Offside Bride (Toronto Titans #2)

16. Maggie

16

MAGGIE

“ O h, hey…you,” I stammer, trying to act casual and failing miserably. “What a coincidence, bumping into you like this. In this... random part of town.”

He’s not buying it, of course, but it was worth a try.

Sawyer’s eyes dance with amusement as he looks between Emily and me. “So,” he says, “care to explain why you’re following me? Or should I just assume this is some new extreme sport I’m not aware of?”

“Okay, fine. You caught us. We were following you. Happy now?”

He grins, looking far too pleased with himself. “Ecstatic. But you know, if you wanted to know where I was going, you could have just asked.”

“I did ask!” I protest. “You were all mysterious and secretive about it.”

Emily, bless her heart, decides to take matters into her own hands. “Are you cheating, yes or no?” she blurts out, her eyebrows arching up to her ridiculous cat burglar beanie.

Sawyer’s reaction is not what I expect. He throws his head back and lets out a full-on belly laugh, the kind that makes his shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle at the corners. It’s annoyingly attractive.

“Cheating?” he wheezes between chuckles. “Oh, that’s rich. No, I’m not cheating. What a silly accusation.” He turns to me, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “I’m wounded, Magpie. You don’t trust me?” He clutches his chest dramatically.

I roll my eyes, trying to hide my embarrassment. “Well, what was I supposed to think?”

Sawyer’s expression softens slightly. He holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“What? Why?” I ask, clutching my phone protectively.

“Just hand it over. I promise I won’t look at your text messages.”

Reluctantly, I hand over my phone. Sawyer fiddles with it for a moment, his fingers flying over the screen. After a minute, he hands it back to me.

“There,” he says. “Now you can track my phone. You’ll know where I am at all times. Happy?”

I stare at my phone, then back at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

He shrugs. “Nope. You can stalk me properly, without the need for…whatever this is.” He gestures at Emily’s getup. “And it’s one-ended. I can’t see your location unless you approve it.”

Okay…now I feel like a jerk.

We hear the sound of someone whistling from around the corner and then?—

“There you are!”

We all turn to see Owen ambling towards us, a knowing smirk on his face. Great, just what this situation needs—more witnesses to my humiliation.

“Owen!” Emily squeaks, “What are you doing here?”

He holds up his phone, wiggling it playfully. “I’ve got my ways, babe.”

Emily’s shock melts into a gooey smile. “Aww, you followed me? That’s so sweet!”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Sweet? More like borderline stalkerish. But who am I to judge? I’m the one who just got caught red-handed following my fake husband.

Owen’s eyes lock on Emily in her ridiculous cat burglar clothes. “Wow, This outfit is…bringing back memories.”

Emily giggles—actually giggles—and bites her bottom lip seductively. I resist the urge to gag.

“Okay, lovebirds,” I interject, waving my hands between them. “Maybe take this walk down horny memory lane somewhere more private?”

They barely seem to hear me. Emily’s running her fingers through Owen’s hair.

I exchange a look with Sawyer, who seems just as uncomfortable as I am. We’re basically invisible.

The way Owen looks at Emily is positively wolfish. “What are we investigating, Detective?”

“Crimes of the heart,” Emily coos.

I wave my arms like a lunatic. “Uh, guys? We’re still here.”

But they’re lost in their own world now. Owen whispers something in Emily’s ear and her cheeks turn red.

“Okay!” I interrupt loudly, clapping my hands. “That’s enough of that. We’re in public, people!”

“I might have a mystery you could solve,” Emily says, her voice low and sultry.

I feel my breakfast threatening to make a reappearance.

Sawyer clears his throat theatrically, and only then does Owen take his eyes off Emily.

“Oh!” Owen stutters. “We…uh. Gotta go, so uh…nice to see ya, bye.”

He takes Emily’s hand, and as they practically sprint down the street, I turn to Sawyer with a grimace. “Well, that was…”

“Nauseating?” Sawyer offers, looking equally disturbed.

“I was going to say ‘scarring’, but yeah, that works too.”

“So I guess you’re stuck with me now,” he says.

I hold up my phone with an embarrassed smile. “I sure am. Now I can spy on you from home like a regular, run-of-the-mill housewife.” I half-heartedly chuckle as I slowly back away, waving like a dummy. “Enjoy your…I’ll just go now.”

Sawyer’s warm hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. My heart skips a beat at his touch.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, his voice low and commanding. He pulls me into him, his strong arms encircling me. His embrace, warm and gentle.

I look up into his eyes, suddenly feeling vulnerable and exposed. His massive hands move to my cheeks, covering my whole face, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell his soap.

“You’re such a melodramatic little worrywart,” he murmurs, his eyes searching mine.

My breath catches as he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. The tenderness of the gesture catches me off guard, and I feel my defenses crumbling. Then, he rests his brow against mine, and I’m struck by how intimate this moment feels.

I feel a lump forming in my throat, and unbidden, a tear forms in the corner of my eye. I blink rapidly, trying to hold it back, but it escapes, trailing down my cheek. I don’t understand why I’m suddenly so emotional—why my heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a vice grip.

“I’m not a worrywart,” I grumble, my voice too squeaky and mousy. “I jump to conclusions.”

Sawyer doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he gently kisses away the tear on my cheek, his lips soft against my skin. His fingers thread through my hair, the gesture soothing and comforting. I find myself leaning into his touch, craving more of this unexpected tenderness.

After a moment, he pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting mine. “I want to show you where I was going,” he says softly. “Do you want to come with me?”

I nod slowly, my heart racing. “Okay,” I say softly, taking his hand. “Show me.”

Sawyer’s grip is warm and reassuring. We walk in silence for a few blocks, the air between us charged with unspoken emotions. I steal glances at him, noticing the tightness in his jaw, the faraway look in his eyes. There’s a heaviness to his steps that I’ve never seen before, and it makes my heart ache.

I want to ask where we’re going, what he wants to show me, but something tells me to wait. To let him lead the way. So I squeeze his hand gently, hoping he can feel my support through that simple gesture, and we continue our silent journey through the city streets.

We stop in front of a nondescript brick building that could be a church hall or community center. Nothing flashy, just a simple structure with a few windows and a set of double doors.

Sawyer waves an arm in the building’s direction. “Welp. Here we are.”

There’s a printed sign taped on the door. It looks like it was made on someone’s home printer, using a whimsical comic sans font. It reads: LOOP Meeting Here.

Trying to lighten the mood, I quip, “Hmmm, it doesn’t look like a brothel or a seedy motel.”

Sawyer laughs, a genuine sound that eases some of the tension. “No, definitely not a brothel.”

I don’t push for more information. Whatever this is, I want Sawyer to tell me in his own time, in his own way.

After a moment, he takes a deep breath and begins speaking, his voice low and measured. “I thought I had the perfect childhood, you know?” Sawyer’s voice is soft, almost wistful. “White picket fence, stay-at-home mom, dad with a good job as an accountant. I was the hockey kid, and my sister was Dad’s little princess. It was like something out of a cheesy eighties sitcom.”

He pauses, his eyes distant, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and comfort him.

“I had no idea my father was doing illegal things,” he continues, his voice wobbly and raspy. “It wasn’t until recently that I found out the truth, and it almost destroyed me. I spiraled hard, Mags. Drinking, partying, pushing everyone away. The only thing that kept me going was knowing I had to make sure my sister was okay. She’s always been the smart one. Brilliant, actually. I couldn’t let her future get ruined because of our dad’s mistakes.”

I feel my heart breaking for him, imagining the weight he’s been carrying all this time. The perfect childhood he thought he had was nothing but a carefully constructed lie.

“Wow,” I murmur. “I guess knowing who your parents are isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Sawyer goes quiet, lost in thought.

Finally, he points to the sign that’s taped to the door. “LOOP stands for Loved Ones Of Prisoners. It’s a support group…sort of like AL ANON.”

I blink up at him, processing this information.

“My dad is in federal prison, Maggie.”

The words hang in the air between us, weighty and raw. I’m at a loss for words. How do you respond when someone drops a bomb like that?

Sawyer takes a deep breath, his shoulders tensing slightly. “I haven’t told any of my teammates this,” Sawyer admits. “I…I was too embarrassed and ashamed to tell you where I was going, but I want you to know now.”

“Okay,” I say softly. I reach out and squeeze his hand, silently urging him to go on if he wants to. He doesn’t have to, though. And he doesn’t have to go through this alone. In a weird way, I feel like this is what it means to be married. To just be there. To just listen.

I stroke my thumb over Sawyer’s hand, feeling the rough calluses on his palm. The temperature is falling fast in the shade of the building, autumn’s chill settling into my bones, but I resist the urge to shiver. This moment feels too fragile, too important to disrupt.

Sawyer takes a deep breath, his eyes fixed on some distant point. “They have him on tax evasion, but it’s more complicated than that.”

“And your mom?” I ask gently. “How did she take the news?”

He lets out a laugh, but it’s hollow, devoid of any real humor. “Oh, she’s perfectly fine. Packed her things and disappeared.”

I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips. “What?”

“I get the feeling she’s known all along,” Sawyer continues, his voice tight. “That Betty Crocker—Donna Reed persona? One big performance.”

My heart aches for him. “And she just took off? Leaving you and your sister to pick up the pieces?”

“Exactly,” he says, his jaw clenching.

I’m struck by the absurdity of it all. Here I am, feeling sorry for myself because I grew up in the foster system, never knowing my birth parents. And then there’s Sawyer, whose picture-perfect family turned out to be smoke and mirrors.

“Yeesh,” I mutter, shaking my head. “And I thought I had baggage.”

Sawyer’s eyes meet mine, a glimmer of his usual humor returning. “What a pair we make, huh?”

I crack a smile, “Yeah, what a pair.”

The orphan girl and the con man’s son. Could be a country song. I wonder how much he knows about my past.

He shrugs, a wry smile on his face. “Welcome to the O’Malley family circus. Admission’s free, but the therapy bills are a killer.”

I look up at Sawyer. “And this support group…LOOP. It helps?”

“Not particularly. My situation…is unique.”

I bite my lip, considering. “You’ve got me,” I offer softly. “I’ll listen whenever you want to talk about it. Except without the crappy coffee and stale cookies or whatever they serve at these things.”

Sawyer’s laugh is genuine this time. “Crappy coffee and stale cookies…that’s accurate.”

“Now we both know something the other one is ashamed of,” I say, nudging his shoulder. “Even Steven.”

His brow furrows. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of, darlin’.”

I arch an eyebrow pointedly.

“You don’t mean your book,” he says, realization dawning.

“Oh, but I do,” I reply, feeling my cheeks heat up.

Sawyer shakes his head, his expression softening. “You should be proud of that book, Mags. It takes guts to put yourself out there like that.” He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Just don’t expect me to read the paperback in public—not with that man-chest cover.”

I roll my eyes. “Fair enough. I wouldn’t want to damage your tough-guy image.”

I’m falling into a whole new reality. The cocky, flirtatious hockey player I thought I knew suddenly seems so…raw, like he’s peeling back his layers for me and only me. It’s strangely intimate. Much more intimate than…well. My cheeks flush at the thought. I think I actually wouldn’t mind feeling close to my husband in another way, too.

“Thank you,” Sawyer says quietly. “For listening. For not judging.”

I stand on my tippy-toes and kiss him softly on the lips. They’re warm despite the chilly autumn afternoon.

Inclining my head towards the building, I say, “Shall we?”

Sawyer takes a deep, fortifying breath, sucking in the crisp air. “Actually, I think I’d rather go home for a nap.” He gathers me in for a hug, stroking my hair, kissing the crown of my head. “Would you like to be my emotional support pillow? You can keep your clothes on.”

Wrapping my little arms around him, barely able to reach, I bury my face in his broad, achingly beautiful chest. “That’s what fake wives are for, right?” I say.

Although, none of this is feeling fake right now. And I’m not even mad about it.