“Same thing,” Grady Federer laughs.
Penguin, one of the third-string players, says, “My wife says the best relationships start with altered states of consciousness. I’m convinced that’s why she married me after I suffered that concussion when I still played in college. Claims she doesn’t regret it either.”
The entire room cracks up, and even I have to admit that’s actually funny.
“All right, lover boys,” Coach Badaszek’s voice cuts through the chatter as he sticks his head into the locker room. “Save the relationship gossip for after you kick butt and take names. We have a game to win.”
The mood shifts immediately. We’re here to whoop Ottawa, and they’ve been having a good season. Now is not the time to discuss what happened on New Year’s Eve. I’m only a few games in after my injury, and I have to show up and show out.
Team captain Liam Ellis gives us an inspired, if not amusing, pep talk. The guy is known as being quiet and moody. I expect a straightforward inspirational word or two. However, stone-faced, he tells dad jokes and encourages us to light up the ice like we’re in a musical. If nothing else, this makes us smile, which is better than being told we suck and we’d better prove him wrong. It’s different from what I’m used to and I can’t say I hate it.
The period one setup has Jack, Redd, and me up front on the line, Pierre and Liam on defense, and Beau in the box to keep out the puck. This is exactly the kind of game I need to prove I’m still elite-level material.
Except I’m not.
Forty minutes later, we’re down three to one, and I’ve managed exactly zero points and two minor penalties. My timing is off, my passes are sloppy, and every time I try to dig deep for fifth gear, my shoulder reminds me that it’s held together with surgical screws and stubborn hope.
The final period serves up a game loss. Womp. Womp.
The flight back to Omaha is subdued. Nobody makes jokes about my marriage now. Losing has a way of putting things inperspective despite Liam’s best efforts to get us in the fighting spirit.
I spend the next few hours staring out the window, thinking about Nina. I’ve been on the road for the better part of the week at away games, and it feels like forever since our meeting at the bakery, followed by a jacuzzi soak.
In addition to thinking about how nicely she filled in her blue bathing suit with the flattering rise and fall of curves, I keep replaying our conversation. How she looked when she told me about the promise to her father—and that he’s Viggo Bruun, a legendary player from back in the day. Vulnerability peppered her voice when she explained why she can’t trust hockey players.
That’s a belief I have a wild urge to prove wrong.
But also, the way her lips betrayed a smile when I said I wasn’t my father. The way she showed me around the Busy Bee, her happy place. The photo strip from New Year’s Eve that proves we had a connection before hypnosis and the subsequent vows exchanged.
I’ve been giving us space to think, as we agreed. But the more I think, the more confused I get. Logically, this whole situation is absurd. You don’t build a relationship on an accidental marriage and a dance that was over in a heartbeat.
But the way she made my pulse race …
If I let myself so much as entertain our New Year’s Eve ball drop kiss at midnight, all logic goes out the window.
How she felt so perfect in my arms.
Maybe my sister and I aren’t as different as I thought. Could it be that I’m more impulsive than I allowed myself to believe? I’m still waiting to hear from Desi and could use an objective party to talk to about this situation. Someone so far on the outside that they can come with a fresh perspective. Then again, my sister is anything but rational.
You say,Left. She goes right. You say,Don’t feed the pelicanand she’s sharing her shave ice and taking a selfie with it. That happened last time I visited her in Hawaii. Was that already six years ago? Seven?
If I told her about this whole situation, she’d tell me to flee the country … or run with it and see what happens. I can never be too sure because the woman is the epitome of a loose cannon, a wild card.
The thing is, I was late meeting Nina at the bakery because Desi had something important to tell me that I needed to be “sitting down” for. When I called her back, she didn’t answer. Classic Desi—create drama, then disappear when it’s time to actually deal with it. Usually to a different state … or state of mind.
I love my sister, but she’s been a molten hot mess since Mom died. Hawaii, California, Colorado—wherever the wind blows and whatever guy promises her a new adventure. She means well, mostly, but responsibility and reason have never been her strong suit.
In fact, she reminds me a lot of the way Nina described her mother … could it be true that she and our dad were together? This seems like something to talk to Lou Chen, the team psych, about. Too bad he isn’t on board the flight.
After we land, my phone buzzes with a text from my lawyer.
Brad: Checking to see if you got my email earlier this week. Marriage is definitely legal. As discussed, annulment would be difficult to prove. Call me when you’re ready to discuss options.
Options. Right. As if I have any idea what I want those options to be.
It’s late afternoon when I finally make it back to my condo in Omaha. All I want is a shower, some pizza, and no less than twelve hours of sleep before practice tomorrow.
Instead, I find a kid sitting cross-legged outside my door.
