“I hadn’t considered this part,” she muttered, and took another lap down and back the length of my house. “Are you sure the reporter we talked to shared the story correctly?”

“She wouldn’t fuck us over.”

We’d lied a shit ton during the interview, and Alicia had coached us through everything. Yeah, she'd mention there could be some negative comments, but I hadn’t anticipated things like Emmersyn being called a whore so blatantly to be the main reaction.

We’d told Alicia that Emmersyn and Lincoln have been separated since spring. That they’d paused their wedding plans and had spent time trying to see if they could work things out, but that they’d both been free to explore during that time. We’d met during the playoffs last year when Heather flew out for my games, and after they separated, she reached out to me. We started talking. She wanted to fly out to see me, and so she did. We fell hard. Fast. And decided to get married.

Except we’d forgotten about all of the other pictures of the two of them during this supposed separation time. A vacation she’d taken in May to Miami. Events with his family. Those we could easily brush off as Emmersyn feeling the need to do her duty for the family despite their problems.

But the pictures of them kissing on the pub streets of Boston or holding hands, tucked away in quiet romantic restaurants, with smiles?

The only thing that would save her from those pictures would be if the women he cheated on her with ever came forward, and who in their right minds would do that? They’d be thrown into the fire right along with Emmersyn.

“Shit. I’m so sorry. I should have considered the public flogging you’d get for this.” Heather wrapped her arm around her friend’s waist and tugged her tight to her side. “I didn’t even think about this.”

“It’s fine.” Emmersyn stepped away from Heather and shook out her arms. “It’s temporary, right? And maybe this might help. Lincoln can play the wounded fiancé. Maybe if people feel sorry for him, he’ll use it to his advantage, right?”

She glanced at both of us.

I didn’t trust Lincoln as far as I could drop kick his lame ass, and I didn’t know him.

“Who knows,” Heather admitted. “Based on his behavior the last couple of weeks, I think he’s pretty much an unknown right now.”

“Helpful,” I told my sister with a baleful look.

She shrugged. “It’s true.”

She’d been upstairs, digging through her things for Emmersyn’s phone and once it was plugged in, and she finally turned it on, Emmersyn’s old phone started chiming and beeping and lighting up like one of our victory celebrations after a home win.

Damn thing went berserk, and with every ping and ding on the screen, Emmersyn paled a little more.

And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to help my wife through this.

“I need a minute,” she said, and ran up the stairs. Her bedroom door slammed close, followed by what I assumed was her bathroom.