my first instinct is to look for her in the stands, to see the pride in her eyes. But she’s not there. My elation fades, replaced by a sinking feeling as I see my dad scowling and Eva rushing up the stadium stairs.
My heart drops. She knows. I don’t know how, but she does.
Ethan pats me on the back, concern etched on his face. “Are you okay?” he asks.
Glancing at the electronic board, I see we’re three goals ahead with only four minutes left, but my head is definitely not in the game anymore.
“She knows.” I say out loud.
“Knows what?” The question hangs in the air.
I shake my head, lost in thought. Ethan sighs, “Retreat back. I’ll take the leading striker for the few minutes left.” He runs toward the Westmont goalie, and I stand there completely useless, running aimlessly, trying to think about how it all happened and how I can fix this. The four minutes and the three additional feel almost like a whole fucking game.
Once the whistle blows, signaling our victory, I don’t join the team’s celebration. I bolt toward the stands, my mind racing.
“You married the girl!” I can hear the surprise in my mom’s voice as soon as I reach them.
“How did you—did you tell her?!” I ask, panic lacing my words.
My father glares at me, irritation and disappointment radiating from him. I can only imagine what he thinks. He asked me to slow down, and I went and married her. But frankly, I don’t care that much.
“Well, in our defense, sweetheart, how could we have known your bride was oblivious to her own wedding?” Mom replies with a wry humor that doesn’t quite mask her concern.
“Mom,” I say, more pleading than I intend. My world’s spinning out of control.
“She’s lovely and so very pretty,” Mom adds, trying to find a bright spot in the mess.
I can’t help but smile despite everything. “She is, isn’t she?” I admit, my heart aching.
Her look turns serious. “She is very angry. You can’t marry a girl without telling her.”
Before I can dash off, Dad grabs my arm, his grip firm. “We’re staying at the Regency Hotel. Presidential suite. You better come and bring the newly appointed Mrs. Westbrook with you. We need to talk.”
His words send a conflicting rush of panic and excitement through me. Mrs. Westbrook—the sound of it is thrilling, but the circumstances are a mess.
Without wasting another second, I head to the locker room while the team continues celebrating. The urgency to find her is burning inside me, but I force myself to take a quick shower. I can’t turn up looking like I’ve just run off the pitch—not when there’s already so much stacked against me.
As I’m toweling off, Ethan and Liam barge into the locker room, their faces etched with concern.
“What happened?” Ethan asks.
“What did you do?” Liam questions at the same time.
I roll my eyes. Trust Liam to assume I’ve messed up.
Which you have. The voice in my head, eerily similar to my father’s, reminds me of my mistake. But I push it aside, dressing as rapidly as I can and shoving my things into my bag. “Nothing that can’t be fixed,” I reply, more to convince myself than them.
Ethan looks skeptical, and Liam’s expression is unreadable, but I don’t have time to explain or argue. I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the door. Every second away from Eva now feels like an eternity.
Rushing out of the stadium, my mind is racing with what I’m going to say to her. How do you explain marrying someone in a way they don’t remember? It was her idea though, I just jumped on it.
Tracking her phone, it leads me to the seedy-looking bar that I saw Max go into, and I curse. Her car is parked outside.
I approach the open door, and a huge guy steps in front of it. “Are you a vet?” he asks, eyeing me skeptically.
“No, but my wife’s in there,” I say, feeling a thrill at the word “wife,” even under these circumstances.
“Wife?” the guy scoffs. “What are you, like twelve?”
I scowl. “Where is my wife?” I demand louder.
He turns, peering inside before stepping aside with a mocking smile. I stride in, relief flooding me as I spot her safe and sound, but it’s short-lived. She’s surrounded by a few rugged guys, looking like they’d been cast in the same mold, wearing the same clothes as fucking James Dean.
“Angel, please let’s go talk,” I urge, moving toward her where she’s sitting at the bar.
“You married me?!” she exclaims, her voice filled with disbelief and anger.
“Okay, I guess we’re doing it here then,” I mutter, hating the audience we’ve got.
“You can’t marry a woman without her knowing it, man,” the guy across the bar comments, snickering.
I feel a surge of frustration but rein it in. He doesn’t know the whole story, the intensity of what we have. “Okay, man, I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I snap back, my focus solely on her.
“How did you find me here?” she asks, frowning, and I know it’s not the moment to add my invasion of privacy to my current crime.
“It doesn’t matter right now.”
Her eyes meet mine, a storm of emotions swirling in them. I know I’ve got a lot of explaining to do and a hell of a lot to make up for. But right now, all I care about is getting through to her, making her understand. This isn’t how I wanted things to go down, but here we are. Time to face the music.
“It was your idea,” I tell her, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside. “I went along with it.”
She sneers, disbelief etched on her face. “No, it couldn’t have been.”
I let out a sigh, fishing out my phone and walking closer to where she’s sitting. “Watch the video,” I say, handing it over.
On the screen, she’s leaning forward like she is now. “Repeat what you just said,” I prompt her in the video. “I said there was a time I thought you and I were endgame, that we’d get married, have babies.”
“What if we can? What if we got married right now? Would you do it?”
She giggles in the video, echoing through the bar.
“Don’t be stupid,” she says in the recording.
“No, I’m serious. Let’s do it now,” I prompt her in the video.
“Can we?” she asks, and the excitement is clear even in video format.
She huffs in the present, pushing the phone back to me. “I was drunk.”
“Not that drunk,” I counter.
The guy beside her chimes in, “He’s right. You don’t seem that intoxicated.”
“Blaze!” she snaps at him.
“See, he agrees,” I say, seizing the moment.
“Oh, now you care about my opinion? When it suits you?” Blaze retorts, smirking.
“You know what champagne does to me,” she argues, her voice tinged with frustration.
“I do. It lowers your inhibitions, which means you wanted this. You want to be my wife,” I argue, playing another video. This time, we’re in the chapel, and the happiness on my face is genuine. Her breath hitches, and I know she sees it too.
“You’re sure, Angel?” I ask in the video.
“I love you, Cole. Even when I hate you, I love you. Even when I curse your name, I love you. And even when you broke my heart, the small tattered pieces kept loving you,” she says in the video.
“And I love you, my sweet dork. It’s you, only you. It has always been you,” I respond in the recording.
She stops the video before we say, “I do,” and pushes the phone back toward me. Her breathing is shallow, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I want an annulment.”
Feeling the blow all the way to my bones, I purse my lips and shake my head. “No, there will be no annulment. This marriage stands. We consummated; you are lucid in this video. No,” I say firmly.
“I’ll divorce you then. Take everything you have,” she threatens, her voice shaky.
I shrug, trying to hide how much her words cut through me. “You’ll need to stay married to me for a year if you want any money.”
The bar falls silent, the tension palpable. I stand there, heart racing, torn between wanting to fight for this and fearing it’s already too late.
Eva turns sharply to Blaze, desperation clear in her eyes. “Make him leave,” she demands.
Blaze shakes his head, an expression of reluctant amusement on his face. “I call bullshit, sweetheart. You love the idiot. Sure, he was conniving, and I’m a little impressed, but it’s pretty damn clear he’s crazy about you too.”
A smug grin spreads across my face. “I knew I liked you, Blaze.”
His gaze flicks to me, exasperated. “Don’t push your luck, boy. You”—he points to her—“talk to him. Deal with your shit.”
Defeated, she stands up, her movements stiff with anger. She passes me with her head high.
“We need to talk,” I say tenderly as she reaches the door.
“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” she replies, her voice icy as she heads out.
“Good luck, my man, you’re gonna need it,” a man mutters from inside, and I wince, knowing it’s the truth.
I’m right on her heels, desperation driving my steps.
“I’m too angry to talk,” she snaps over her shoulder.
“But I can’t let you leave like this,” I plead as we reach her car.
“You have to,” she retorts, spinning around to face me. Her eyes are blazing, her words laced with hurt. “Whatever I said, I wasn’t in my right mind.” Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. She’s right. I took advantage of a moment, a situation, and now we’re both caught in the aftermath.
“I love you. You can’t blame me, not really. You were offering everything I’ve ever craved. You gave yourself completely to me. I’m not strong enough to say no.”
She rolls her eyes. “What in… How…” She shakes her head. “How did you think it was going to go, huh?”
“I thought you would remember.” That’s the absolute truth, but when she didn’t, I was too scared to remind her and have her run to the office and stop the license from being processed. I was too scared to lose her after I had just gotten her, so I forgot the problem and imagined that I would find a solution someday.
“I—” She opens her car door. “I can’t look at you right now; I need space. Can you at least do that?”
Standing alone in the parking lot, the night’s chill can’t compare to my simmering frustration. As her car disappears, I feel a part of me leaving with her. I’m left facing the reality of the chaos I’ve caused.
I’ve made a massive mistake. Despite my twisted intentions to keep her close, I’ve ended up driving her away. Rubbing my face, I feel the weight of each poor decision crashing down on me. I’ve been an idiot, playing a risky game, and now I’m facing the consequences.
As her car vanishes into the night, something settles inside me. This can’t be how our story ends. I refuse to let it. We’ve got something worth fighting for, even if I’ve got to change my game to win her back.
Each step towards my car strengthens my resolve. It’s going to be tough, no doubt about it. But I’m ready for it. For her, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ve got to show her that I’m not just the guy who screws up—I can be the guy who fixes things too.
