"Oh dear."
"Yup.Story of my life—a man got in the way of my dreams…again.”I laugh ruefully."That's not entirely true.It was as much my own stupid decisions as anything Kevin did."
“Meaning knock you up?"
"Sort of, yes, but not right away."I shake my head."That came later.I was twenty-four, so older than most of the other skaters, but I wasgood.My qualifying program is still out there on the internet somewhere, I think."
"So what happened?"
"Kevin was a hockey player.Beer league, rec league, or whatever.He was honestly pretty terrible."
"He was a forensic accountant."
I snicker."He didn't exactly look it, though, honey.I still have a type."
She boggles at me."You have a type?"
I arch an eyebrow."Yup.Point is, he played hockey.Never missed a practice or a game.I missed lots of my stuff to show up for his, even though my comps meant me progressing toward the Olympics, and his games were just for fun.Whatever.A couple of months after qualifying, he had a game.It was a rival team that always beat them.There was a brawl on the ice, a lot of guys got arrested and needed stitches, including Kevin."
"Oh, geez.Boys."
I snort."Right?Well, it would have been fine, but some of the guys from the rival team jumped Kevin and some of the others at a bar a few days later.Beat the hell out of them, put 'em in the hospital.Kevin had a cracked skull, broken ribs, broken orbital bone, and a broken nose."
"Jesus.Over a beer league hockey game?"
I shrug."Over fragile male egos and their obsession with solving things with their fists."I shake my head.“We were married by then, I should probably mention."
"Wait, go back.He was a forensic accountant who didn't look the part because you have a type—that being big, rough assholes?"It was a question, but she kept going."He was also a hockey player who got into brawls, but he was nice and all that other stuff that made him different from your other exes.Do I have all that right?"
I sigh.“Yeah, pretty much.He had a steady job that had him home at five-thirty every day.He lived in chinos and polos or button-downs.His idea of casual wear was a graphic tee tucked into his pressed blue jeans."
Mal guffawed."He tucked his T-shirts into his jeans, which heironed?”
"He did.With a belt.And loafers."
"No socks?"
“Obviously.”
"O-M-G."
What I'm not telling her is that I hated how he dressed, but he more than made up for it in the bedroom.That's none of her business and irrelevant to this discussion.
"So…what happened?”she asks.
"He got into a car accident and had a TBI—a pretty bad one.He had a concussion after the beating, and the car accident compounded the already very serious brain damage from the wreck.It took him over a year to recover enough to go back to work.I had to take care of him.I had to choose between my husband and the Olympics.I chose him."
Mallory is silent for a long time."God, Mom.Twice, you came so close—twice!"
I nod."I did."
"It was while I was taking care of him that I got pregnant."
"You'd already had to pick, though, by then, right?"
I nod."Yeah.I knew by then that the Olympics weren't happening.He had no real family to speak of—his parents both died when he was in college—so I was it, and there was no way I could leave him home alone that long.He still got confused easily, he was tired all the time, got migraines, all sorts of things.He was honestly super lucky that he recovered as well as he did, according to the neurologist.”
"I guess I understand the hockey thing, now," Mal says.
