Offside Bride (Toronto Titans #2)

22. Maggie

22

MAGGIE

I feel like I’ve stumbled into some bizarre movie plot, except this is real life. My life.

“So, let me get this straight,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “You knew your dad was mixed up with the mob, but you thought he was just…what? Their accountant?”

Sawyer takes a deep breath. “Yeah, something like that. Like a CPA to the Mob, you know? I had no idea he was…a Crime Lord.”

“It’s always the quiet ones,” I say, imagining a timid pencil pusher with a receding hairline. Of course, I don’t know what Brian O’Malley looks like. That’s just what I picture in my imagination.

“One thing I did know,” Sawyer says, his voice tender now, “was how I could never have a normal life. I knew I could never have a wife and kids and feel like they were safe. Ever.”

He pauses, and I can see the pain in his eyes. “That was the real reason I didn’t want to marry you, Maggie. That was why I walked out on you at Owen and Emily’s wedding during our…you know. Because you did something to my heart that day—like I knew you were The One…and it scared the crap out of me.”

Well, crap.

All these months…feeling embarrassed and undesirable, like I did something to turn him off. All this time, using as much energy as I could muster to fight that lingering attraction to him—even though he made it clear he didn’t want me. I felt like such a fool. So I built an iron fortress between us just so he couldn’t hurt me again. And now he tells me this?

My little heart can’t take it. This is why people write tragic poetry.

“I knew that anyone I cared for would be in danger,” Sawyer continues, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t want to be responsible for you getting hurt…physically. And in order to protect your life, I had to hurt your heart.”

GAH! Somebody bring me a quill. And my smelling salts…because apparently, I’m a nineteenth century damsel now.

He looks at me, his eyes pleading for understanding. “But after it was all over the media that you were my wife and your picture was everywhere, I knew the only way to keep you safe was to have you close. Under my protection.”

Sawyer’s lips quirk into a sad smile. “Forgive me?”

I feel my heart squeeze up to my throat. This man! My hands find the sides of his scruffy face. It feels rough on my palms.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I whisper. “Now let’s kick some mobster butt and get our bird back.”

The relief on his face: Priceless.

He dips his head down and lets out a long, hard breath. “Okay. Mobster butt.” He looks at me and blinks. “I don’t even know where they went. How am I supposed to ‘deliver the goods’ if I can’t even find them.”

“Trust me, they’ll find you. I know this from movies.”

“I gotta call Siobhan. If they threatened you then…Oh God!” Sawyer’s fingers dance across his phone screen, dialing Siobhan’s number.

My heart’s doing a tap dance of its own, but I’m trying to keep it cool. Mobsters, bird-napping, discovering your fake husband’s dad is actually a crime lord…Just another Tuesday.

I fidget with the hem of my shirt, feeling utterly useless. What do you do when your fake husband’s mobster dad puts you in danger? Is there an app for that?

“Siobhan,” Sawyer says, his voice tight. “We’ve got a…situation.”

I can hear Siobhan’s muffled voice through the speaker, sounding concerned.

“Italians paid us a visit,” Sawyer continues. “They’re looking for something…Dad owes them.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Siobhan shouts so loudly, I can hear her from across the room. “WHAT? Are you okay? Is Maggie okay?”

“We’re fine,” Sawyer assures her. “But…they took Otto.”

“NO!” Siobhan’s scream is so high pitched, I jump a little.

Sawyer’s brow furrows as he listens to his sister’s frantic chatter.

“Listen, sis,” he interrupts. “Are your guards still there? Don’t go anywhere without them, okay?” I mean it, Siobhan. Treat those guys like they’re your new besties.”

I can practically see the worry melt off him as he listens to Siobhan’s response. His shoulders relax slightly, and his brow softens.

“Okay, good. I’m gonna head to Boston soon. I need to talk to Dad and see if I can get some help from the…uh, family friends.”

I snort at that. Family friends? Is that what we’re calling mobsters now?

As Sawyer continues to talk with his sister, I can see the gears turning in his head. He’s formulating a plan, I can tell. It’s probably only half-baked at best, but it’s something.

“All right, stay safe. I’ll call you soon,” Sawyer says, hanging up. When he finally hangs up, he turns to me with a half-smile playing on his lips. “Well, looks like Siobhan’s safer than the Hope Diamond right now. No one’s getting in or out without a retinal scan and background check.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Okay, we’ve got two weeks to figure this out. Got any experience planning heists? Because I think we’re going to need to channel our inner Ocean’s Eleven .”

I rub my hands together. “You had me at George Clooney.”

“I never said anything about George Clooney.”

“Brad Pitt?”

“I wonder what comes up if you google ‘How to outsmart the Italian mafia?’” he says jokingly.

“On it.” My fingers fly over my phone screen, but then I moan with disappointment when the search results come up. “Boo. Just a bunch of Quora questions.”

Sawyer comes to me, taking the phone, and cupping my face in his hands. He looks me in the eye with the most tender expression, I could die happy right now.

“You’re not leaving my side,” he says. “Understand?”

I nod. He could probably ask me anything right now and I’d nod like a ragdoll.

“I don’t want to let you out of my sight. I don’t want you to be alone at all. From now on, you’ll come to work with me and stay with Emily in the Zamboni office during all the games. I’ll feel safer with the security guards at the Blizzard Dome than you waiting for me at home.”

“Okay.”

“I wish I didn’t have to take you to Boston, but you’ll be safe if you stay inside Siobhan’s house.”

“Psh! Screw that. I’m taking back my Otto if I have to comb all of Boston. What if those mobster goons forget to give him his pistachios? Or worse, what if they teach him bad Italian?”

“You scare me sometimes, Magpie.”

“We ride at dawn!” I cry.

He laughs. “Okay, Aragorn,” he says, already pulling up flight options on his phone. “Get your passport ready. One does not simply walk into the bowels of Boston’s crime syndicate.”

I blink at him. “I’ve never had a passport in my life. I’ve never even left Canada.”

Sawyer’s head snaps up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Seriously? Not even a quick trip to Buffalo?”

I shrug. “Foster care kid, remember? Vacations weren’t exactly on the agenda.”

His face softens. “Right. Sorry. Well, looks like we’re about to change that. We’ll need to expedite the passport process.”

Sawyer grabs his laptop and pulls up the Service Canada Centre website, helping me start the application.

“We can get it in a day,” he explains, scrolling through the information. “Urgent pick-up on Yonge Street in North York. It’s available by the end of the next business day, but we’ll need to provide proof of travel.”

I nod, feeling a bit overwhelmed as I start filling out the online application. Suddenly, Sawyer’s hand is on mine, stopping me.

“Wait,” he says, frowning at the screen. “Your name. It’s still Jones?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, and?”

He looks at me, his eyes intense. “Oh hell no,” he says, his voice low and possessive. “My wife. My name.”