No agenda. Just want her to see that part of my life. The normal parts.
The parts that involve your teammates and their families instead of restaurant interruptions and celebrity bullshit.
Exactly.
I’ll ask her. But no pressure, no expectations. If she comes, it’s just to hang out. Not some elaborate courtship ritual.
Understood.
And Dex? If you screw this up, I’ll make sure Brody checks you through the boards so hard you’ll forget your own name.
Noted.
I put the phone away and focus on getting ready for the day. We’ve got one more game before we head home, and I’m determined to play it like someone who has his shit together instead of someone having an extended crisis over a woman who may or may not want to have coffee with him.
But as I’m tying my skates for morning skate, my phone buzzes with a message from Elliot.
She said maybe.
Maybe isn’t yes, but it’s not no either. And right now, maybe feels like the best possible outcome.
Maybe means there’s still a chance.
11
GOLDA
The photo loadson my laptop screen and the world tilts sideways.
“Malone’s Mystery Woman: New Romance or Another Fling?”
It’s grainy, taken from across the street, but it’s unmistakably us. Dex’s hand in mine, walking down the street after our impromptu waterfront dinner. My face is partially obscured, but my hair, my jacket, the way I walk—anyone who knows me would recognize me instantly.
My phone starts ringing before I can even process what this means.
No. Not yet. I need a minute to think, to figure out how to handle this.
The phone stops ringing. Immediately starts again.
My hands shake as I answer. “Hello, Evan.”
“Well, well. Interesting morning reading.” His voice has that calm, controlled tone that means I’m already fucked. “Wantto explain why my children’s mother is showing up in hockey gossip blogs?”
The coffee in my mouth turns to ash. “I don’t know what?—”
“Don’t lie to me, Golda. The photo’s right here on my computer. You and that coach, holding hands like some lovesick teenager. Tell me, how long has this been going on?”
“We had dinner. Once.”
“Bullshit. The kids talk about him constantly. Coach Dex this, Coach Dex that. You’ve been carrying on with him right under my nose.”
My chest tightens. “It’s not like that. We’re both adults?—”
“Are you? Because this doesn’t look like adult behavior. This looks like a woman having some kind of midlife crisis and dragging my children into it.”
“The children weren’t there.”
“But they know about him. They’re attached to him. And now the whole city knows their mother is dating some athlete who makes headlines for property damage and public drinking.”
