Chapter 4 – First Period
Breaking the Ice
October
Amelia
If I thought Bash would take things slowly, I was sadly (not really) mistaken. I’ve got to admit, Jaxson’s version of affection feels more like he’s just ticking boxes: wake up(?), brush teeth(?), text wifey(?). The friendship Bash offers is… nice.
Do I feel guilty? No, I feel gutted.
At first, I called, texted, and left discreet messages with the team office, but Jaxson never called back. Within the first few weeks, a woman evenanswered his cell phone. She gloated that she had been asleep intheirbed while he was in the shower. Then she told me never to call again. That's when I decided I couldn't put myself through this anymore. Not because of her, but because wanting to be with him hurt more than letting go. So, I stopped calling.
Clearly, Jaxson has checked out of the marriage, and I'm the one left behind. How long am I supposed to wait for him? Do I even want to wait for him?
The NDA explicitly states that the couple must complete six sessions of marriage counseling and wait until the hockey season ends before either party can file for divorce.
You gotta love a man so arrogant he plans ahead for the problems he creates. He thinks he can smooth things over, that everything will fall back into place. He's delusional. All he's really done is prove to me how little I matter to him, and that won't ever change.
What a messed-up situation I find myself in. I can't even contact my husband. Sure, I could check the team calendar and track him down, but what would be the point? He's already made things crystal clear. If he wanted me, he'd show it.
I almost laugh, thinking of what I'd even say.
Hi, remember me, your wife?
I caved to his ultimatum, agreed to an open marriage, and even signed an NDA that trapped me like a fool, all because I loved him and hoped he wouldn't go through with it.
Even if I do manage to find him, who knows what I'll uncover? The woman who answered his phone could be a girlfriend, a permanent fixture in his life. I refuse to be humiliated like that. Seeing a steady stream of hook-ups parading in and out of his hotel room isn't something I can stomach.
My hands are tied until the season ends. I'd rather bury my head in the sand, ignore the problem, and try to have some innocent fun with friends.
So, ask me again if I feel guilty. No, I feel like a broken and abandoned plaything just left to gather dust.
When Bash and I exchanged phone numbers that night, we agreed to keep our personal lives separate and anonymous. I'm not ready for him to know who my husband is. Some men fangirl over Jaxson as much as women do, and I want to avoid that at all costs.Otherwise, I'd spend the rest of the time fending off questions about Jaxson or dodging meet-up and autograph requests.
Although I didn't mention the NDA, I still have to consider it. Whatever this thing with Bash is or will be, it needs to stay private and out of the public eye for obvious reasons. I still don't know what his motives are.
We've been texting all week, leading up to our first friend date, and we've decided on Friday. Bash has planned everything while keeping the details from me. I'm not fond of surprises, which makes this a little uncomfortable, but I'll reserve judgment until the evening ends.
I don't want him to know where I live, so when Friday night arrives, we agree to meet at a tucked-away vino lounge to protect our anonymity. It's an exclusive spot frequented by local celebrities for the privacy and discretion it affords. Comforted by that thought, I'm not worried about being recognized. I pull up my coat collar against the wind as I step out of the car.
When I walk into the softly lit place, there's a moment when everything behind me slips away. It's as if I've shed my pain and stepped into another world that's charming, soothing, and inviting.
The spot is cozy and intimate, the kind of place you can slip quietly into your own world. Soft jazz plays in the background, and the booths are secluded and warm, bathed in dim light. Dark cherry shelves lined with old wine bottles add a subtle elegance. Patrons lean toward each other, sharing whispers and confidences, as if there's an unspoken understanding that no one is listening. And since I have nothing to hide, it feels… almost freeing.
Bash is already seated, relaxed, like he's been waiting for me patiently. He smiles and stands when he sees me across the room at the hostess desk. Gesturing, he points to the empty seat next to him.
“I hope you don't mind,” he says as I walk up, “but I already ordered for us. I wanted to make sure I stuck to the plan and kept all the details a surprise.” He grins bashfully, his dimple popping out.
“I don't mind,” I sigh, settling into the booth. “Actually, I appreciate not having to make any decisions tonight.”
The drink list is extensive, but Bash ordered us a mocktail tasting because he remembered I don't drink alcohol. The selection includes a crisp Elderberry Spritz, a citrusy Mint Jubilee, and a decadent Chocolate Mocktini.
Next, the waiter brings a shareable charcuterie board with delicate slices of cured meats, creamy goat cheese, and tender mushrooms. Crunchy crostini and marinated olives add texture, while a small selection of fresh fruit brightens the board. On the side, hummus and tapenade come with pita and colorful vegetables.
“This looks fantastic,” I exclaim, scooping a bit of everything onto a plate, eager for a taste.
“Mmhmm,” he hums in agreement, eyeing me with a smirk as he fills his own plate.
