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

team out to the ice and breathe in the cold air, holding it in my lungs. I take in the cheering crowd, the excited expressions, the jerseys the fans rock. Some of them still represent with my number and it’s humbling. Sure, this isn’t how I saw it all going down but Bill was right. I had one hell of a career.

I sit on the bench in my jersey and cheer on my team for the entire game. I give East a few pointers, I remind James of some of his opponent’s strengths, I commend Noah on a beautiful breakaway. In a way, coming back for the Finals is the closure I needed. Because I can tell from my seat on the bench, that part of me has already moved on. Now that hockey is over, now that Rielle is gone, there’s nothing holding me here except memories. And even though the majority of them are great, the ones that aren’t hurt so deeply, they shadow the good times.

We beat Dallas and a victory cry rocks the arena.

Maybe I’m not on the ice but by the hugs and back slaps from my teammates, I recognize that my presence still matters to them. I’m still helping the team reach for a Cup win.

Over the next week and a half, I spend all my free time at the arena. I help the guys prepare for every game against the Diamonds that I can. I’m able to skate a bit and help them set up the plays Coach Phillips wants to work out.

Late at night, while Boston sleeps, I check in with Anders as he drinks his morning coffee. We run through the financials, discuss investment opportunities, and brainstorm ways to make our archaic family company more socially responsible and environmentally conscious. It’s definitely not the work I anticipated for myself after hanging up my skates but a part of me enjoys it. I like working with my brother and cousins more than I thought I would. I like connecting with my family again.

With my time in Boston coming to a close, I consider selling the penthouse. I consider selling my Waterfront properties. I meet with a brokerage and discuss different scenarios but in the end, I can’t do it. I can’t cut ties with the city. I can’t move on from a place I’ve considered home for too long.

And despite my reaching out to Bill, I definitely can’t bring myself to ask him to draft up divorce papers.

Instead, I pour my days into hockey, into the Hawks. My nights into my family and the prosperity of the Hansens. I throw myself into everything and anything to blunt the hurt of losing Rielle. Still, she finds me in my dreams and I wake up longing for her the same way I used to before I ever had her. Now, it just hurts more.

On game six of the series, the team’s nerves are on high alert. We’re leading the series 3–2 and this game will determine if we win the Cup outright or need to play game seven for a tiebreaker. For some strange reason I don’t understand, I’m even more nervous sitting on the side than I would be skating onto the ice.

I take my spot on the bench, exchange a few words with Coach Phillips, and turn my eyes to the ice when I feel it. The sensation of someone watching me. The back of my neck chills and a strange sense of awareness spreads through my body. I turn my head and glance over my shoulder, my eyes scanning the crowd. On a whim, as if I can’t help myself, my attention travels to the WAGs box.

Midnight eyes clasp onto mine and I freeze, my limbs locking down. Her hair is longer, wilder. Her lips are painted red and her eyes are so dark, their depths are unfathomable. She’s rocking my number and staring at me with an intensity that’s more like a gravitational force. I can’t look away. And I don’t want to.

The arena, the game, the nerves, every single thing it took to get me to this point in my life, to this moment, fade away. There’s her and there’s me and there’s us. Our story which once had the potential to be my favorite but is still one I’d choose all over again.

A slow smile spreads across her mouth and she lifts her hand in the tiniest of waves. Hesitant, vulnerable, and so fucking real, she makes the first move.

I pounce on it and wave back. I gesture to her that we’ll share a drink after the game. Fans stretching the distance between us turn and stare, following our exchange with interest. Rielle laughs and it’s like staring directly at the sun. Bright, blinding, so beautiful it burns. She nods and mimes lining up a row of shot glasses.

Fans’ necks swivel back to me as I chuckle and pretend to toss back the shots. Our eye contact never breaks and over the heads of hundreds of people, we have a conversation that only we understand.

I give her a wink and turn back to the ice in time to watch the puck drop. Game six is one of the most intense, brutal, and awe-inspiring games I’ve ever witnessed. Austin scores a natural hat-trick, three goals in succession, that has both fans and haters on their feet with their mouths open. Claire, Indy, and Rielle dance in their seats, waving their hands wildly.

In the second period, Panda dives for the puck and knocks it off the side post for a save that fills my chest with relief. Easton weaves through opponents like a demon, Noah has four successful assists, and James play like he did before Layla died—with his full attention, all of his talent, and every bit of his heart.

When the final buzzer rings out and the Hawks win the Stanley Cup, emotion rocks me hard. We did it. We won. But more than that, I realize