Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

Amelia

Day three of my new job is thankfully and wonderfully boring. Parker checks in and tells me to go through the Google folder she made and work independently. She also wants me to write up the interview from yesterday, which means the guys did not tell her how it ended. I don't have the heart to tell her the only thing I walked away knowing is the three guys' dating statuses.

I'll figure something out.

I spend the morning going through the various documents and spreadsheets all related to content strategy, Appies branding, and more. Parker is efficient and thorough, and it gets me excited about the work. I create my own document of ideas and sketch out a few outlines for longer posts, then do a little research on sports teams who have great captions on their social media posts to get a feel for length, voice, and even the balance between white space and blocks of text.

It's almost enough to distract me from thinking about Van.

Specifically—Van in the stairwell.

Van's mouth on mine.

Him saying he only married me .

And … the disappointed, hurt expression on his face when he walked away.

That look has haunted me like my own personal Casper for the last twenty-four hours.

I can't put off dealing with this or I might explode. Van and I need to have an adult conversation. Preferably in public, so we don't end up kissing again. Then again, being seen in public with a figure as public as Van might not be the best idea.

The problem bigger than location for the conversation is what to say. I'm sorry for leaving like I did is a start. But after that … I got nothing.

Because I still don't know what I want.

An annulment, for sure.

But then what? I don't want to just walk away completely.

Do we date like normal people? Pretend we didn't exchange the classic vows on the beach as well as other, less eloquent whispered ones in the middle of that night?

I also can't shake the thought of my dad's response. His approval matters to me. And with the stress of playoffs coupled with the Drew and Becky and Uncle Bobby debacle, I'm not sure he could handle one more thing.

"Oh, Amelia!" Parker singsongs my name as she steps into my office. I don't like the smile on her face.

"Afternoon," I say.

"Making progress?" She doesn't even give me a chance to respond. "I have something super fun for you now."

Fun sounds dangerous.

Parker bounces a little and claps her hands. "Are you ready?"

Absolutely not.

Anxiety rolls through me. "Yes?"

She laughs. "I'll pretend you said that with confidence and excitement. Come on."

"Do I need my laptop or anything?"

"Oh," Parker says, like whatever this idea is, she's so excited about it that logistical details are an afterthought. "Actually, yes."

I stuff it in my bag, and follow Parker toward the elevators, my unease increasing with each of her bouncy steps.

When did I become so jaded that someone else's excitement made me wary?

Oh, right—when I started working in the same building as my secret husband.

Parker presses the elevator button no less than six times in quick succession, then spins to face me, her eyes and smile of equal, blinding wattage. "Remember when I said I had a hands-on project coming up?"

I don't, but the last two days have been a blur. However, hands-on sounds like the opposite of what I want to do right now. Namely, duck into my stairwell until I can breathe normally again.

No! No more stairwells. I need to find a new place to hide.

Parker doesn't wait for me to answer as we step into the elevator and head down—down as in where the locker rooms and the rink are. My stomach roils with dread.

I am trapped in my own personal Groundhog Day. Except instead of reliving the same events over and over, she's finding creative new ways to mess with me.

"The first playoff game is in two days, and I had this brilliant idea a while back." Parker laughs. "I hope it's okay to say that about my own idea."

"It is," I say, hoping she doesn't notice me sweating. I wipe a hand across my forehead. "What's the idea?"

Please say it doesn't involve Van. Please, please, please say it doesn't involve me and Van.

The elevator doors open and she bounds out into the hallway, linking her arm through mine when she realizes I'm trailing behind. We're headed toward a door marked Press .

"Some of the guys have families who are at every game," Parker says, practically dragging me toward the door. "Locals or family who's committed to travel. Others, like Logan, don't have any family support at all."

Her expression grows somber, but she shakes it off and is back to smiling a moment later. I can't help but admire the woman's resilience. I wonder if her bones are made of rubber. At the very least, her spirit is. She has Tigger DNA. And I'm the mopey little Eeyore practically leaving hoofmarks from dragging my feet.

Parker pauses with her hand on the doorknob to the press room, a huge grin on her face. "So … I did a thing."

She waits. I wait, sweat now congregating on the nape of my neck and my lower back.

"What kind of thing?"

And why do I get the very distinct feeling that I'm going to be a whole lot less excited about this thing ?

"I invited as many family members as I could to come for the first two playoff games, which are both home games. We're going to surprise the players. We'll do a series on social media, but I'll also have you do blog posts. Deep dives on the players, as told by their families. The goal is to get to the heart behind the players. The importance of support off the ice. The backstory."

That doesn't sound so bad. I relax—a little . "It's totally a brilliant idea."

"Thank you!" Parker beams at me. "We're rounding it out with traditional media, and I've got a writer here to do an in-depth piece for a big magazine which shall not be named." She leans closer and drops her voice to a whisper. "But a synonym for its name is persons ." She winks.

People magazine has a writer coming? That's … huge. A jolt of excitement zips through me, and I have a brief moment of awe. Two weeks ago, I was set to marry Drew and work at a job with him—one I only tolerated.

Now, I'm living my best life.

Minus … Van.

"The first family group arrived this morning, and I thought you could work with them. Show them around, ask questions, then be there for the reveal. I'll be back to film that, of course."

"Cool."

Family members, I can do.

Unless—

With a slow-dawning horror, I realize there is one particular set of family members I should absolutely not be around.

"Wait," I say.

"This group really wanted to meet you, specifically," Parker says, her fingers starting to turn the doorknob.

Oh, no.

I really only know the one player. And I'm positive the family he's close to will not want to meet me.

Or … if they do, it will be to meet and murder me. But surely not. I can't be that unlucky.

I mean—what are the odds?

Parker throws open the door, revealing three women in the midst of what looks like a heated conversation. Seeing us, they stop. Then all three of their gazes slide from Parker to me.

"Amelia, meet Van's sisters."

The odds, as it turns out, are not zero.