Page 48

I don’t know what’s truth and what’s fictitious, but I do know that whoever I saw in my subconscious was deliriously happy with the man whose arms she was in, and that man was definitely Jax Harris.

It’s making me feel weird. Blurring lines is the last thing either of us needs. In nine weeks, Jax will go back to his playboy sports star ways and I… Well, who knows where I’ll end up? Probably in small-town Canada, unemployed. But I can’t shake this sensation, almost a pathetic sadness, that I may have been truly happy that night in Las Vegas. And the question I keep asking myself is, when was I last truly, honest to God happy and unrestricted? Free and enjoying life, before that night?

I’m staring at the rink in Pittsburgh, where the Dragons have their fourth preseason game of the schedule. They beat Washington in both games and beat Philadelphia last night, too. Coach Garrison is tinkering around with the starting lines and he’s made some mid-shift changes, which is what preseason is all about.

But there’s one standout guy on the team, who keeps performing and whose position isn’t in jeopardy; that’s Jax. He turns on a dime, glides across the ice like a figure skater, and shoots the puck with a sort of commanding strength that does all kinds of inappropriate things to me, his accidental wife.

If I weren’t his wife and if he hadn’t previously been my client (one that I might need back at some point), yes, I can admit that I would be incandescent for him in the same way as every other woman in this arena. Their phone cameras are trained on him warming up, the rotation of his ass, grinding his pelvis against the ice to get a groin stretch. They’re – not me – undeniably putty for this man. Every. Fine. Inch of him.

“If you could stop watching your husband for a minute, we’ve got work to do, Sienna,” Carter says.

He’s on my back twenty-four-seven and it’s taken a lot of strength for me to not flip at the audacity of this guy. I am working my butt off around the clock and I’ve taken a pause for a glass of water. True, I’m gawping at my husband, but ultimately, “I’m taking a one-minute drink break, Carter.”

I sent Mitch a voice note asking about Carter. We’ve been voice noting a lot, especially now preseason has begun. Mitch loves the Dragons, he loves the guys and he’s a huge hockey fan, so he wants to know everything that’s happening, on and off the ice. He says he’s never had a problem with Carter, so I’m now concluding that Carter has a problem with me stepping into shoes he wanted to fill in Mitch’s absence.

Or he’s a misogynistic pig who can’t work for a woman and he hates that I came into this job temporarily breaching the no fraternization clause. I wonder how many of the players he’s wanted to fuck. Maybe I should tell him that actually, as much as I keep fantasizing about him going down on me in a chapel bathroom, Jax and I have never consummated our marriage, nor will we ever, no matter how hard I squeeze my thighs together watching him warm-up.

* * *

The first period ends with no points on the board. Philadelphia’s defense is holding up against some exciting plays from the Dragons. As the second period begins, our team is still breathing fire.

One minute and forty-three seconds into the period, Jax comes onto the ice. He immediately picks up a puck and takes it down to the Philadelphia goal line. Two defensemen are immediately on him but he wraps around the back of the goal and comes out the other side, making a quick flip shot over their goaltender’s stick.

It may have taken a deflection but the lamp lights and I’m dancing around as if it’s a cup-winning game.

Statistics tell me how good of a player Jax is. The fact that he plays for the Dragons, two times Stanley Cup winners since he’s been in the team, tells me he’s a great player. But I’ve never focused on his game the way I have the chance to now, watching him closely from the stands. It’s pretty cool that this is my job. And it’s more awesome watching him play.

The first line comes onto the ice and wins the face-off. There are a couple of turnovers, but the puck stays largely in the middle of the rink through another shift change. Then Jax is back on the ice and my heart is racing – I guess I’m more into the sport than ever. My dad will be delighted, a die-hard Winnipeg fan.

I need to stop sending holding messages to my parents.

There’s clearly some chirping happening between Jax, Zach and Philadelphia’s players, which is not uncommon but maybe a little too much for a preseason game. I suppose they’re firing each other up for the season ahead.

Jax receives the puck and he’s skating hard through the neutral zone. He passes to Zach on the right wing, then from nowhere, Philly’s notorious unofficial enforcer slams Jax into the boards from behind. The impact throws Jax forward off his feet and his helmet hits the boards before anything else. It’s such a hard hit that everyone in the comms box yelps or gasps, me included. So hard that Jax doesn’t even get up to fight back, the way I’ve seen him do before.

He crawls onto all fours and hangs forward on the ice, seeming to catch his breath. Zach skates his way and helps his teammate to his feet. I see that fire Jax is known for wash over him and think he’s going to retaliate and land himself in the penalty box.

Hands covering my mouth, I whisper, “He’s not worth it, Jax.”

I know he can’t hear me but it feels as if he can when he looks up to where I’m standing. I’m not even sure he can see me from this distance but he knows where the comms boxes are and he’ll know I’m watching. He looks in my direction – at me, or my team, I’m not sure. Then he rolls his neck, slips his gum guard back into place, and skates off the ice.

“Jax Harris doesn’t fight back. Unheard of,” someone says nearby. “Either he’s had a personality transplant or he’s seriously injured.”

When he skates back onto the ice three minutes later, I know it can’t be the latter.

Unexpectedly, I’m proud of him. This is preseason and that hit he took was too hard and unnecessary for a friendly game, regardless of whether Philly are trying to set the tone for the season. Jax showed real maturity out there. The kind he doesn’t often display. The kind that could have kept him away from negative headlines numerous times in the past years of his career.

He’s awarded a shard of Dragon glass for being the player of the game by his team. It’s a ritual they have. At the start of every season, the team captain chooses some kind of trophy or artifact that the best player of the game receives in recognition of his efforts.

Today, Jax is that man, and there’s an unlikely swell of respect in my chest after the game, when I’m standing in the locker room watching him be interviewed by the local network. I get to shamelessly ogle him, hair slick with sweat and training kit clinging to him.

Despite changing out of the armor that accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, his current aesthetic has just as devastating an effect on me. I am so lost to the superficiality of my handsome significant other that I almost miss the next question, tuning in right as the words cause a shift in Jax’s demeanor.

It was something along the lines of, “You surprised the hockey world by getting married in the off-season, Jax. Can you tell us about your new relationship?”

My eyes narrow as Melissa from the network looks across her shoulder to me and smirks. Figures; she’s probably had Jax in her sights, like many other women, for some time. Now, so far as she knows, I’ve taken him off the market.

It’s ridiculous in hindsight that someone as versed in public relations as me wouldn’t have anticipated this question and briefed Jax with a response – I guess this is what happens when you have a personal and professional conflict of interest – so, I’m left gawking at my husband and wondering what the fudge he’s going to say in response.