Miss it too,I type back, because it’s true and might be the last honest thing I can say to him.
We text back and forth, careful surface conversation that feels nothing like Saturday night’s vulnerability. He’s trying to gauge my mood, to figure out why I’m pulling away, but I can’t explain without sounding like I’m blaming him for problems that existed long before he kissed my cheek.
When he asks about dinner Friday, I tell him I need to think.
When he offers coffee instead, I give him the same non-answer.
Because thinking is all I can do right now, and every thought leads to the same conclusion: wanting this isn’t worth the risk of losing everything.
Thursday afternoon, I’m at the rink early. I need the comfort of routine, the distraction of other parents’ conversations, anything to stop my brain from cycling through worst-case scenarios.
Elliot appears beside me with two coffee cups and the expression of someone who knows exactly what’s wrong.
“Thought you might need this,” she says.
“How did you?—”
“Brody saw the photo. Figured Evan wouldn’t take it well.”
I accept the coffee gratefully. “He’s threatening custody modification.”
“Of course he is.” Elliot settles beside me, and there’s something fierce in her voice. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
“Before Brody, I was married to a hockey player in Phoenix. Team captain, thought he owned me and everyone around him.” Her tone is conversational, but there’s steel underneath. “When Brody and I became friends—just friends—Jason decided he was a threat. Used his influence to get Brody traded two thousand miles away.”
I look at her, surprised by the admission.
“Even after Brody was gone, the paranoia didn’t stop. Jason monitored my phone, my email, had teammates’ wives reporting back about every conversation I had. When I finally left him, he made sure I understood that choosing anyone over him meant losing everything else too.”
“How did you get through it?”
“Badly, at first. I convinced myself I was better off alone, that wanting more was selfish and dangerous.” She pauses. “When Brody came back to Phoenix three years later, I almost didn’tgive him a chance. I’d gotten so used to being afraid that I couldn’t remember what it felt like to hope for something.”
“What changed?”
“He bought the house next door and spent months proving that not all men use love as a weapon. That some of them actually mean it when they say they’re not going anywhere.”
Practice is winding down, kids skating toward the boards. Tyson spots me and waves, face bright with post-practice endorphins.
“Dex is different,” Elliot says quietly. “I’ve watched him with teammates’ families for years. He’s never shown interest in the kids, never remembered their names. But with Tyson and Blythe...”
She doesn’t finish, but I know what she means. I’ve seen how he lights up when they talk to him, how he remembers details about their progress that other coaches would forget.
“That doesn’t solve the practical problems.”
“No, but it suggests he might be worth solving them for.”
Tyson reaches the boards, already launching into his practice recap. Normal mom things that feel like lifelines right now.
That evening,after the kids are asleep, I sit with wine and silence and the weight of impossible choices.
I stare at the messages from our earlier conversation for a long time. I could tell him the truth—about the photo, about Evan’s threats, about how loving him might cost me my children. But that’s not fair to him, and it’s not fair to whatever this could become.
He promised he would wait. But he doesn’t understand what he’s promising. He doesn’t know that staying means becominga target, means having his life dissected in family court, means watching me sacrifice pieces of myself to keep my children safe.
I finish my wine in the dark kitchen, trying to accept what I already know.
