Chapter 25

Twenty-Five

SCOTTIE

"So, tell us! How did you and Emory meet? We had no idea he was even in a relationship until that photo popped up."

Angela, the one with bright-red hair and cute freckles leans into the conversation. "The group chat was blowing up."

Hattie nods, and her freshly blown-out hair moves with her. "It's true. When there's a new girl on the block, we have to converse." She laughs, and I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing that they had an entire group chat about me.

"Well…" I tuck my hair behind my ear nervously.

Her hand falls to my arm. "Don't worry! It was nothing bad! We just wanted to invite you to hang out with us. We tend to stick together. I know it doesn't seem like it, but it's kind of hard to be one of the wives, especially when kids are involved."

We both look over to the squawking baby refusing to sleep in the back corner of the box. There's a couple of the wives over there, trying to help the mom who looks beyond tired yet still as pretty as ever.

They all seem nice so far. Welcoming, even.

Which is a change from any other time I've ever found myself in the middle of a group of women. I didn't fit in with the popular girls in high school. No one wanted to be friends with the poor girl who was more into the school's hockey game versus the way the boys stretched on the ice.

I glance out the glass to see if the game has started, because the one thing I don't have to fake tonight is my love for the sport. "When Emory and I reconnected, we decided to keep our relationship private. But after the media continued to run with any rumor that popped up, we decided it was time to settle the score and put an end to it." I smile softly. "We weren't together when he was in college, but we got back in touch shortly after he graduated."

I hate that I'm lying right through my teeth, but it's so easy to do when I know my future depends on it.

"I did my own thing and kind of watched from afar, letting him achieve his goals, but when he reached back out, it was like no time had passed."

Angela swoons. "That's…honestly…that's so selfless."

I laugh and convince myself to believe the story falling graciously from my mouth so I don't trip up in the future. I turn my attention to the ice, and the rest of the wives do too—all except the one with the baby. She's more concerned over rocking her daughter, who has discarded her blue bow onto the floor.

My heart beats with a passion I've only ever felt when watching hockey or holding a camera. I eye my bag, craving to pull it out to take some pictures, but for my first game as Emory's wife, I decide to keep it hidden and use my phone instead. I'm not sure if Emory got me a phone with an amazing camera on purpose, but it takes pretty good photos. I've already been on the jumbo screen once. I don't want to be on it again with my camera, bringing even more attention to myself than before.

When everyone is distracted, I place my left hand on the glass and use my phone camera to focus on the rink. My hand is off-center and blurred just slightly but not too much that you can't see the massive ring on my finger. I catch a shot of Emory guzzling water through his helmet and remind myself to post the photo after the game.

I'm just out here doing my job while the other wives are oblivious.

By the time the third period starts, my voice is raspy, and I've found myself in a rhythm with everyone. I wasn't expecting it, but they're just as much into the game as I am. It's the first time I've ever watched a game with someone other than my father, and I'm actually having an okay time.

Anytime we score a goal, Angela and I give each other double high-fives and smile onto the ice while the scoring player does his celly. Emory has only let one puck slide by, and it was Hattie who pointed out that the camera was zoomed in on my face, showing me on the jumbo screen. I was mid-conversation with Angela and one of the players' fiancée, persuading them that it was okay. I dove into the statistics and everything, unable to hide my true knowledge of the game.

They nodded, and their eager looks only prompted me further.

Throughout the rest of the game, we talked about all things hockey, and by the time the game ended, I was closer with them than I'd ever been with any other woman my age.

"Oh my god. I feel like I've learned so much from you." Georgia tips the rest of her beer in her mouth. She's engaged to one of the rookie players and is as sweet as can be.

"And you were the only one who was able to get Nola to stop crying," Vivian says, looking at me like I have some motherly touch.

I don't. However, I can't not smile at the innocent face wrapped in a Blue Devils baby blanket, sleeping peacefully in her arms.

"You don't have kids, right?"

William's face pops into my mind for a split second. He isn't my child, but there were a lot of times that I felt like he was.

I shake my head.

"Do you and Emory want kids?" The question from Vivian is purely innocent, but I panic.

My face warms. I quickly put my attention back to the arena. The players are already off the ice, but for some reason, I want to make eye contact with Emory, as if he can give me an answer from just a look.

"Vivian!" Angela scolds. "They just got married! Give them a second before expecting babies."

"Sorry. I just wish there were a few other little ones running around."

"Rhodes has a daughter, right?" I ask, trying to take the attention off me and Emory.

They nod but share a strange look with one another. "She only comes to some of the games. He can't keep a nanny to save his life, so she's probably at home with some random teenage babysitter."

"You ladies ready?" Georgia skips toward the box suite door.

"Ready?" I ask.

Angela pulls me with her after I quickly grab my bag. "Occasionally, after the games, we head to an exclusive club downtown to hang out with the guys. Surely Emory told you that?" She turns to look at Hattie. "Didn't Corbin pass along the word to Emory?"

She thinks for a moment before shrugging. "I think, but text your hubby and let him know you'll be with us. He can't say no if we kidnapped his wife."

There's that word again: wife.

I pull open my phone, and to no surprise, Emory's number is programmed in there as Husband . I type a quick text and threaten his life for not telling me about our after-plans.