Page 113 of Play the Game

“Cherry?”

I turn out of reaction.

Recognition flashes across his red face, and I quickly break our eye contact.

Shit.

Peeking at Emory’s parents, they seem unfazed. I exhale.

But nothing gets past Ellie. She stares at me with confusion. “Cherry?”

I shrug. “Maybe he likes cherries?”

She thinks for a second. “I don’t like them.”

I pretend to be amused. “Neither do I.”

Little does she know how true that statement is.

The game is slowly coming to an end with a tie of 2-2. I’m tense in all the wrong spots, and I can’t take my attention from number eleven.

I know exactly who he is.

He used to play for Chicago until he was traded. I don’t know the specifics of why he was traded, but I do know that when he’d come into the strip club, he was a sloppy drunk and awfully handsy.

Not that Russ cared.

But I did.

I have no idea how he recognizes me since he was always drunk and I looked a lot different than I do now, but he does, and that doesn’t sit well with me at all.

The more I think about it, the more my stomach tightens. I suddenly want to disappear from the stands and go to the bathroom to hide until the end of the game.

In the midst of the fans yelling, I stare at my shoes. I’m too afraid to look at the ice and see him staring at me again. My irrational thoughts take a nosedive and start spinning all kinds of outlandish things. I picture a whisper spreading through the stands, and everyone knowing that I’m a fraud. They’ll know I’m not wife material and that Emory only married me as a ploy to make everyone think he’s on the up and up with his reputation.

Until, of course, everyone finds out the truth.

In that case, his reputation will be shredded even further.

“Come on, son! Don’t fall for it.”

My head snaps up, and my eyes lock onto Emory.

I suck in a ragged breath when I see him slowly climb to his skates with his helmet half on. His steely gaze, the one that he typically reserves for the ice, is set on number eleven.

Oh no.

Just when I think Emory is going to show everyone that the rumors are true and he is just some hotheaded goalie, he pulls his mask down and gets back into position.

Thank god.

I exhale slowly, and a warmness flows through me when Emory’s mom grabs onto my hand for a quick second and gives it a squeeze. I smile softly at her but turn away quickly when my eyes fill with tears.

How healing would it be to be accepted into a family like this?

As soon as she drops my hand, we all jump backward. A Falcon is smashed against the glass right in front of us, and Kane is suddenly throwing his gloves off to the side and bumping Rhodes out of the way to get a swing on number eleven. I quickly put my hands on Ellie’s ears. There are too many inappropriate curse words filling the atmosphere, and when I hear the word Cherry, my stomach rolls with a wave of nausea.

Suddenly, both teams are at each other’s throats. Emory makes his way over and takes off some of his gear, throwing it to the side.

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