Page 52 of Offside Bride

I feel a lump forming in my throat, and unbidden, a tear forms in the corner of my eye. I blink rapidly, trying to hold it back, but it escapes, trailing down my cheek. I don’t understand why I’m suddenly so emotional—why my heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a vice grip.

“I’m not a worrywart,” I grumble, my voice too squeaky and mousy. “I jump to conclusions.”

Sawyer doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he gently kisses away the tear on my cheek, his lips soft against my skin. His fingers thread through my hair, the gesture soothing andcomforting. I find myself leaning into his touch, craving more of this unexpected tenderness.

After a moment, he pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting mine. “I want to show you where I was going,” he says softly. “Do you want to come with me?”

I nod slowly, my heart racing. “Okay,” I say softly, taking his hand. “Show me.”

Sawyer’s grip is warm and reassuring. We walk in silence for a few blocks, the air between us charged with unspoken emotions. I steal glances at him, noticing the tightness in his jaw, the faraway look in his eyes. There’s a heaviness to his steps that I’ve never seen before, and it makes my heart ache.

I want to ask where we’re going, what he wants to show me, but something tells me to wait. To let him lead the way. So I squeeze his hand gently, hoping he can feel my support through that simple gesture, and we continue our silent journey through the city streets.

We stop in front of a nondescript brick building that could be a church hall or community center. Nothing flashy, just a simple structure with a few windows and a set of double doors.

Sawyer waves an arm in the building’s direction. “Welp. Here we are.”

There’s a printed sign taped on the door. It looks like it was made on someone’s home printer, using a whimsical comic sans font. It reads: LOOP Meeting Here.

Trying to lighten the mood, I quip, “Hmmm, it doesn’t look like a brothel or a seedy motel.”

Sawyer laughs, a genuine sound that eases some of the tension. “No, definitely not a brothel.”

I don’t push for more information. Whatever this is, I want Sawyer to tell me in his own time, in his own way.

After a moment, he takes a deep breath and begins speaking, his voice low and measured. “I thought I had the perfectchildhood, you know?” Sawyer’s voice is soft, almost wistful. “White picket fence, stay-at-home mom, dad with a good job as an accountant. I was the hockey kid, and my sister was Dad’s little princess. It was like something out of a cheesy eighties sitcom.”

He pauses, his eyes distant, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and comfort him.

“I had no idea my father was doing illegal things,” he continues, his voice wobbly and raspy. “It wasn’t until recently that I found out the truth, and it almost destroyed me. I spiraled hard, Mags. Drinking, partying, pushing everyone away. The only thing that kept me going was knowing I had to make sure my sister was okay. She’s always been the smart one. Brilliant, actually. I couldn’t let her future get ruined because of our dad’s mistakes.”

I feel my heart breaking for him, imagining the weight he’s been carrying all this time. The perfect childhood he thought he had was nothing but a carefully constructed lie.

“Wow,” I murmur. “I guess knowing who your parents are isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Sawyer goes quiet, lost in thought.

Finally, he points to the sign that’s taped to the door. “LOOP stands for Loved Ones Of Prisoners. It’s a support group…sort of like AL ANON.”

I blink up at him, processing this information.

“My dad is in federal prison, Maggie.”

The words hang in the air between us, weighty and raw. I’m at a loss for words. How do you respond when someone drops a bomb like that?

Sawyer takes a deep breath, his shoulders tensing slightly. “I haven’t told any of my teammates this,” Sawyer admits. “I…I was too embarrassed and ashamed to tell you where I was going, but I want you to know now.”

“Okay,” I say softly. I reach out and squeeze his hand, silently urging him to go on if he wants to. He doesn’t have to, though. And he doesn’t have to go through this alone. In a weird way, I feel like this is what it means to be married. To just be there. To just listen.

I stroke my thumb over Sawyer’s hand, feeling the rough calluses on his palm. The temperature is falling fast in the shade of the building, autumn’s chill settling into my bones, but I resist the urge to shiver. This moment feels too fragile, too important to disrupt.

Sawyer takes a deep breath, his eyes fixed on some distant point. “They have him on tax evasion, but it’s more complicated than that.”

“And your mom?” I ask gently. “How did she take the news?”

He lets out a laugh, but it’s hollow, devoid of any real humor. “Oh, she’s perfectly fine. Packed her things and disappeared.”

I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips. “What?”

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