Page 92 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
On his next rush, I angle my body perfectly, reading his movements like the pro I am. My stick hooks under his, and I swipe the puck clean. He stumbles, cursing, and I grin.
I sprint toward the neutral zone, flicking the puck ahead to Jason. He takes off, skating past two defenders. The light flashes. The crowd roars.
For a moment, they forget they’re supposed to hate me.
I don’t give them time to remember. When Jason’s next shot rebounds off the goalie’s pad, I’m there. My stick lifts, and I snap the puck over the goalie’s outstretched glove. The net ripples.
The light flashes again.
I allow myself a small smile.
Let them put that in the headlines.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Dmitri
The reporters snap their gaze on me as we enter the press room, and sure enough, the first question is not about my goal, but about my marriage.
“Is good marriage,” I say. “I am enjoying it.”
Coach’s lips thin.
“Is better than not enjoying it,” I explain to him, my voice lower than before, but still probably carrying quite a lot.
“Are you going to honeymoon anywhere?”
“Every day is a honeymoon with Oskar.”
A few of the journalists shift their legs. I’ve made them uncomfortable. Sports reporters tend to be dependably heterosexual in my experience. We’ve given some interviews with pride publications, but none of those interviewers have come to cover our hockey game against Los Angeles.
“What’s it like being married to your coach’s son?” one reporter asks.
Jason huffs audibly next to me. His gaze keeps flicking to one of the reporters. Cal something or other I think.
I’ve only seen Jason in a press conference once before, and maybe he deserves more attention. I flourish a hand in his direction. “But Jason scored tonight too.”
The other reporters look bored, and a few more shout questions about Oskar and me.
“He doesn’t score goals often!” I shout. “Is unusual for him! Ask him questions.”
Jason glares at me, as if I’ve made some sort of mistake. My eyebrows shoot up. Too late I realize my mistake.
“This is such a farce,” he mutters into his mic.
“What exactly is a farce?” Rex Manley pounces.
“Nothing,” Coach interjects. “No farce.”
But Jason’s already rolling his eyes. “This is ridiculous. No one believes—”
“That Dmitri Volkov and Oskar are happily married?” Rex raises an eyebrow.
“They might be happy, but only because they’re getting away with it,” Jason says. “The first time I heard of any romance was when they announced they were married.”
The room is quiet, and Coach looks like he is contemplating slinking onto the floor and slithering toward the door, under the optimistic hope that he might turn into a snake somewhere between his seat and the ground.
“I don’t tell you everything, Jason.” I force a smile as fear races through my veins.
