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

right thing, that I should step into the elaborately decorated building with its high ceilings and expensive scent. The private elevator, the guest code, the entire ritual brings me back to a million years ago, when Mom and I went to see the New York City Ballet. Her friends had disapproved that it wasn’t the American Ballet Theater and I remember how she laughed and laughed, winking at me across the table. Later, we shopped in Chinatown instead of the fancy shops dotted along Fifth. We ate hot dogs from a cart on the street corner and had giant, Mister Softee ice cream cones with sprinkles as a late-night snack. Mom said she wanted me to see the real New York and I fell in love with the bold way the city imprinted itself on me. The grit and grind, the colors and scents, the way millions of people milled about with little concern for playing a part. That trip taught me the importance of being, of enjoying, of actively engaging in one’s own life and choices. That trip changed the trajectory of my life because after Mom passed, I clung to her laughter and the way her eyes danced, and I channeled it to stand up to Dad.

The elevator doors ping open and my brother is standing there, his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face. His eyes are dark like mine, like Dad’s. His eyes scan me quickly, lingering too long on my red, puffy eyes.

Then he sighs, “Jesus, Rielle.” He reaches out and pulls me straight into an embrace, wrapping his arms around my back and squeezing.

My nose is pressed into the soft material of his shirt and the scent of his cologne, familiar, rushes over me. Tears well in my eyes and for the second time in twenty-four hours, a sob works its way up my throat. I fall apart in my brother’s arms but this time, it feels like a homecoming.

“What happened?” Jesse asks a little while later.

I twirl the spoon in my mug of tea slowly and think about how to answer that. He lifts an impatient eyebrow at me and his wife, Mira, places a hand on his wrist. The nanny whisked little Leah out to the park the moment my presence was known.

“Ri?” he prods and I don’t miss the worry that blazes in his eyes.

I sigh, “Which part?”

Jesse pinches the bridge of his nose but Mira turns an understanding gaze my way. “Why don’t you tell us what led you here today? Now? We’ve been hoping you’d connect for years now. After Leah was born…”

A lump grows in my throat and I feel like shit. Sitting across from them now, I can understand the hurt that my disappearance from their lives, from their happy occasions, caused. But in the moment of proving my independence to my father, I never considered how Jesse would feel. I figured he wouldn’t care one way or the other. We were never overly close. I was Mom’s daughter and he was Dad’s son and after Mom passed, I felt like I could never align with the Carter men. But maybe drawing that dividing line was more on me? Did my decision, my choice, fracture us?

I let out a sigh and glance up. Jesse watches me with so much concern, his lips pressed together, his jaw tight, and my chest squeezes. I rack my mind for a moment, a memory, where Jesse and I were truly at odds and I realize there were none. I always assumed he would do Dad’s bidding and I desperately wanted to blaze my own trail. Staring at my brother, I realize that I’ve hurt him just as much as I believed he’d hurt me. I open my mouth, and the whole story tumbles out. College and photography classes and Claire. Jerry Jensen and Stu Sanders and Merck No-Last-Name. Eviction notices and interest rates and unemployment. Torsten Hansen and a magical wedding day, Farmor and a hospital bed, Norway.

When I’m done, Mira has tears streaking down her cheeks. My brother looks like he’s going to be physically ill or put his fist through a wall but he does neither of those things. Instead, he opens his arms again and when I hug him, he murmurs, “God I’m glad you’re home, Rielle.”

I snort-laugh and run my hands over my face. “I never thought I’d come back.”

He shakes his head and pulls back. “Dad was always too hard on you. I kept telling him he needed to compromise with you but he truly believed that being a hard ass was the only way to parent.” Jesse shrugs. “I know you think I never cared or never got involved. But really, Rielle, I was trying to do everything his way so you wouldn’t have to. I know you never wanted the life that came along with Carter Enterprises. You live your life under a microscope with too many fingers in too many pies. I liked it though and thought if I could be great at it, the expectation for you to be involved wouldn’t be there. It didn’t work out that way.”

Surprise rocks through me at his confession. My eyelids drop closed and I recall memories, moments after Mom’s death when I was angry and hurting and confused. With Jesse’s words ringing in my head, I process them differently. My mind flickers to Torsten and his family business. Was Anders trying to protect him too? Or did the drama, manipulation, and hurt send Torsten running like me? If Jesse and Dad welcomed me back into the family fold right now, would I want to stay? When I open my eyes, I process Torsten’s predicament differently. I also see my brother in a whole new light. “I’m sorry, Jesse. I’m so sorry.” Remorse is heavy in my tone.

My brother squeezes my shoulder. “I am too, Ri. More than you will ever know.” He tips his head to my chair and