Page 53 of Offside Bride

“I get the feeling she’s known all along,” Sawyer continues, his voice tight. “That Betty Crocker—Donna Reed persona? One big performance.”

My heart aches for him. “And she just took off? Leaving you and your sister to pick up the pieces?”

“Exactly,” he says, his jaw clenching.

I’m struck by the absurdity of it all. Here I am, feeling sorry for myself because I grew up in the foster system, never knowing my birth parents. And then there’s Sawyer, whose picture-perfect family turned out to be smoke and mirrors.

“Yeesh,” I mutter, shaking my head. “And I thought I had baggage.”

Sawyer’s eyes meet mine, a glimmer of his usual humor returning. “What a pair we make, huh?”

I crack a smile, “Yeah, what a pair.”

The orphan girl and the con man’s son. Could be a country song. I wonder how much he knows about my past.

He shrugs, a wry smile on his face. “Welcome to the O’Malley family circus. Admission’s free, but the therapy bills are a killer.”

I look up at Sawyer. “And this support group…LOOP. It helps?”

“Not particularly. My situation…is unique.”

I bite my lip, considering. “You’ve got me,” I offer softly. “I’ll listen whenever you want to talk about it. Except without the crappy coffee and stale cookies or whatever they serve at these things.”

Sawyer’s laugh is genuine this time. “Crappy coffee and stale cookies…that’s accurate.”

“Now we both know something the other one is ashamed of,” I say, nudging his shoulder. “Even Steven.”

His brow furrows. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of, darlin’.”

I arch an eyebrow pointedly.

“You don’t mean your book,” he says, realization dawning.

“Oh, but I do,” I reply, feeling my cheeks heat up.

Sawyer shakes his head, his expression softening. “You should be proud of that book, Mags. It takes guts to put yourself out there like that.” He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Just don’t expect me to read the paperback in public—not with that man-chest cover.”

I roll my eyes. “Fair enough. I wouldn’t want to damage your tough-guy image.”

I’m falling into a whole new reality. The cocky, flirtatious hockey player I thought I knew suddenly seems so…raw, like he’s peeling back his layers for me and only me. It’s strangely intimate. Much more intimate than…well. My cheeks flush at the thought. I think I actually wouldn’t mind feeling close to my husband in another way, too.

“Thank you,” Sawyer says quietly. “For listening. For not judging.”

I stand on my tippy-toes and kiss him softly on the lips. They’re warm despite the chilly autumn afternoon.

Inclining my head towards the building, I say, “Shall we?”

Sawyer takes a deep, fortifying breath, sucking in the crisp air. “Actually, I think I’d rather go home for a nap.” He gathers me in for a hug, stroking my hair, kissing the crown of my head. “Would you like to be my emotional support pillow? You can keep your clothes on.”

Wrapping my little arms around him, barely able to reach, I bury my face in his broad, achingly beautiful chest. “That’s what fake wives are for, right?” I say.

Although, none of this is feeling fake right now. And I’m not even mad about it.

"After about 15 years I finally figured out that she's always right. So surprisingly we just stopped fighting after that."

— BARACK OBAMA

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