He’s my escape.
We swim for a bit until we must lose track of time because Oskar, who we’re sharing a ride with to the airport later, comes back outside and waves us in, holding out two towels.
“Shit, are we running late?” I ask as we reach him on the dock.
I pull myself up and dry off.
“Nope. Both of your phones have been going off for the last five minutes.” Oskar holds up my phone.
“It’s the team PR department.” I’m still wet, but I take the phone anyway and answer. “Tripp Mitchell.”
“We need a meeting,” Graham Thompson says.
“Uh, okay? When? Dex and I fly back into Vegas later today.”
“Good. Both of you. Head office. What time can you get here?”
“Uh, we land at three, and then we’ll drop our bags off—”
“Nope. See you here at three thirty.”
“Wait, what do you—”
Graham ends the call, and my gut sinks.
Something’s wrong.
We rush to finish packing, and then we say goodbye to Ezra and Anton, who are flying back to Boston on the red-eye tonight.
We get to the airport early, which was probably a waste of time because the plane isn’t ever going to take off early, but I can’t help stressing about why Graham would want to see me. No, not just me, but Dex as well.
Zen and peace. Zen and peace.
Dex thinks it has something to do with a promo opportunity in the off-season, but he didn’t hear Graham’s voice. It was like a parent telling their child to come home because the kid accidentally burned down the house.
I don’t tell Dex that though. I don’t want him to freak out like I am.
A quick Google search doesn’t show anything about our nuptials—the first couple of pages of results are all about our friendship and hockey stats—but I can’t shake the feeling that’s what this is about.
I’m so nervous the entire flight home that my leg bounces the whole way, and Dex finally catches on that something’s not right.
“Why do you look so worried? What do you think it is?” He pales. “A trade?”
“No. They wouldn’t need us both for that. Unless we’re both being traded, but after our season and making it to the finals, thanks in large part to us, I doubt it. The most logical conclusion is that they found out about the fake wedding.”
“Oh, fuck. How?”
“Who knows? I couldn’t find anything online. But … what else would it be?”
“Like I said, promo opportunity.”
“Why not tell me that on the phone? Why not get my agent to call me?”
“Shit. What if it is about the wedding?”
This is the last thing I wanted—for Dex to worry. I guess I suck at trying to hide my concern. “Let’s try not to completely freak out yet.” Even if I’m already way past that. “We don’t know what it’s about.”
We totally know what it’s about. I just don’t know how Graham found out.
And the second we walk through the doors at our practice arena in Summerlin, Graham’s there to meet us. “Follow me.”
We wheel our suitcases with us, and every time mine makes a clicking noise on the cracks between the tiled floor, I swear the sound is mocking me. It rolls along to the sound of “You’re fired, you’re fired, you’re fired.”
They won’t terminate our contracts over a harmless joke … will they?
Graham leads us to one of the small conference rooms, giving away nothing in his expression.
“What’s going on?” I ask as we take our seats at the round table.
Graham’s gray eyes hold the kind of disappointment I’ve seen from each and every one of my coaches at some point in my career, and that’s when I know for sure …
He slides his tablet over to us. “Marriage licenses are public record, boys.”
Okay, now we can officially freak out.
I look at the screen, but it doesn’t make sense. “We didn’t file it,” I murmur.
“What I want to know is what you two are doing getting married in the first place,” Graham says. “Without telling us. We were blindsided by this, but it’s lucky that we caught it first.”
“How? How did you catch it?” I ask.
Dex sits next to me, either stunned into silence or not quite understanding what’s going on.
“You don’t think we keep tabs on every single one of our players?” Graham asks. “If something new pops up about any of you on the internet, we know about it first. So, married, huh?”
“It’s not supposed to be legally. We did it as a goof,” I say.
Graham’s lips purse. “A goof.”
“We didn’t file the certificate we signed.” I turn to Dex. “Did we?”
Dex takes out his wallet and pulls out a folded piece of paper.
He … kept it on him?
“It’s right here. We didn’t file it with the registrar.” Dex hands it over to Graham.
Where we’re expecting more confusion, Graham stares at us how the media looks at Dex a lot. Like we’re the biggest dumbasses to ever dumb.