Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys #2)(69)

Cheating? Dex? There’s no way. A surge of anger hits me that anyone could say that about him.

Coach leans forward. “I’ve been in talks with the LA team. We’re trying to work out a trade.” His gaze darts between both Dex and me. “If this goes the way we’re predicting it to, we might have to—”

“I’ll go,” Dex blurts. “Trade me.”

“Wait,” I say. “We were talking on the way over here, and what would happen if we tell everyone that we’re getting divorced? That Dex was feeling down about his breakup, so we got married because he didn’t want to be alone—and there was no cheating. It was all a spur-of-the-moment, spontaneous thing that we tried to make work, but we’ve realized we’re better off as friends. It’s not a complete lie, but it shows that we have been taking our marriage seriously.”

“Until now,” Dex says so low I’m not sure the others hear him.

Graham, Coach, and the GM look at each other before nodding in agreement.

“We can try that,” Graham says. “But we can’t promise anything. We don’t know how the public will react.”

I glance at Dex, who’s refusing to look at me.

“Just tell me what to do,” Dex says.

Graham opens a laptop on the table. “Okay, let’s get this statement ready.”





Twenty-Nine





DEX





How did the day go from everything feeling perfect to everything feeling so, so wrong? Between our agents, Graham, and Coach Roland talking us through our media release and how much to say, I’m numb. Their words wash over me, but Tripp asks all the right questions and keeps sending me these weird media-ready smiles instead of the crooked ones I’m in love with.

I can’t stop watching him for a sign of hesitation, but there isn’t one.

He wants a divorce. Those words shouldn’t kill me like they do, because before we got married, I never wanted a wedding. Now I’m here dreading a divorce.

Meanwhile, my gut churns at the thought of going out there and doing this.

Not only am I standing up and lying again, staying on this team comes down to winning over public opinion, and I’m not in a very winning mood.

My heart is breaking.

I thought things were good. I thought what we had was real. But at the first opportunity to call this off and run, Tripp takes it.

“Dex?” Tripp’s voice makes me blink back into the conversation. “You okay to do this?”

“Do I have a choice?” I don’t mean to sound so bitter, but honestly? I don’t think I can do this.

It’s not the marriage that’s been stressing me out; it’s the lying. And now we’re trying to cover a lie with an even bigger one. All because the team is worried about image?

This is my life.

And I never thought I’d say this, but being with him … it’s more important than hockey.

“I need some air.” I shove away from the table but only make it as far as the hall outside before I fall back against the wall.

I’d say this sucks, but that’s an understatement. I need to drop this mood. I know I do. If this is what Tripp wants, it’s not like I can guilt him into keeping me. I’ve just been blindsided by it being his first thought.

This is what’s best for him. A divorce. Then he can move on. Meanwhile, I’ll remain pathetically in love with my best friend.

Holy shit … I’m in love with Tripp.

The door beside me opens, and Graham steps into the hall.

“Are you sure you can do this?”

“Well, I’m due to get through one day without a fuckup, so surely the odds are with me.”

Graham tilts his head. “Well, we’re open to suggestions. What do you want us to do?”

My eyes prick with tears. “Does it make a difference what I want? Tripp wants a divorce. You think it’s best for the team.”

“Dex …”

“Can we just get this over and done with?” Although, what happens then? My place is being leased for at least a few months, and even if it wasn’t, the thought of going back there … fuck. Maybe I can bully Phoebe into letting me stay with her? Tripp thinks we’ll be best friends again after this, but it’s going to take me time.

I can’t go back to sleeping in his spare room.

Graham sticks his head back in the room and calls for the others, and when they join us, we make our way to the press room, where the media are waiting. Tripp’s stare is burning into the side of my head, and when he tries to take my hand, I quickly scratch my face and step away.

Just before we enter, Tripp grabs a handful of my T-shirt and pulls me back.

“You look like you’re going to pass out,” he says. “It’s okay. We can do this.”

“Yep.”

“Do you need me to do all the talking?” he asks.

“You’re making all the decisions, so why not?”

His eyebrows come together, and what was that I said about not being bitter about this? Oops.

Tripp has always said I don’t bother hiding my emotions, and I guess I’m proving him right, but how am I supposed to act okay when I’m breaking?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.