The Penalty Box (Vancouver Wolves Hockey #3)(38)

“I didn’t tell a soul.”

“Nope, people just like to be around you. Get this. We asked for donations to cover the costs. After the fact, we ended up with an extra twenty-six thousand dollars.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Now people want to get you two a wedding gift with that money. Any ideas?”

I winced and rubbed my eye. “Can you donate it to Charlie’s favorite charity?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s nice. Which one?”

“She loves dogs.”

“On it. I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.”

I checked my phone. No answer from Charlie. Yet.

Ryan interrupted my thoughts. “Zoey sure likes Charlie.”

“Oh yeah?”

“She invited Charlie to come to the next game with her.”

I mentally made a note to put Zoey in my will. “Thank her for me.”

“So how is this whole marriage thing working out?”

“I don’t know.”

“You two sure seemed to have fun last night.”

I didn’t want to talk about what I didn’t understand. “It’s complicated.”

He laughed. “Is that your Facebook relationship status?”

“Nope. My status is that I’m married.”

He swung another look at me. “Is it complicated because the marriage isn’t real?”

I felt my expression harden. “My marriage is real.”

I could tell he was working to keep his expression neutral. “I can see why it’s complicated.”

“Shut up.”

He laughed. “It’s okay, buddy. It happens to the best of us.”

I knew what he was implying. “That’s not what’s happening here.”

He didn’t answer, but the smile he was fighting told me he thought otherwise.





*



Practice with a hangover wasn’t pretty, but three of the rookies puked, so I figured I got off easy. Ryan dropped me off at the hotel, so I could pick up my vehicle.

Still no answer from Charlie. I decided I would pick her up whether or not I heard from her. Krista’s words about how the transition would be tougher for Charlie came back to me. This might not be a marriage that involved a marriage bed, but I needed to step it up in the husband department. Where I came from, men took care of their women, no questions asked. I dropped by the bank and then drove home.

I pulled into my driveway and noticed a car parked across the street. When I got out, Detective Wallace got out of the car and started walking towards me. I had no intention of letting him back on my property without a search warrant, so I walked down the driveway, meeting him on the sidewalk.

“You lost?” My tone was flinty hard.

He pulled his cheap sunglasses off his face. “Heard you got married.”

I narrowed my eyes on his face. This clown had no business talking about Charlie. “Last I checked, marriage was legal in Canada.”

“Heard you served in the military in Russia.”

“Is there a point to this conversation?”

“I want to know what you’re hiding.”

“I want to know why you think harassing an innocent citizen is acceptable.”

He puffed up his chest. “I’m doing my job.”

“Not very well.”

“Your wife’s brother is serving a lengthy sentence. It’d be a shame if things didn’t go well for him in prison.”

I threw him a dirty look. “The only way to fight corrupt assholes like you is never to give in to your threats, bribes, and harassment. Next time you talk to me, I want my lawyer present.”

His face flushed puce. “You’re a dick.”

“And you’re a fat fuck with your head up your ass.”

That killed the conversation. He sloped back to his car, and I headed inside.





*



I was just getting off the phone, ordering replacement furniture for the living room, when Charlie walked in the door.

I had planned to pick her up. “How did you get home?”

“The bus. Krista sent me home early. She said she was too hungover to work.” Charlie avoided my gaze. So, we were back to that again. Frustration rolled through me.

“I could have come and got you.”

“I’m good.”

I worked not to escalate this. Things felt fragile between us. I needed to bring us back from last night and move us towards becoming compatible roommates.

“Thanks for helping me out last night.”

Her gaze met mine and then she blushed. Hard. “You’re welcome.”

I stood up and started to pull out ingredients for dinner. “I’m just about to cook dinner.”

“I can help,” she offered. “Just let me change.”

A few moments later, she appeared beside me. “What can I do to help?”

My eyes roamed over her skintight leggings and baggy T-shirt. Last night I had grabbed handfuls of that ass. My fingers itched to do it again. “You want to chop that onion?”

“What are we cooking?”

“Beef Stroganoff.” I watched as she deftly picked up a knife and started to chop.