Page 20 of Tangled Vows

“Want to tell me what that was all about?” I turned to find Roni watching me, arms crossed and an inquisitive quirk to her brow.

“What?” I asked innocently as I watched the kids warm up on the ice. We were finally out of earshot of my nosy nephew, so now she was going to drill me.

“Oh, come on, Easton. I saw the way you looked at her. Something’s going on.”

“There’s nothing going on,” I promised.

“Bullshit. You couldn’t keep your hands off Shayla. And she couldn’t stop looking at you like she was trying to anticipate your every move.”

“It’s not like that. We work together,” She shot me a flat, disbelieving look. “Okay, there was something once. Before the season started and we realized we worked together, but nothing actually happened.” Roni had made sure of that.

“I knew it.” A smug, triumphant grin spread across her lips. “You know,” she began, her expression turning thoughtful, “you already seem to have chemistry. Maybe she’s the answer to all our problems.”

“Come again?”

“Think about it. If you’re going to fake date someone, it needs to be believable.”

“Not this again,” I sighed exasperated. I never agreed to fake date anyone. If my memory served me correctly, I expressly refused to play into Roni’s fake relationship scheme.

“Just hear me out.”

“No.”

“E,” she said, her voice softening, “I’m fielding calls left and right asking for a comment about your departure from the Thunder. I’m worried the story is going to break. We need to be prepared if that happens. We need to be proactive, not reactive. If we can get in front of this, we can minimize the fallout when people find out what happened in Boston. You’re a changed man. We just need to make the public believe it.”

She had a point, but the problem with entering into a fake relationship with Shayla was that nothing I felt for her was fake. It was becoming very, very real, and I would never be able to pretend with her.

“You ready for this?”Weiss asked, slapping my padded shoulder. It was our first preseason game and my first time wearing the silver, blue, and black of the Wraiths.

“Hell yeah I am.” At least I thought I was. The team looked good. Coach Bradford practiced us hard all week to prepare for this. We had a strong lineup and something to prove. After two less than stellar seasons, we all hoped the third time was a charm.

After warmups, I performed my pregame ritual. Pulling out the cheap, plastic medallion my nephew gave me two years ago,I pressed a kiss to the four leaf clover imprinted on it. I tucked it back into my pocket then spared one final glance at the shamrock temporarily tattooed on the back of my hand before slipping on my gloves. He’d insisted on giving me both for “extra good luck.” It worked. I was named league MVP that year after my team won the last game of the finals.

Ever since, I kept that medallion in my pocket and wore a temporary tattoo for every game. I didn’t care that they were supposed to be for kids or that I had to buy them in bulk from a party supply store. My nephew started the tradition, and I wasn’t about to stop.

My body hummed with excited energy as we took to the ice. Weiss squared up with the opposing team's center for the faceoff. As soon as the ref dropped the puck, Weiss lowered his shoulder, pushing the opponent away and took control of the puck. He flew down the ice, expertly weaving through their defense. It was something to watch. He glided along gracefully yet fiercely, never relenting or slowing down.

I raced up the right side, Kent up the left, both of us looking to get a pass. Weiss sent the puck to me, but I didn’t have an open shot. I was fast approaching the boards when I saw Kent move into position. He was lined up perfectly, so I passed the puck across to him, but the defense anticipated the move. It took a few more passes and a couple body checks before we could manage to get a shot off. Kent sent the puck sailing mere inches above the goalie’s shoulder, perfectly hitting the top corner of the goal.

“Yeah!” I shouted, throwing my hands in the air in celebration. Only a few minutes into the first period and we had our first goal. It only got better from there. Kent, Weiss, and I operated like a well-oiled machine. Tillman only let one puck past him all night, but we scored three more times. Weiss and I each added a goal with Slater scoring the final goal with onlyseconds left on the clock. It felt good to win. It felt like proving myself with a new team.

“Damn, you were on fire tonight,” Kent said, high fiving me.

“Thanks, you too, man.”

“Wait, what’s that on your hand?” he asked, and I turned it over, showing off my shamrock.

“Ah, that’s my good luck charm,” I replied hesitantly, unsure what my teammates would think of me using a kid’s party favor to try to win games. Then again, hockey players were just as superstitious as other athletes, and my ritual wasn’t the strangest on the team. “I wear one every game,” I admitted.

“A temporary tattoo?” he questioned, eyeing me skeptically. I told him the story about my nephew, and his eyes lit up. “Bro,” he said, his tone pitching up enthusiastically. “You gotta give me one before the next game.”

“Yeah?” I asked, surprised he wanted to join in.

“Hell yeah. Look at all the luck it brought us. We’ve never won a preseason game. And here we are winning the first one right out the gate.”

“Sure, I’ll bring an extra one with me.”

“Bring one for me, too,” Weiss said before holding up his water bottle and squirting a huge gulp into his mouth.

---