A Lie for a Lie (All In 1)

His expression shifts from excited to distressed between one blink and the next.

Before he can answer, another man dressed in a red shirt and ball cap approaches, giving me a curious once-over. “Hey, Rook, sorry to interrupt, but—uh, we need you for a minute.”

“Just hold on.” He doesn’t even look at the man.

“We’re taking a team picture—you’ll only be a minute, then you can get back to your friend here.” His gaze darts from RJ to our clasped hands.

“Team picture?” I glance back and forth between them.

“Lainey . . .” RJ says my name like an apology.

And it all clicks into place. All the hockey stuff in his cabin—how huge he is, and built—his stamina, the matching T-shirts and ball caps.

“I thought you said you were an alpaca farmer from New York.”CHAPTER 13

NOT-SO-LITTLE WHITE LIES

Rook

All the awesomeness that comes with finally seeing Lainey again disappears with that single statement. It’s amazing what a person can forget in a year. Such as the way I built our entire brief relationship on a lie.

It doesn’t matter that I had a plan all worked out to explain why I lied. Because the truth is, I had plenty of opportunities to tell her—and every time I was about to, something would happen or I’d find a reason to put it off. Until it was too late. I was too afraid that I would lose what we had, that it would change things, that she would see me differently. I lost her anyway, though, because she didn’t answer when I called from LA. Even worse, she didn’t leave me a way to contact her: no note, no number, nothing.

“RJ?” Lainey looks confused, and hurt, and nervous, and just so damn beautiful.

“I can explain.”

She wrings her hands. “Are you a professional hockey player now?”

“Yeah, but—”

“For how long?”

I blow out a breath. There’s no point in lying anymore. “This will be my seventh season with Chicago.”

“Seventh?” Her lips flatten into a line, and that hurt shifts, turning into something that looks like betrayal. “You lied to me about your job?”

“I was going to tell you the truth, I swear.” It’s the worst cop-out.

Her brow furrows. “It was the two of us for weeks—you had plenty of time to tell me the truth. Why would you lie in the first place?”

“There’s a logical explanation, Lainey. I promise, if you’ll let me explain, it’ll all make sense.”

She continues to wring her hands. “How can I even believe you? What else did you lie about?”

“Rookie, Lance, you two comin’? We need you for the team picture,” Alex calls from behind me.

Fuck. I forgot that Lance is still here, watching this train derail.

Lainey takes a step back. “I have to get back to work anyway.”

“Just give me another minute,” I call out.

Alex throws an arm over my shoulder, completely oblivious to the tension flaring or Lainey’s anxiety, which I’m far too familiar with. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow this guy for a minute—can’t take a team picture without the captain.”

“Captain?” Lainey parrots, eyeing me like I’m a stranger and not the man she spent almost six weeks playing house with.

“You being all modest again, man?” Alex slaps me on the chest. “This guy is the best player in the league.”

“Uh, Alex, I think—” Lance tries to interrupt.

“You’re an excellent player too, Romero.” He winks at Lainey. “You did a great job on the tour, especially dealing with the whole dolphin situation.”

“Thank you. That usually doesn’t happen during birthday parties. Typically Dillon waits until evening to get frisky with Daphne.” Lainey takes another step back, muttering something under her breath as her cheeks flush.

“Do you think we can put a hold on the team photo? I need a minute with Lainey. We know each other.” I pin them both with a meaningful look.

Alex’s eyebrows pop, while Lance’s pull down and then shoot up. It would be funny if things weren’t so tense right now. Alex drops his arm and steps back, eyes darting between us. “Sorry, sorry. Sure thing. Liam and Lane are getting antsy to open their presents.”

Lainey’s still trying to back away slowly.

“Please. It’s not what you think.”

Her spine straightens, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “You don’t know what I think.”

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” I glance over at the information desk, where three girls are huddled together, watching us.

“I can’t—I’m in the middle of a shift.” She takes another step toward a door that reads STAFF ONLY.

“What about when you get off? We could meet for coffee somewhere close by?” I realize how inappropriate the first part sounds after it’s out of my mouth.

Either she doesn’t notice, or she pretends not to. “I can’t. I’m busy.”

“It’s been a year, Lainey. I tried to call when I got to LA, but you never picked up. All I want is the chance to talk—at least give me that.”