The voices fall away as the clip shows me finishing my routine and gliding to the side of the rink. A close-up follows as I catch my breath, wrap a thick coat around my shoulders, and watch the scoreboard. When my ranking appears, I shout with joy. My face isn't visible through the head covering, but the emotion is evident in the way I jump with excitement. The other girls come over to offer hugs and handshakes. My coach beams and pats me on the back.
As I continue to scroll, I stumble upon an article about Jaxson. Unfortunately, this one is published in a scandal sheet and includes a clear color photo of Jaxson, with his hand firmly planted on a woman's behind after a game as he hugs her. The headline reads:“Is Jaxson Kingston in the Sin Bin? Hockey Star Caught Hot-Handing Scantily Clad Mystery Woman and It's Not His Wife!
The journalist, Priscilla Daly, a notorious “girl's girl” known for holding celebrities' feet to the fire at the slightest whiff of scandal, calls Jaxson out for his outrageous behavior. She points out how he shamelessly flirts with fans, parties too much for a married man with a hot wife, and is now caught feeling up some rando in public. Then, she dares to ask, “Where's Jaxson's wife?Shouldn't he be appearing in photographs with her instead of another woman?”
Isn't that a great question?
My thoughts and feelings are all over the place. If it weren't for the NDA, I would find a lawyer right now and file for divorce without hesitation. I don't want to breach that agreement. I know how much damage a scandal could cause to Jaxson, the team, and the sponsors. The fallout could trigger lawsuits, and I don't want to face the mortification of battling corporate giants in the media spotlight.
So, I turn my attention inward, reflecting on the possibility that maybe I saw this coming. I never let Jaxson's opinions sway me. I kept my coach by my side and committed to an increasingly strict training routine over the past year. That dedication has sharpened my performance and opened doors. If all goes as planned, I'll qualify for the Olympics, and right now, I seem on track to do just that.
Jaxson
With practice finally over, I'm wiped out. After staying up so late last night, chasing girls, the next-day recovery is becoming harder.
Don't tell me I'm getting too old for this crap.
I slam my gear into my equipment stall without a care for whether I damage anything and sit on the bench with a huff. I feel more like a 40-year-old than a 20-something. I scrub my face and lean back, closing my eyes to rest them. Sweat pours down my back, and I desperately need a shower.
The large-screen TV on the wall blastsThe Sports Pulse, a sports talk show I usually enjoy watching, and all my teammates are gathered around, oddly hanging on to every word the sportscasters say. Normally, I'd be right there with them, checking out the other teams and stats, but right now, I'm livid.
After the game Friday night, Mandy jumped into my arms outside the hotel. Reflex kicked in, and I grabbed her by the waist—well, maybe a little lower. Next thing I knew, a pap was right there, camera flashing, and now the gossip rags are plastered with photos of it.
“Hey, Jax,” Ryker says, pointing at the TV. “Where's your wife at, dude?”
I freeze! My stomach drops.
Has the gossip already hit the mainstream sports networks? “Frig!”
Ryker keeps gesturing, eyes wide. “Your wife… Melly…”
My blood boils. I can't believe I let this get out. The last thing I need is for them to rub it in. I storm across the locker room, fury flaring, and shut the TV off without even looking at it. I get right in Ryker's face. "That," I gesture to the now silent screen, "is none of your business. Keep my wife's name out of your mouth, Ryker! I know what's being said! The gossip rags are trash! Don't talk about my wife, don't mention my wife, and don't tell me how much trouble I'm in with my wife! It's nobody's business.”
I jab a finger at the rest of the guys, who are staring at me like I've lost my mind. “That Priscilla Daly started this, and she can ki—"
“Kingston!” the assistant coach sticks his head inside the door and shouts, “Meeting in the conference room, now!”
“What the…?" I jerk my head around.
“Chop! Chop! Coach and your PR team are waiting.”
I mutter a few choice words under my breath and turn toward him. “I haven't even showered yet.”
“It'll keep,” he replies. “Time is money.”
I grab my towel and wipe my face again, shaking my head.
What now?
I turn back to the guys who've huddled up, talking low and shooting looks my way. I can practically feel them gossiping.
"No one talks about my wife," I bark at them again. "Not. One. Word. Understand?" Then I whip around and stalk to the conference room.
Behind me, Ryker mutters, "Dude… she just landed a triple loop."
But I'm too far gone and too much in my head to hear it.
Ryker
“What's that about?” I ask the guys still lingering at the TV. We'd been watching a highlight reel of Jaxson's wife at a skating competition onThe Sports Pulse.At least we think it's her. She's wearing a full-body thermal suit that covers everything, including her head, with a red skate dress over it. Classic Melly. We all know she wears protective thermals under her clothing in the winter months because of her sensitivity to cold. But thereporters called her Amelia Smith. That was her maiden name, wasn't it?
“We all know he's stepping out on her, or has opened his marriage," Josh growls. "But he flips if you so much as say her name. Best not to bring her up. It clearly sets him off.”
Everyone nods. From now on, Melly is our own version ofShe-Who-Must-Not-Be-Namedto keep the peace with Jaxson. Honestly, it's kind of ridiculous. She's out there landing impressive loops and spins, and here we are tiptoeing around him like he's the delicate one. We shrug and head back to what we were doing before Kingston's drama distracted us.
