“Because he was once a lifeguard there,” Liv explains. “When he was in his rebellious phase and tried to quit hockey.”
“Nash must have been so pissed at him.” I smile despite not feeling all that smiley when thinking about Nash these days.
I got home from Maine this morning and he was at yoga. When he came home he greeted me with a kiss and acted like nothing was wrong. But something was wrong. I asked him point-blank where he was the day of Callie’s surgery but he just said, “I needed to unplug from everyone. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“What do you have planned?” Liv prompts because Fisher is mouthing the words at her off-camera.
“I… I don’t want to jinx it by planning too much,” I mutter and smile again, but it’s fake and I know it shows and I don’t even care.
I catch the glare Fisher is giving me and I remember this is my dream project. So I give in. "I was thinking we would start the day at the arena where he played juniors. He didn't get to go there when he won last year because it was closed and being renovated. And I may have contacted his juniors team and they said if Crew and Nash win back-to-back Cups, they'll retire both their jerseys and arrange the ceremony to be on Cup day. Also that night I thought a barbecue for friends and family and I'll hire a Tragically Hip cover band. He loves The Hip but the lead singer passed so a cover band will have to do."
Liv looks like I just blindsided her. Her big brown eyes are wide and her mouth is forming a tiny shocked O. Yeah, I have pretty much figured out how to make the day as special as possible for my fake husband who I am not even going to be fake married to by the time this day rolls around.
The crowds have virtually disappeared now as the little curly-haired girl jumps off the seat, hands Liv a ten-dollar bill, thanks her, and darts over to her mom. I look at the other table of WAGs, who should be packing up the face paint as we have to be out of the concourse by the time they open the doors for the game, but they're all gathered around in a huddle. Curious, I walk over.
“You think she knows?” the backup goalie’s wife is saying.
“He couldn’t even give them a year before he started cheating?”
“A year? How about a season? Damn.”
“And he goes and does it with a co-worker? And signs freaking paperwork? Dirt bag!”
“Hey! What are you guys doing?” I ask as I lean over Carly’s shoulder to see what they’re looking at.
Carly Pattison is married to Noah Pattison who has been on the team a few years longer than Tate. Carly sees it’s me and jumps back from the gaggle of other WAGs, tucking her phone into her pocket as the other women scatter like scared mice. “Hey. Nothing. Just online garbage.”
She seems way too flustered and every time I look at one of the other WAGs they look away. I put my hands on my hips. “What the actual hell is going on Carly? Come on!”
My voice is low because there are still some people lingering, mostly looking over the silent auction items. Carly looks like she wants to run away. “It’s not my place to show you.”
“Show me what?”
“You know that site called The Warren?”
“Unfortunately yes,” I say. “Why?”
She holds out the phone. The Warren is a message board that looks a lot like Reddit, but every thread is about hockey players, written by women who either want to fuck them or have fucked them, allegedly. The headline on this particular thread says “Nash Westwood in NYC with NOT HIS WIFE”
"Okay well they aren't known for their grammar," I mutter, assuming it's just one of those fake reports because Nash hasn't been in New York. He's in the middle of a Stanley Cup run and New York isn't so why on earth would he be…
Carly uses a perfectly manicured nail to scroll down the thread and a picture of Nash pops up. He’s sitting at a restaurant, in a dress shirt, with a woman. She has her hand on his. He’s smiling. I can’t see her face in the picture because her long dark hair is covering her face but somehow she seems familiar and I feel sick.
“Oh. When was this? It has to be old.” I sound desperate and I hate that for me.
Carly looks so empathetic and it makes my blood boil with humiliation. “They say a couple of days ago.”
When I was in Maine and he was MIA…
Any hope of giving him the benefit of the doubt burns up in the heat of my ever-growing humiliation. I can feel the camera on me. Hear the deafening silence as everyone waits for my reaction. Fisher must be jumping for joy inside. He got the scandal he's always wanted, and from the one person who fought him the whole damn time.
"That's just a work thing," Liv lies to me because I can't seem to find any words. "Isn't that the sports agent Uncle Jordan recommended Nash meet with?"
Carly means in and whispers. “TMZ says Nash and the trainer signed paperwork. To cover their asses with the team. After your wedding. I’m so sorry, Tenley.”
I catch Liv’s eyes, and feel hot and sick, like I might puke. I swallow and my rain scrambles to figure out a response. But I have no lies to dig myself out of that news. Liv smiles, like Carly’s words mean nothing. “Welcome to the world of hockey rumors. They can be insane! Anyway, that trainer didn’t agree to be in the doc, so this footage isn’t usable. Sorry, Fish.”
“FishER,” he corrects and then turns to his small crew. “Cut! Let’s go down to the locker room.”
