The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) by Gina Azzi (little red riding hood read aloud .TXT) 📕

shattered. Because there was another slip on my door this morning. This time, I left it. I’m going to default on my loan payment. I’m going to miss rent again.

I’m going to be evicted, with nowhere to live but an alleyway.

Tears collect in my eyes. The urge to cry, to sob and wail and hit something, rises in my throat but at the last second, I swallow it down. I may have left the Carter household but at my core, I’m still a Carter. And Carters keep things close to the chest. We figure out our own problems and never air anything in public. Not our thoughts, not our feelings, and most certainly not our shortcomings.

Deep breath. I’ll be okay. I’ll sort this out.

The shrill ringing of my cell causes me to jump and I answer it. “Claire.”

“Ri-Ri! I’m so sorry to be the one to bail but Indy’s got heartburn and East just got home from an AA meeting and seems overwhelmed so—”

A trickle of relief rolls through me. The last thing I want to do is sit in a noisy bar and shout to Claire and Indy that I was fired, assaulted, and will soon be homeless. God, I wish I could tell them the truth. About my family, my finances, my lack of options. But if I did, they’d help me, no questions asked. I’d ruin the only true friendships I have by altering the dynamic beyond repair. I’ve witnessed firsthand how money ruins families, friendships, and it’s not something I’m willing to risk with Claire or Indy. I clear my throat. “No worries, babe. Honestly, I’m exhausted anyway.”

“Well, I’ll still make it up to you.”

“We’ll reschedule soon.” I don’t mention that my calendar is now wide open. “Go be with your man.”

Claire giggles and I can’t help the pang that hits me in the chest. Of course I’m happy for her and Easton. They’ve worked hard at their relationship and have overcome a lot of obstacles. I understand that Claire needs to be there for him. I want her to be there for East.

But sometimes, in moments like this, when I realize how soul-crushingly alone I am, I wish that she would notice I’m starting to drown. I wish someone would realize that I’m about to be pulled under entirely.

“Call you tomorrow, Ri.”

“Good night, Claire.” I disconnect and take a shaky breath. Then, I ease out of the parking lot.

Part of me is desperate to go home, shower, and crawl into bed. The other part of me hates the thought of being on my own right now, with all the silence, all the mistakes, closing in on me.

I drive past the turn to my apartment. What the hell am I doing? I can’t just drive aimlessly and waste Sally’s gas. I stop at a red light and grip the steering wheel. I bang my head back against the headrest. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes. What am I going to do? Jerry Jensen is expecting a loan payment on Monday and I’m still over $200 short.

I could always sell Sally. My stomach twists at the thought. But then what? It will only buy me a few months. I need a plan. For the first time in my life, I come up blank.

You want to study marketing? Dad’s laughter rings in my head. What useless life are you going to have with that? You’ll make no money. The contempt in his gaze was obvious.

But I was rebellious. So certain that I could carve my own path and blaze my own trail. I was taking my future in my hands and doing it my way. My choice of university, my choice of degree, my choice of who I lived with.

A sob escapes my throat as I recall those four magical years. Living with Claire. Feeling inspired and passionate about my courses. Interning in Paris. Dabbling in photography. It was like another life.

The one that came before reality crashed around me and I realized I owed nearly half a million dollars to one of my childhood friend’s families for bankrolling my educational pursuits against my father’s wishes.

Was Dad right?

The thought cuts deep because if so, I’ve made a hell of a lot more mistakes than just staying in a thankless position under Stu Sanders for ten months.

The sign for Taps, a neighborhood pub that has gained notoriety over the years since the Boston Hawks Hockey team usually grab drinks here, flickers in the distance. I’ve spent a lot of time at this pub with Claire since her brother Austin is the team captain and Easton is the left wing.

Sighing, I pull into the parking lot. Clearly, I shouldn’t spend any money on a glass of wine. And I shouldn’t stay out this late because my apartment is in a less than desirable area and the last thing I need is to fight off a second man with grabby hands tonight.

But the feel of Stu’s hands still ripples over my skin. I shiver, knowing I’ll go crazy if I’m alone right now.

I step out of the car, tie the sash on my coat, shoulder my bag, and scurry into Taps. The atmosphere is warm. The bartender, Pete, is a familiar face. And no one looks at me, a girl with tears in her eyes, twice.

I take a seat at the end of the bar and shrug out of my coat. Exhaling slowly, I tuck my hair behind my ears and wave to Pete. As soon as I have a glass of merlot in hand, my body relaxes slightly. I take a deep sip and let the bold taste roll down my throat.

I’m going to be okay. I’ll figure something out.

But what?

Not for the first time, I wish Mom were still alive. Although, if she were, there’s no way things would have fallen apart between Dad and me. Not like this, anyway. I close my eyes for a beat and envision her calm voice, the feel of her fingers