I’ve seen Chloe wearing my number too many times to count over the years, and no matter how many times I do, it still makes my heart beat just a little faster.
She cups her hands over her mouth and yells. I might not be able to hear her, but I still smile. We’re losing this game, down 5–1 with four minutes left to go in the third, but that’s just how it’s been in Chicago lately, and I’ve accepted that. It doesn’t make seeing Chloe cheer for me any less sweet.
The game concludes, and though we should all be bummed about yet another loss and where we’re currently at in the standings, there’s a buzz, and it has to do with the date. It’s New Year’s Eve, and just about everyone in this room has plans tonight, including me.
I quickly shower, then I’m one of the players stuck addressing the media. I keep my answers short and to the point, sticking to the usual hockey script of “get pucks in deep,” “go hard at the net,” and “we just have to keep going down thestretch here.” I sound like a broken record, but even that’s not enough to sour my good mood.
“Hey,” Chloe says as I walk toward her once I’m released for the night—after a rousing speech from Coach about staying on the straight and narrow, of course.
“Clover.” I grin, pressing my lips to hers.
She’s the first to pull away, and I pretend it doesn’t sting. Things have been…off between us lately. I kept telling myself it was because of the stress of the holidays, but now it’s New Year’s Eve, and it still doesn’t feel normal. I have no idea what’s wrong, but I’m hoping we can get back on track tonight. This has always been her favorite holiday, so maybe that will be on my side.
“How was work?” I ask her.
“Fine.”
Fine.It’s her go-to answer whenever I ask about it, and I gnash my teeth to keep from sighing. She hates her job. I know it, and she knows it too, but for some reason, she won’t do anything about it. She thinks she’s betraying her parents if she decides she no longer wants to work in a lab, and I hate that she’s resigned to being unhappy just to please them.
Don’t they know their daughter is miserable? Don’t they see she wants something else? Can’t they just let her off the hook? Can’t she letherselfoff the hook? I love my wife, but I wish she would stand up for herself a little more sometimes. She doesn’t even have to work if she doesn’t want to, so making herself so damn unhappy makes no sense to me.
“Are you ready to go, then?” I ask because I know she’s not going to offer any more.
“Yep.”
We make our way to a local bar we’ve gone to a few times, and I’m unsurprised to find it’s packed. I would personally rather be at home, but this has always been the one night a year Chloe likes going out, so I suck it up and push through for her.
We order drinks—a beer for me and a Diet Coke for her—then find a spot in the back where it’s not as packed and just a smidge quieter. When I look at her across the tiny two-person table, I can’t help but smile. Even after all these years together, she’s still fucking gorgeous, and I still want her. I never gave much thought to finding true love or getting married or anything like that, but the moment I saw her, I wanted it all.
That hasn’t changed.
“Have I ever told you how hot you look with my last name across your back?”
“Hey, that’smylast name too.” She smirks at me over the rim of her cup. “But thank you.”
I laugh, take a drink, and set it back down with a loud smack of my lips. “So, New Year’s Eve.”
“New Year’s Eve.”
“Any resolutions you want to share?”
I don’t know what’s so wrong about what I’ve said, but it’s clearly the wrong thing, and almost instantly, Chloe’s entire mood shifts. I watch as her shoulders slump forward and she folds into herself. Her eyes darken so much they look black beneath the bar lights.
“Um, actually…” she starts, wrapping her hand around her soda. “I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something…”
My stomach drops right to the sticky, dirty floor of the bar, and a shiver rolls down my back. Something isn’t off with us. Something iswrong.
I force my voice to remain neutral. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I, um…” She looks around the bar, squinting. She leans in closer. “Do you mind if we talk somewhere quieter?”
No. I want to talk right here, right now. I want to know why you’re pulling away from me in more ways than one. I want to know how to fix it. I want to know that we’re okay.
But I don’t say any of that.
“Let’s go up to the roof.”
It’s freezing out, which is why it’s much less crowded up here than inside, but I’m so hot and clammy trying to sort out what it is my wife could possibly want to talk to me about that I don’t even notice the bite of cold.
