Chapter 9 – Empty Net Christmas
Left Wide Open
December
Amelia
It's just past midnight when I see my NHL phone light up on the nightstand with Jaxson's name. Not a call. Just a text. Short and to the point.
Jaxson:Spending Christmas in Palm Springs with mom and Dad this year, since that's where the charity game is. Got the team celebration afterward, so won't be making it home. Figured you'd be with your dad for the holiday.Just letting you know. Merry Christmas. Jaxson
Another fissure forms in my heart. No conversation, no call. Just a text telling me we won't be spending Christmas together for the first time since we met.
I feel beyond hurt. It's as if I'm being pushed away, not just from him, but from his family and the team, too. He knows I don't really spend much time with Dad at Christmas. Usually, it's just a quick visit, a short dinner, or even a phone call if I can get away with it. He's making it sound like a holiday tradition, but it's coming out of left field.
I can't understand him.Is it shame? Guilt? Is that why he's pulling back? Or is he just out there living his life and doesn't want to spend another minute on me?
I know I'm not sitting back and waiting on him like the good little wifey I'm sure he wants me to be, but I haven't gone out and hooked up with everyone I meet, either. I'm beyond exhausted and done with his uncaring attitude toward me.
Why does he think he needs more when, in truth, I am the upgrade he already has? I know this.
The fact is, my dad and his wife, Carlye, have already contacted me, and they plan to go to Europe for the holiday. It's always been my stepmom's dream to visit Colmar, France, at Christmas. I totally get that. I'd love to go myself. It looks like a fairytale. The streets are lined with crooked pastel buildings, and the entire town reminds me of gingerbread houses dusted with powdered sugar. It's romantic and festive, with candlelit cafés, palace courtyard Christmas markets, andmulled wine.
Need I say more?
I'm happy for them. Truly. But this leaves me completely alone for Christmas.
My NHL phone buzzes loudly on the nightstand with an incoming call. The screen flashesJaxson Kingston.
Shocked, I quickly answer the call. “Jaxson?”
“Hi, Melly,” a smooth, silky female voice purrs. I pull the phone away and look at the display again.
Yep,Jaxson Kingston.It’s his phone. I put it back to my ear.
“Can I help you?” I ask acerbically.
She giggles coyly. “I'm Mandy. Jaxson's new personal assistant.”
“Personal assistant?”Am I reduced to short phrases now?
“Yes,” she replies, her voice too happy, too bright. She sounds suspiciously like the woman who answered Jaxson's phone a few weeks ago, when he was in the shower. The one who told me not to call back. I guess he's decided to keep her around.
That woman.
I don't say it out loud.
“Do you know what time it is?” I ask testily.
“Oops, sorry,” she simpers, obviously not. “It's just after nine here in Palm Springs. Jaxson and I have just returned from dinner. I thought I'd call you while he's in the shower.”
“What happened to Mrs. Baker?” After the photos of Jaxson and another woman surfaced, team leadership stepped in and assigned someone to handle him. The coach's secretary left me messages with Mrs. Baker's number, as if I were still trying to reach him. By then, I was done trying. I wasn't calling.
Mandy interrupts my thoughts with a syrupy, sweet chuckle. “Well, some things change. Out with the old and in with the new.”
I know she's emphasizing the wordoldbecause Mrs. Baker, Jaxson’s former PA, is in her sixties. Or maybe she's implying I'm the old item being discarded.
I scoff, not bothering to hide my annoyance, but it only seems to egg her on.
