for us to move forward together, I can sign divorce papers with a clear head.

  But if there’s any chance that he’d choose me back… Well, I’m not willing to keep living my life on my own assumptions. I witnessed firsthand how that ruined my relationships with my brother and dad and I don’t want to ruin everything with Torsten if there’s still hope.

  He stops next to me and his eyes flash. I grin at him and bring my wine glass to my lips.

  “What’re you drinking, Ri?”

  “Just a merlot.”

  His smile widens. “Just a merlot, huh?”

  “Congrats on the win.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You earned it,” I tell him the truth, my voice laced with emotion.

  He must hear the nervous thread in my tone because his smile slips a little. “You came to the game.”

  “I wanted to see you accept the trophy.”

  “How’d you know we’d win tonight?”

  I take a sip of my wine. “If you didn’t, I would have been at game seven.”

  “That right?” he asks, his arm wrapping around my waist. “You want to relocate to the back?”

  I nod, knowing this is a big night for him. More than anything, Torsten and I need to talk. He still hasn’t sent me divorce papers. I never went back to the penthouse. He has my belongings and I have his last name and everything between us is a big, complicated mess. But tonight isn’t the night to hammer out those details. Tonight, I want him to celebrate with his teammates and smile at me like he’s truly happy I’m here. Like he is right now.