CHAPTER ONE
February
EMMETT
Do you know what I hate? Surprises.
So, I guess I should be grateful that my first day as a divorcé is playing out exactly as I predicted.
With a cold beer in one hand and my long-term friend, Scott Quinn, sitting opposite me in a run-down bar a couple of blocks from his place, we’ve barely uttered a word to each other since we took a seat in this sticky booth.
The decree landed in my mailbox this morning, a rubber-stamped document confirming the end of my thirteen year-long marriage and the start of a new life.
“Aren’t we supposed to be celebrating and drinking to my newfound freedom?” I muse, pointing at Scott’s bourbon.
He slowly turns his glass around on the coaster, eyeing me carefully.
I’ve known Scott for almost as long as I was married to my ex-wife, Maria. You could say that fate had a hand in our friendship when we both showed up to a classic car event in downtown Brooklyn, driving almost-identical racing green Jaguar E-Types.He took one look at the tan leather seats I’d recently had restored, and it was love at first sight. We’ve been inseparable ever since, a connection I didn’t think would last, not with the reluctance Maria showed when it came to socializing.
To some extent, I could understand her hesitancy. As a commercial airline pilot, she spent most of her time at thirty-five thousand feet, and when she wasn’t responsible for the safety of hundreds of people, she wanted to kick back and chill.
Trouble was, the more time rolled on, the more isolated she became. To the point where she hated me heading out with my teammates after a hockey game. At first, I thought it was because she wanted to keep me all to herself—we were young and in love and couldn’t get enough of each other. That was, until she started retreating from me too.
I guess that our marriage died from a thousand cuts—arguments that lasted for days, sleeping in separate beds night after night. Then came the jealousy and paranoia—Maria was convinced that I was playing around with other women, and that only got worse when I insisted that I needed to at least show my face at our postgame hideout, Lloyd’s. She’d call me from wherever in the world she was on a layover, demanding that I switch the call to video so she could be sure that I was alone.
The longer we were married, the more control she demanded over every element of my life. It was exhausting, and ultimately, it drove a wedge between us. Now, at thirty-five years old, we aren’t the same people that we were when we met in college. She assured me that she could handle the NHL lifestyle when we started dating in our sophomore year and I told her that I was drafted to the Blades. Back then, we loved each other, and I would stop at nothing to make our relationship work. In the end, it was me who filed for the divorce, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow when you dedicated your life to someone, only to wind up with a bachelor pad and a few fancy cars, but no one special to head home to each night.
“I’d say that raising a glass to the dissolution of your marriage is dependent.” Scott sits back in the booth and shakes out his floppy brown hair.
“On what?” I drawl.
He lifts a shoulder and takes a sip of his neat bourbon, setting the glass back down on the table. “If you feel like celebrating. Freya tells me that Maria isn’t exactly overjoyed right now.”
It’s both a blessing and a curse that the one friend Maria did make—and keep—during our marriage just happens to be Scott’s wife. Freya is a good person and the type of friend you’d want during a divorce, but Maria and I need a clean break, and I don’t see how that can happen when there’s a chance that our paths will keep crossing.
“She wanted the divorce as much as I did,” I reply, running a palm across my unshaven jawline.
Scott looks at me, deadpan. “You know what I mean, man. This whole situation is shit.” He blows into his cheeks. “When was the last time you even saw each other?”
I shrug. “A couple of weeks back. I was coming up your driveway, and Maria was leaving the house. She waved briefly and got into her car.”
He shakes his head, almost like he’s in disbelief over everything. “These past six months you’ve been separated; Freya and I have been waiting for you to work things out. How many times have you ‘split,’ only to reconcile a few weeks later?”
I lean forward, bracing my elbows on the table. “Exactly, Scott. The marriage was over way before I moved out. Maria knew it; I knew it.” I motion to my friend. “And if you’re really honest, you and Freya knew it too. All we were doing each time we got back together was kicking the can a little farther down an inevitable road.”
I don’t receive a response as Scott downs the rest of his bourbon. He looks way more troubled than I thought he would over this.
“Nothing has to change about our friendship,” I reassure him. “And when I’m done with hockey after next season, we can head out in our cars a bit more.” I manage a smile. “Maybe even hit the golf course on the regular, like a couple of pensioners.”
Scott’s brown eyes lower to the table in front of us, heavy shoulders slumped. “Actually, quite a bit is going to change.”
I remain quiet, waiting on him to elaborate.
“Billie,” is all he says.
“What about Billie?” I reply, feeling worried over the way he just said his daughter’s name. “Is everything okay?”
The last update I got from Scott—which was only two weeks ago—there was no sign of any issue with her or the pregnancy. Or maybe that’s just how I interpreted things. My head has been firmly up my ass lately, and I’m acutely aware that I’ve been a subpar friend at best.
