Page 128 of The Fake Out Flex

But just because I didn't listen to the rumors doesn't mean I wasn't curious, so I went to the most likely source of information to try and get some information. Despite repeated attempts, I was never successful in my mission.

My conversations with Levi about it would usually start with me saying something like, "You don't have to tell me any of the specifics, but has Fraser ever told you what happened?"

He'd shake his head annoyingly. "Nope."

Then I'd say, "But you're best friends."

He'd nod his head annoyingly. "We are."

"So why hasn't he shared it with you?"

He'd shrug annoyingly. "It never comes up, I guess."

The Rademachers unexpectedly halting the filming of their show is one of the biggest mysteries in Comfort Bay history, and it's never come up? Male friendships truly baffle me. What do guys talk about, then?

On second thought, I don't want to know.

Fraser pulls up beside a small park in the picturesque town of Cedar Crest Hollow.

"I haven't been here in years," I say, taking in the pretty surroundings.

He cuts the engine. "It's a great place."

"Says the guy who's allergic to small towns."

"Not allergic." His rebuttal comes out a little quicker and more forcefully than I expected it would.

Our eyes connect.

"In fact," he continues, "I'm possibly reconsidering my stance on small towns."

His deep, low voice rumbles throughout the car—and through me.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." He turns away and smiles.

I follow his gaze to a pretty auburn-haired woman at the swing set and the small boy she's with.

For the briefest moment, a streak of jealousy tears through my chest as my imagination concocts a wild scenario where Fraser has a secret family that he's kept hidden from the world all these years because he's not really a pro hockey player but a mafia drug lord working for the government.

Then I rein in my overactive and totally illogical imagination—why would a mafia drug lord be working for the government, and if Fraser was needing to keep a low profile, how does being one of the biggest hockey stars in the country fit into that?—and remember why we're here.

"Is that…Dawn?"

"Yeah. It is. She's no longer an emo teenager."

"She certainly isn't. She looks so…"

"Normal?"

I swat his chest. "I was going to say pretty. Who's the little boy with her?"

"That's her son. Oakey."

When I don't say anything, Fraser turns to look at me. He lowers his head, his blue eyes drilling into me, searching for a reaction, I guess, since I'm not usually without words for this long.

"I…I had no idea."

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