Page 66 of Perfect Boy

I straighten myself in his chair, resting my arms on the armrests. “Uh, yep. Yeah, I did.” I nod.

“When?”

“A few days before the fundraiser.” I swallow. “To Ryann Denver.”

“Why?” he snaps. “Why did you get married when I know damn well you two hadn’t known each other before you were paired up? At least, to my knowledge you hadn’t. And trust me, boy, I hear more than you think I do.”

Coach looks tired. Everything with Cade has taken a toll on him, and I think he blames himself for not drug testing Cade or noticing the signs he was struggling. I don’t know how Cade slipped by all of us either. But he was that good at hiding his issues. And he was even better at lying.

This is a man I need on my side. Barren LaConte can make things happen. People trust him, and he can convince them to do as he says. But I also don’t want him to be disappointed in me. And if he knew the truth, he undoubtedly would be.

“We were in a class together at the beginning of the school year before I had to switch to the online class.” I tell him the honest-to-God truth. “And I’ve been interested in her since the very first day of that class. Since the very first time I saw her.”

“Then, date,” he says sharply. “Why get married? You’re a college kid, for Christ’s sake.” He shakes his head. “And why the hell did an immigration officer show up in my office, asking about you?” He dips his head lower, his gaze burning into mine. “I really, really hope you didn’t do something stupid, Gentry. Something that could jeopardize your entire future. All for a girl you barely know.”

Everything inside of me wants to tell him the truth. But the second he knows the truth is the same time he’ll be a part of this…situation we created. I don’t want LaConte brought into this. It’s bad enough we brought Hunter and Sutton into it. But at the time, I really thought it would be for the best. Looking back, I realize it was selfish because now, they will be lying too. But it doesn’t matter what got Ryann and me to the point we’re at right now. Because I’m in love with the girl. And I actually want to be married to her. I want to stay married to her.

Lifting my chin, I look him square in the eyes. And then I fucking lie. I lie to a man I respect more than anyone else on this planet.

“I didn’t jeopardize anything. Is Ryann from Canada? Yes, she is. But I married her because I love her. And because I want to be with her. So, whatever they think they’ll find, snooping around, they’re wrong.” I shrug. “We did nothing wrong.”

He simply stares at me before dragging his hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, son. I really, really hope for your sake, you’re telling me the truth.” Jerking his chin toward his door, he huffs out a breath. “Go on then. And, Watson, you make damn sure you don’t get wrapped up in something that’s going to completely fuck up everything you’ve worked for.” He holds his fingers up. “You’re this close, son—this fucking close—to all of your dreams coming true. Don’t throw that away now.”

Nodding, I slowly push myself from the chair. “Yes, Coach. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I’m already wrapped up in something that’s inevitably going to complicate my plans. But the truth is, I wouldn’t trade marrying Ryann for anything. Even my spot in the NHL. I wouldn’t trade it because this marriage isn’t ending. And she isn’t going back to Canada.

When I said I do, I meant forever. Whether she likes it or not.

Pulling out my phone, I dial Ryann. Because if the officer paid a visit to LaConte today, that means he’s close by. And the last thing I want is him catching her off guard.

Ryann

“I’m sure you’re aware by now that when a routine audit was performed at the business”—he looks down at his file—“Peaches, it was brought to our attention that your visa was forged. I don’t think I need to tell you how serious of a crime this is, Miss Denver.”

I stare at the man before me, who, just as Poppy explained, is indeed terrifying. He’s tall and huge. Sort of like Dwayne Johnson, but older and not covered in tattoos. I want to sass him. I want to tell him it’s rude to show up at my doorstep, unannounced. But he’s right. I committed a crime. So, instead of becoming my feisty self like I probably would have done in the past, I try to keep it together. I’m sure he can see right through me. It wouldn’t be hard to notice how nervous I am.

“Officer Hewett, what are you saying?” I ask softly. “Are you going to just cuff me and stuff me in the back of your car and force me back across the border?” I cringe. “Sir, with all due respect, I hope that isn’t what you’re planning on doing.”

He inhales, keeping his sharp eyes focused on me. “Miss Denver, the last thing I want to do right now is force a kid who is the same age as my youngest daughter in my car. And I’m certainly not going to cuff you. As long as you cooperate.” His head swivels around, looking for something. Or someone. “Is Mr. Gentry here?” His voice deepens. “Watson Gentry.”

“Cookie?” Sutton says, appearing out of nowhere with a plate of cookies. “Ryann made them earlier. They are Watson’s favorite.” She gives me a sweet smile. “You’re so good to that man.”

Seeing as Sutton can’t bake and neither can I…I have no idea who actually made those cookies. But if I had to guess, they came from a container, and she perfectly arranged them on a plate.

When Officer Hewett looks from me to Sutton, I give her a you’re doing too much look. But she simply beams at me before batting her long lashes at the officer and pushes the plate toward him.

“No thanks,” he says, but I can tell he’s really thinking about taking one. It would probably be considered unprofessional, and Officer Hewett strikes me as a professional type of dude. No time for cookies.

Just then, the door opens, and in walks Watson. His hat is turned backward, and he’s wearing his Brooks hoodie and those sweatpants I love so much. Even as nervous as I am, my mouth waters at the sight of him.

Closing the door behind him, he struts in like he actually does live here. I guess the past few days, he sort of has. And I won’t lie…I like it. I don’t really want him to leave.

“Hey, baby,” he says sweetly, planting a kiss on my cheek before turning toward our not-so-welcome guest and holding his hand out. “Hi there. Can I help you?”

Putting his hand out, he gives Watson’s a firm, slow shake before releasing it. “I’m Officer Hewett. Officer Kirby Hewett.”

At least his name sounds like he’s a friendly elf, straight from the North Pole, I tell myself, sighing in relief that his name isn’t as scary as his eyes.

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