They both nod like this is the best news I could ever hope to hear. Three months ago, it probably would’ve been. I’d have kissed them both, celebrated, and called my financial advisor to confirm I was set for life.
And beyond the money, I’d have been thrilled—ecstatic, even—to keep playing the game I love for three more years. I was hoping for a one-year extension but three is… unexpected. Unprecedented for a guy my age.
But now?
Now, with everything that’s happened, and with Rosie and the mess I’ve made hanging over me, I don’t know what the hell I want any more except that I want her and hockey isn’t nearly as important.
“Can I have a week to think it over?”
Caleb’s brows crash down like I’ve personally insulted him. Coach leans forward, studying me with sharp, assessing eyes.
“You don’t have any other offers, do you, son?”
I shake my head quickly. “No, I’d never consider that. I'm loyal to the Mayhem. I just need a little time. To process everything that’s happened recently. To figure out what’s next.”
Coach nods, but Caleb looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.
“Monday,” Caleb snaps. “That’s all the time you get. We need to make an announcement to the fans and investors by then.”
I know that’s bullshit. They could stall for longer if they wanted to. But I let it slide because, honestly, a deadline is exactly what I need.
By Monday, I’ll know where things stand with Rosie. I’ll have to. Either she’ll be there ignoring me, signing paperwork that legally separates us, or she’ll be telling her dad to fuck off.
This gives me a timeline.
Just one day to figure out my career, my future, and, most importantly, how to win her back.
Chapter 39: Rosie
The landscape between Connecticut and New York City blurs outside the train window, a rush of late winter-gray skies and snow-dusted trees that meld together into nothing but white.
It’s usually a view that I enjoy, especially since spring is coming soon, but today it all feels so… sad.
It’s Monday morning, the day that I officially sign the divorce papers to end my marriage to Boone, and Cain files the delivery to seal the deal.
“Are you okay?” Cain asks me. His tone is casual, but the way his eyes are watching me carefully says he’s paying closer attention than he lets on.
He’s been seated next to me in the train car for the past two hours, flipping through a case file and making notes, but that’s since been discarded and his attention is fully focused on me now.
I nod, fiddling with the strap of my bag. “Yeah. I just… needed this weekend to process everything.”
“And were you able to?”
That’s a good question. Yes. No. Maybe?
Boone hurt me when he went off script. Not because I don’t believe he meant what he said, but because I hate being caught off guard. I hate feeling unprepared. Exposed. Embarrassed.
We had a plan, and he took it to the left. Suddenly the plan went from me being his innocent wife who wanted him to retire, to the angry and unhappy wife.
And maybe I shouldn’t have let the PR team run with that story once I knew the truth about what really happened between him and Anastasia. But after Brookhaven, we talked about it privately. I told him we could change the narrative. Do something different than the tired version ofhe wants to keep playing the sport he loves, and I want him to retire and start a family.
Boone said it was fine. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. He conceded.
And now I can’t stop wondering how much of that was genuinely what he wanted, and how much of it was him trying to make things easier for me and my promotion. Trying to keep the peace. Trying not to disappoint me.
That uncertainty worms its way in deep, making me doubt myself. Making me question his honesty in other places, even when I don’t want to.
And somehow, worse than all of that, he chose that moment to tell me he loved me for the first time.
