by Leigh, T. K.
Molly hits the spacebar, pausing the video, the silence in the room deafening. “Oops,” she says. “My finger slipped before I gave you a chance to answer.”
I keep my head lowered, doing everything I can to not burst into tears in front of these strangers. It’s what Mrs. Bradford expects. The sanctimonious smirk on her face as I return my eyes to the assembled guests confirms my suspicions.
But are those things really important? Does it matter whether I know his favorite holiday or food? Does it matter whether I know the name of his childhood pet or imaginary friend? Are these things a valid indicator of whether we’re a good fit? I know several people who can answer these questions about their spouses but are miserable in their relationship. I’m not. Wes makes me happy, and I know I make him happy, even if I can’t say with any certainty what his favorite type of beer is. These are just things that make up our history. All things we can continue to learn about each other over the years.
At least that’s what I try to convince myself after I finally escape all the judgmental eyes, unable to even look at Molly, and drive back to my house. Most brides probably spend the evening of their shower going through the gifts they received. I don’t. I spend it curled up on my couch, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in my hand, watching It’s a Wonderful Life.
Chapter 24
Drew
It’s not often I find myself with a free day to do whatever I’d like. Usually, when Molly or Gigi watch the girls, it’s because I have a game or work. But today, I have neither. The house is peaceful and serene. There are a hundred things I can do to occupy my time until the girls get home from Brooklyn’s bridal shower, but I need to keep my mind off her approaching nuptials. I can’t do that in my house, where every room holds a memory of her. Instead, I head out to meet an old hockey friend to have a drink and catch up.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw your name pop up on my phone,” Parker says when he sees me enter the bar area of the restaurant where we agreed to meet. He’s almost as tall as me and even more muscular. We played together professionally until I no longer could.
I reach my hand toward him and we shake before patting each other on the back in a typical bro-hug. “What can I say? I had a free afternoon and knew I couldn’t avoid you forever.”
“Damn straight.” He returns to his barstool and signals the bartender. “Don’t worry. I ordered a few appetizers so they’d serve me a beer. Fucking puritanical laws.”
I shake my head. “Part of me thinks the restaurants are the ones who convince the local lawmakers to keep those laws in place. They make even more money that way.”
“Agreed.” Parker picks up the pilsner glass containing an amber liquid as a bartender approaches and takes my order for a pale ale. When it arrives, I take a sip, relaxing. “So you’re kid-free today?”
“I am.” I return my glass to the bar. “It’s weird. Usually the only time I have to myself is when the team’s on the road.”
“How old are they now?”
“Alyssa is eight and Charlotte is six,” I respond with a gleam in my eyes. It always happens. No matter how crappy a day I’m having, I can’t control the pride that fills me when someone asks about my kids.
“Wow.” He shakes his head. “Has it been that long?”
I nod. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Man, it seems like just yesterday I was standing on the ice, watching them wheel you away on a stretcher.”
Averting my gaze, I swallow hard. “Yeah. Last hockey game I ever played. It’s a blessing in disguise Carla went into labor the same day.” I return my eyes to his, gritting a smile. “At least I won’t always remember February ninth as the day my career ended, but as the day Charlotte was born.” I stare off into the distance. I never considered that, but it’s true. Every year on February ninth, there’s nothing but happiness and celebrations, not a stark reminder of the anniversary I lost the only thing I thought I loved. I was wrong. I have my daughters. That’s all I need.
“So...” I clear my throat. “How do you like coaching? I’m surprised you retired from playing so soon.” Parker’s only a few years older and left the league not long after I did.
He shrugs. “You know how it is. Got married, had kids. Your priorities change.”
“Your wife’s Marisa, right?” I hate even having to ask, but it’s been a few years since we’ve had the opportunity to just talk. During our days on the team, his girlfriend was one of the long-termers. Often, the section of the arena reserved for the wives and girlfriends…or WAGs, as we affectionately called them…was like a revolving door of women. But there were a few who had been there a while. Marisa was one. She was dating Parker before he hit it big in the pros. Their relationship gave me hope that my own tumultuous marriage to Carla would work. But some people can’t be tamed. It took several years for me to learn that lesson, albeit the hard way.
“Yes. Marisa.”
“You finally married her? We took bets on whether you’d ever pop the question.”
He laughs as I sip my beer, happy I picked up the phone and reached out to him. I never take time for myself, unless it was to drop by Skylar’s on my way home from a night game. I’ve missed being able to relax with the guys like I did during my hockey days. Since then, my kids have been my focus, my only friends being my sister and Brooklyn. It’s good to be doing something normal again. Once Carla left, my life became one crazy roller coaster ride after another. I need the normal, even if only for a few hours.
“Yeah, well, when she got pregnant, I decided it was time.”
“And when was this?”
“Well, Aiden turned eighteen months a few weeks ago.”
“You mean to tell me you just married her?” My eyebrows raise as I smirk.
He shrugs.
“Dude…” I shake my head. “You’re lucky she stuck with you that long. Every other woman I know would have hightailed it out of there instead of dealing with your noncommittal ass.”
“Like I’ve told Marisa, I was giving her ample opportunity to test drive me.”
“Test drive?” I laugh harder. “Most test drives only last a few minutes, not ten years.”
“I wanted to make sure she’d be satisfied with the product.”
“Well, congratulations. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, man.” He brings his beer back to his mouth and drinks before returning his attention to me. “How about you? Anything serious?”
“Nah. It’s tough when you have kids. Most women my age aren’t willing to deal with the baggage I come with.”
“How about that friend of your sister’s I met a few times? What was her name? Chelsea?”
“Brooklyn,” I correct.
“That’s right. I knew it was some neighborhood in New York. So, what’s her deal? You still close? Man, Carla hated her.” He chuckled, staring into the distance as he recalls the past. “Whenever she was at a game with your sister, Carla would shoot daggers at her, talk shit about her, stuff like that.”
I arch a brow. “Really?”
“Yeah. Marisa used to give me all the gossip. Well, maybe not give me, per se, but you know Marisa. She has two levels of talking. Loud and louder. It was impossible not to listen in on her conversations when she was on the phone with one of the other WAGs.”
“And Carla didn’t like Brooklyn?” I knew she didn’t, but the fact other people picked up on it made me feel a slight bit of vindication for no reason other than that Carla was jealous. And of Brooklyn, of all people. Sweet, innocent, unassuming Brooklyn.
“It’s been a few years, but that little tidbit always stood out. Granted, Marisa was never a fan of Carla, either. Said you deserved better. She was thrilled when she overheard Carla talking to one of the other freeloader WAGs at one of the games, saying she was finally going to file for divorce. Well, she felt bad for you, but didn’t want to see Carla continue to hurt you, since she’d been screwing Chase for God knows how long. But she always liked Brooklyn,
said the idea of childhood friends ending up together warmed her soul and made her cynical heart do backflips.”
“Wait. What?” I ask, unsure I heard him correctly.
“Oh, she was just playing, but she still asks about you and her, claims she gets a feeling from the two of you.”
“No. I’m not talking about Brooklyn.” I blink repeatedly, my mind reeling. My brain screams at me to change the subject, that it’s not worth it, but I need to know more. I thought Carla started cheating on me after the injury forced me out of the game, after Charlotte was born. But if it had been going on longer… I don’t want to think what that could mean. “About Carla. How long she was sleeping with Chase.”
Parker’s eyes widen. “Man, I’m sorry. I thought you knew. I mean, it was public knowledge she moved in with him right after you announced your retirement. We all thought it was a dick move, but—”
“No. I knew that. I just…” I lift my gaze back to his. “How would Marisa overhear Carla talking to one of the WAGs about filing for divorce then? She left me in August. The season didn’t start until October. Even if she mentioned something months before, I was out for the season in February. She had no need to go to the games, not to mention she had just given birth. The only games she went to were the ones I attended, but she sat with me up in the owner’s box. I watched every single game that season, even the ones I couldn’t attend personally. If she went to one, I would have seen her. I would have known.” I stare straight ahead, the labels on the liquor bottles behind the bar blurring together. “Unless Marisa’s referring to the first time she filed for divorce,” I say, my voice low.
“Eh, it doesn’t matter,” Parker encourages me, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “She’s gone. And Chase is stuck selling used cars. They both got what they deserve for what they did to you.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not that.” I return my eyes to Parker, acid burning my throat at the mere idea. “I know she cheated on me. I didn’t think it was until after my injury. After she had Charlotte. If she’d been cheating on me all along…”
“Oh, shit. No!” Parker blurts out, reading my thoughts. “Don’t even go there.”
“But she served me with divorce papers one day. The next, she told me she made a mistake, that she was pregnant and wanted to work things out for our baby. What if—”
“Andrew, look, I’m sorry. I never should have said anything. I was just wondering if you and Brooklyn ever hit it off. My intention was never to bring up all that drama. You’re better off without it. I can see that. You had a great year of coaching, which is why I’ve been wanting to get together with you.”
I stare at him, my mind still occupied with the idea of Carla sleeping with Chase before Charlotte was born. I don’t want to consider the possible ramifications, bile rising at the mere thought.
“As you know, Coach Griffin is retiring after this season.”
“I’ve heard.”
Coach Griffin was the head coach when I joined the team over ten years ago. He was a hard-ass, but one of the best coaches out there. If it weren’t for his ability to see something in me, I never would have been put on the ice during the game that changed my career.
“The way the team’s been playing, they could make it to the Stanley Cup. It’ll be great to send him out on that note.” I take another long sip of my beer, the taste suddenly sour.
“Yes, and that bonus in my paycheck will be nice, too. But they’ve been tossing some names around to replace him, have already talked to a few people, but no one seems to have the same passion.”
I smile, but it’s lacking, my focus still elsewhere. “Are you up for the position?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not interested. But your name’s come up on more than one occasion.”
I sit back, allowing that to sink in for a minute. “Huh.”
“I offered to talk to you, feel you out. I know you’re just getting back into the game after being gone for a few years, but you know your stuff. It’s a fantastic opportunity, one that may not come around again.”
“I don’t know. I already hate being gone from my girls as much as I am.”
“That’s understandable. I hate being gone from Aiden, and I’m just one of the assistant coaches. But the love you have for the game… I think you owe it to yourself to at least listen to what they have to say. Can I tell them you’ll do that? And when they offer you a position, I’d be grateful if you’d consider keeping me on as an assistant coach.”
I’d be lying if I said the idea of coaching for the pros didn’t attract me, especially as head coach. Coach Griffin had offered me a position as assistant coach several times in the past, but I always turned him down, making my girls a priority. And they’re still my priority. But I’ve finally found a balance between being a good father and being a great coach. This can be a career-changing opportunity for me, one I’d be crazy not to consider.
“There’s no guarantee they’ll offer me the job or that I’ll take it, but I’ll at least hear them out.”
“Great.” Parker faces forward as the bartender drops off a few plates filled with finger foods. “And again, I’m sorry for bringing up Carla and Chase. I probably just misheard something Marisa said. You know how women can be with their gossip.”
“Yeah.” I’d love to believe it’s only a misunderstanding, but I know Carla. Anything’s possible.
Chapter 25
Brooklyn
A tapping rips through my living room and I fling my eyes open, staring at the home screen of It’s a Wonderful Life on my television. An empty container of Ben & Jerry’s sits on the coffee table, physical evidence of my evening of self-loathing and doubt. Exhaustion settling in my bones, my eyes start to close when I hear the tapping again. It finally sinks in it’s coming from my front door. Although the last thing I want is to talk to anyone, I manage to pull myself from the couch and shuffle to the foyer, thinking perhaps it’s Molly here to apologize.
I open the door and stare into apologetic blue eyes…but they don’t belong to my best friend.
“Hey,” Wes says in a timid voice. “I tried calling, but you weren’t answering your phone.”
“I fell asleep on the couch.”
“I figured. I just… I wanted to talk to you about what I heard happened today.”
I exhale, hanging my head, then step back, allowing him into my home. He walks to the living area, then hesitates. When I lower myself onto the couch, he does the same. His eyes float to the television, a smile crossing his expression.
“It’s a Wonderful Life.”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “It seemed like the right thing after today.”
He draws in a deep breath as he runs his hands down his jeans. It takes me a minute to realize he’s not in a suit. I’ve known Wes for almost a year and have rarely seen him in anything other than a suit. I have to admit, he makes a pair of jeans look fantastic. It has my mind going to places it shouldn’t, especially after today.
“Listen,” he begins. I do everything to brace myself for what I’m sure will follow. His mother probably couldn’t wait to get back to her hotel so she could tell him what happened. In retrospect, I should have expected him to stop by much earlier. Maybe he needed time to figure out what to do.
“Wes, I—”
He holds up his hand, silently pleading with me to let him finish. After everything, it’s the least I can do. I can apologize and make excuses, but it won’t fix this disconnect between us. I don’t think anything will. I’ve tried to convince myself I’m happy, but am I? Is he?
“I should have told you when I found out. I hate you had to stand there, surrounded by all my mother’s stuck-up friends, and be put on the spot like that.”
“It wasn’t just your mother’s friends. Molly, Gigi, and the girls were there, too.”
“God…” He runs his hands through his hair, tugging on it. It looks sexy on him. His disheveled hair reminds me he’s not as perfect as I’ve always believed him to
be. “I am so sorry, Brooklyn. I can’t even imagine what you must be thinking right now.”
“Probably the same thing you are.” I pull my legs into my chest, resting my chin on my knees.
“And what are you thinking?” he asks guardedly.
I meet his peaceful eyes, his brows creased as he awaits my response like the accused awaiting the verdict. “That maybe we rushed into this. That maybe we should have taken the time to get to know each other a little better.” I stare up at the ceiling to fight back the lump in my throat, then return my gaze to his. “How is this supposed to work if I can’t even answer what your favorite movie is?”
Wes straightens, his eyes narrowing. “Wait. Is that what you think this is about? That stupid game Molly wanted to do?”
I subtly nod, my brows squeezing together. “Isn’t it?”
He grasps my hands in his. “God, no. Do you think I care about some ridiculous shower game? My mother was the one who chose the questions, for crying out loud. I’m pretty sure she intentionally picked ones you wouldn’t be able to answer. I should have stopped it when I figured that out, but I assumed it was all in good fun.” Then concern fills his expression. “Why? What happened?”
Tears obscure my vision and I struggle to even form the words. “What happened?” I choke out. “What happened was I could only answer a few questions. And with each answer I got wrong, the smugness in your mother’s expression only increased. I sat up there, the entire time thinking I don’t deserve you. That you can probably remember what I wore on any given date, yet I can’t even tell you when you first told me you loved me. Worse, I can’t remember the first time I said it back.”