Instead, I shower and prepare to leave because, contrary to popular belief, what happens in Las Vegas doesn’t stay in Las Vegas.
The team plane leaves later today, but I need out now. My father chartered one, likely already having caught wind of what went down last night. Thankful for the flight, I head to the private airstrip. Flying solo today is probably better—no need to answer what will likely be dozens of questions from the guys.
Great way to start with a real bang on the new team. It wasn’t enough that I’m the son of a legend with what should’ve been a career-ending injury, followed by a dramatic and public breakup, and a disappearing act last summer that could’ve landed me on the entertainment showcase stage last night with my own performance. I pulled myself together for preseason training and was stuck on the injury reserve.
I thought my career was over. Then Tom Badaszek paid me a visit on Thanksgiving Day.
Turns out my old coach had put me up for auction. It was join the Knights or watch the credits roll.
Couldn’t say no, even if I’m hanging on to what I wanted to be a hall of fame finish by a thread.
Lately, I prefer to be alone, anyway. Human relationships are complicated, messy, and full of expectations and disappointments. I’ve recently realized that it’s easier to keep people at arm’s length, stay focused on hockey, and leave everything else to the edges.
The biggest lesson is not to trust anyone who might leave when things get difficult.
Like Xoe did.
The thought of my ex-fiancée hits me like the aftermath of a stubbed toe.
After two years together, an engagement ring, and with wedding planning underway, the minute my shoulder injury looked like it might be the end for me in the NHL, she was gone. Couldn’t handle the uncertainty. Needed stability, security, someone whose future wasn’t tied to whether a surgically repaired joint would make it another season. I see now that she was just in it for the glamorous life I could afford her. The fact that I didn’t realize that sooner gets me in the gut like a sucker punch every time I let myself think about it.
The flight to Omaha provides time for me to think, which turns out to be both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I can process what happened without the constant ping of notifications. On the other hand, I have nothing to distract me from the memory of Nina’s gray eyes, or the way she felt in my arms during our kiss, or how right it felt when I said, “I do.”
Which is ridiculous. I don’t even know this woman.
Maybe that’s exactly why it felt so real. She doesn’t know about my injury history, or my struggles with living up to Dad’s legacy, or the way Xoe looked at me when she left—the pity made me feel so pathetic I didn’t leave the house for three days—the rest of the summer remains a blur spent on a tropical island during which I hardly bathed except for daily soaks in the salty sea while I stared up at the sky.
Nina doesn’t know that I’m considered a risky investment by half the league, or that some days I’m not even sure I still love playing hockey.
She just looked at me like I was someone worth choosing.
Back at myapartment in Omaha, which is nothing special—a simple two-bedroom in a decent neighborhood with the kind of non-descript, practical furniture that could belong to anyone—I flop onto the couch. I’ve never been much for accumulating stuff—too many years of being on the road. Not only that, but Xoe took everything she bought with my credit card when we split. On the upside, it made the move here easier.
The condo is quiet and after the circus of last night, that’s exactly what I need.
I check my voicemails while I unpack my overnight bag. Desi, as expected, rattles on, saying it’s important that we speak. In my sister’s seventh message, she threatens me if I don’t call her back. There is a lot of background noise, indicating her New Year’s celebration went late—or early, depending on how you look at it.
Vinny, my agent, also left multiple messages that are less garbled than my sister’s but equally insistent. There are a few from the guys, plus several reporters and influencers asking for interviews.
And Nina. Even though we already connected—this one must’ve been from earlier—I press play, listening to her voice through the speaker.
“Hi, it’s Nina. From ... well, from last night. I know this is strange, and I’m sure you’re as confused as I am, but I think we should talk. Talk about what happened, and what we’re going to do about it. Before you leave, maybe we could meet somewhere? I have no idea where you live in Nebraska. Big state and all. Anyway, I hope you’re okay. This is all pretty overwhelming.”
Her voice is different on the voicemail—more uncertain than it was during our call, but equally warm. Like she’s talkingto someone she actually cares about instead of a stranger or enemy she’s trying to negotiate with.
I replay the message twice before I realize what I’m doing.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Nina: Did you make it back to Nebraska safely?
The question catches me off guard. When’s the last time someone checked if I made it somewhere safely? I’ve been looking after myself for a long time.
Me: Just got in.
Nina: Are we still on for this afternoon?
Me: Yeah. Looking forward to it.
