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

woman’s voice travels through the line, and I cringe. Did I interrupt him? Is he dating someone? He clears his throat and when he speaks again, some of the sleep is gone from his voice. “What’s going on? You okay?”

“Austin, my grandmother…” I trail off, unsure what to say next.

Austin sighs, “Shit, dude. I’m so fucking sorry. I know how much—”

“I need to go home.”

“For the funeral?” he guesses.

“To say goodbye,” I clarify, my stomach twisting at the words. Each time I say them, the more real they become. A reality I never wanted to address.

Austin must put together the incomplete puzzle pieces I’m giving him because he says, “Of course. What can I do? When do you leave?”

“As soon as possible. I know we’re in New York on—”

“Don’t worry about that now, man. You took a big hit tonight, you’ve got a lot going on, and Greta, she’s like your—”

“Family,” I murmur. She’s my only family that matters. She’s more than a grandmother, more than a mother or a father or a brother. For the last three decades of my life, ever since my mother left, she’s been all of them rolled into one. “She’s all I’ve got.”

“Go to Oslo. Say whatever you need to say. Find your closure, man. The playoffs will be here when you get back. And as much as I hate to say it, you won’t be playing in them anyway, Torst. Not after tonight.”

Another reality that cuts deep. No more Farmor, no more hockey, no more anything I recognize.

“Is Rielle going with you?” Austin asks.

I glance up as Rielle flies back into my bedroom, rushing into my closet and coming out with a handful of my clothes.

“I don’t know,” I say. Is she? Can she? Will she?

“You shouldn’t be alone right now, man. You know if we weren’t in the playoffs, I’d be in the seat next to yours on that flight.”

I let out a dry chuckle and nod, even though he can’t see me. My fingers pinch the space between my eyes. “I know.” I know Austin means it too. He’s more than just a captain, he’s a true leader on and off the rink. “You have a team to lead. Let me come home to some wins, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Let me know the details once they’re sorted. I’ll handle Coach and Reland.”

“Thanks, man,” I say, knowing Coach and Scott are going to be understanding of my choice to leave in the middle of the playoffs. Because one, I’m not suiting up again and everyone knows it. And two, they know I’m done for good. For real. It’s all over now. “Talk soon.” I hang up as Rielle comes to a stop in front of me.

“Where do you keep your passport?” she asks, tapping a navy passport book in her hand.

I frown, because my passport is red. As the dots slowly connect in my hazy head, I widen my eyes at her. “You’re coming?”

She stops the tapping and grips her passport book in her fingers tightly. “I don’t have to,” she rushes to explain.

I laugh, gripping the hem of her shirt and pulling until I can grasp the back of her neck and kiss her mouth. “You’ll really come?” I ask the question differently.

I feel her smile against the side of my face. “Of course I will. But we have to hurry, Torst. We need to be at the airport in an hour and a car is coming for us in thirty minutes. So, tell me all the things you need me to pack.”

There’s no hesitation in her tone, no uncertainty at all, and the sureness with which she agrees to fly across the Atlantic, meet and say goodbye to the only person who truly matters to me besides her, and step into the lion’s den of the Hansen family, fills me with a sense of peace. I breathe in a deep breath and slowly exhale, trying to catch up with all the moving parts.

“Okay.” I look up at Rielle. “Here’s what we need…” I rattle off a string of clothing we both should pack, inform her where I keep my passport, extra cash, and a small gift I’d like to return to Farmor. When our shared suitcase is packed and our passports, wallets, and phones are in Rielle’s purse and my backpack carry-on, she helps me shuffle to the door. My arm is wrapped in a sling and I’m limping but I don’t feel the physical pain with my body knotted up in worry for Farmor.

At the last minute, I remind Rielle to grab her camera. She shoots me a strange look, stows it in the carry-on, and laces her fingers with mine.

Then, we head to the airport and board a flight for Oslo.

I’m quiet for the majority of the flight and layover in London. While I’m beyond grateful that Rielle is sitting beside me, with her hand tucked into mine, the closer we draw to my home country, the more my thoughts swirl and my feelings twist.

I’m going to come face-to-face with my father for the first time in years. I’m going to fulfill my promise to Farmor, the one I made decades ago, the one where I put myself out there, accept blame and wrongdoing, and try to make amends. I’m going to do it with Rielle by my side and the fact that she’ll witness me cowering before the man who didn’t even bother to raise me stings. But I’ll swallow my pride and do it because it’s the least I can do and the last wish of Farmor’s I can fulfill. If making things right with Father brings Farmor peace, then I’ll say the words that need to be said with as much sincerity as I can muster.

As the plane descends over Oslo, a lump forms in my throat. No matter where life leads me, coming home always fills me with a rush of emotion. Positive, negative, a combination of the two, there’s no denying