“Your wife deserves better.”
Chaos descends as the stands erupt in boos.
“Get lost!”
“Scum.”
Popcorn, hot dogs, soft drinks, you name it, rain down onto the ice or splat against the glass dividers. Mustard, ketchup, and soda run in rivulets down the slick surface, leaving veins of destruction that resemble spilled blood across the ice.
I glance up at the broadcast booth, where the PuckCam is operated. There's Mandy and her friend, Teresa, from last night, falling all over each other, laughing.
The PuckCam wraps up airing my indiscretion and now focuses on me, live on the ice. My furious, pale face is framed within a broken-heart border. The feed pans from me to my direct line of sight to the two girls in the broadcast booth, who are having the time of their lives at my expense.
Unbeknownst to Mandy, the camera is focused directly on her when she mouths to me, “Play stupid games, Loverboy.” Blowing a kiss, she adds. “You'll come crawling back.”
It's practically a signed confession. It's clear to the crowd and me that Mandy's behind the video, and it will devastate and humiliate my wife. And with it airing on a major network, Melly will definitely see it. I'm the one who exposed her to this, thanks to a stupid idea to experiment with our marriage, and to being enough of an idiot to keep around such a vicious psychopath that I’d slept with.
On the PuckCam, Mandy laughs and looks over at her friend, who catches my eye and makes a cutesy finger wave, flashing a self-satisfied smile.
The fans recognize them as the same girls who were on the balcony with me in the footage, and hold them just as much to blame. They've also become targets of the crowd's rage.
You can hear the fans shout, “That's them!” A group of furious women converges on the door and tries to force it open.
I scowl at Mandy as the boos and flying junk not only continue but intensify, raining down on the broadcast booth.
Mandy and her sidekick suddenly realize they've outed themselves and that maybe their actions have consequences. They slip out of sight, sinking to the floor like cheating CEOs at a rock concert.
Security begins to swarm the ice, and I'm escorted, along with the other players, back into the tunnel. I don't even try to dodge the food as it hits me. I deserve this, and then some.
