“Surely you bought it?”
Phil made a weighing motion with his hand.“I paid for it, yeah.But Camille made most of the choices.”
“Camille is…”
“My ex-wife.We got divorced just before you signed your contract.”
“And she didn’t want to keep all the stuff she picked?”
Phil shrugged.“Hasn’t said anything so far.She’s been traveling, I think.She had a good time being a hockey player’s wife for a while there, but I think she wants more out of life than a fancy washing machine and occasionally redecorating the lounge.”
The lounge—and the house itself—had been a point of contention when they were shopping around for real estate.Phil wanted a house with a yard and a garage; Camille liked sleek, new apartments.They compromised on the open-plan downstairs and the modern, floaty staircase.Phil found the former slightly less cozy than he’d prefer and the latter an active pain in his ass when he was injured.But as a newlywed, he’d been happy to make the sacrifice.In retrospect, the house ended up being a microcosm of all the other issues they couldn’t agree on.
“Hm.Understandable.”Ben slid a full coffee cup and an omelet across the table.
Phil snorted.
“Hm?”
“You could be on my side, man.”
Grabbing his own plate, Ben sat down across from Phil.“That kind of divorce, was it?”
Phil considered as he ate.The omelet tasted surprisingly good, flavorful and laden with vegetables.It took him a moment to realize Ben left the yolks in, something Phil hadn’t done in years.He practically moaned around the second bite.
As for the divorce, Phil would describe it as amicable.Being single and living alone was daunting, particularly when he thought he’d passed that stage of life, but he didn’t blame her for leaving.He’d loved Camille, passionately at the start, but he’d loved her the way he loved putting on a game day suit and getting photographed en route to the rink.Being with her made him feel glamorous and exciting, but she had never been satisfied with staying home in her pajamas all day when he had an off day.And now, five years after marrying her, Phil could say with some certainty whoever he ended up with would need to be into vegging out sometimes.
And then there was the kids issue.
“Not really,” Phil said.“We ended up wanting different things, but I hope she gets what she’s going for.”
She would; Camille already had a very lucrative contract locked down halfway across the globe.
“Glad to hear it.The last thing the team needs is some headline about you going off the rails.”
“Just headlines about me going off the team, huh?”
Ben looked up sharply.“That’s not what I meant.You’ll be back soon enough.”
What an optimistic take.Or a downright lie.
“We’ll see,” Phil said.“Are you heading to the practice rink?”
“Yeah, I’ll give you a lift.Physical therapy at ten, right?”
Surprised, Phil set down his fork.“Yeah.”
A shadow of a smile stole across Ben’s face.“I do get updates from the trainers.”
“Right.”Phil had nearly forgotten he was an investment to Ben more than anything else.
“If you don’t mind hanging around after, I can give you a lift back too.But we’ll have to stop at the hardware store.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
When it replaced Phil’s main job, physical therapy was grueling.It involved stretching and pushing and pulling, all with the express purpose of gauging his current range of movement.The sharply unpleasant awareness that his knee wasn’t meant to feel how it did, loose and unsteady, accompanied every motion.And then came strengthening.One major goal for rehab as an athlete was to keep the surrounding musculature as strong as possible.So, Phil spent an hour with Franziska doing quad and calf exercises, adapting them to the brace fitted to his knee.
