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Then I dropped the four-letter L word… la la la la looooooooove, and she was all gooey and mush. Which, honestly, I felt a little bad about as I told her I knew in Nevada that I wanted to spend my life with Sienna and I didn’t want to wait an hour more than I had to. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel as guilty about spinning her that line as I had been expecting.

The real putty-momma came out, though, once I told her that Sienna would be my plus one to the charity gala this Wednesday. All “six weeks you’ve been married!” shrieks and “I’m your only mother!” screams suddenly dissolved into excitement.

Now, it’s morning skate at our home rink, which always feels nice after being on the road. I’m on one knee, stretching my hip-flexor, nestled among Suzuki, Tray and TJ, who are all in the same position.

“She’s been blowing up my phone all morning,” TJ says about Mom. “She’s giving me whiplash. She’s been pissed with me because of your shit. Did you notice she didn’t make a preseason meatloaf for me, by the way? She always makes the meatloaf.”

“She’s been out of state and so have we,” I point out.

We switch legs, in sync with the rest of the team, all forming our usual broad circle around the fitness coach.

“If you getting meatloaf depends on Jax not fucking up, kid,” Tray says, “you’d better learn the recipe pretty quickly.”

I snort. “Too right.” But I am intrigued. “Why is she blowing up your phone?” I ask TJ.

“Because she’s on the fucking ceiling with excitement. Remember the first time Sas brought Colton home to visit and Mom had a blow out, professional makeup done, new outfit and everything?”

Mom was genuinely buzzed when our sister declared she was in love with one of Dad’s clients, which Dad got over pretty quickly because now he finally has the professional footballer son he’s always wanted.

“Well, this is going to be way worse, Jax,” TJ says.

We all pop up to stand on the ice for a final fold forward to touch the toes of our skates.

“You think so?” I ask, even though I couldn’t agree more.

I got married. Is this really only hitting me full throttle now, six weeks post minion nuptials?

“Alright, boys, hit the showers for lunch,” our fitness coach says, right as Coach Garrison skates onto the ice and hollers, “Jax, you’ve got a visitor.”

I glance to the edge of the ice, first clocking Sienna in the bold red dress she’s worn for work today. She’s started wearing brighter colors than her usual darker shades, I’ve noticed.

This dress I’ve never seen on her, but she went shopping at the weekend for a new one for the gala and almost fell through the door at home with the weight of her new purchases, which she told me was on account of “needing a change,” and because she still hasn’t fully moved out her things from her old apartment with Carl yet. I’m trying not to book removal guys or take the key and go over there myself to finish the job.

But hold up, I think, right as TJ asks, “Who’s that guy?”

If the subtly forlorn expression Sienna is sporting isn’t enough, the fact the man next to her looks like a shorter, thinner version of my old high-school history teacher might be the thing that makes my stomach sink.

“I’ve no idea,” I mutter to TJ before skating in the direction of Coach, Sienna and the elbow patch, brown jacket wearing man. I’m keen to get right in front of him, to stop him from looking down his nose at me the way he is now.

Sienna folds her arms – she’s uncomfortable, whoever this guy is, and maybe that’s the reason I skate right up to her and bring my hand to the small of her back. We’ve maintained her no PDA rule at the rink but I want her to know I’m here, even as I rack my brain to think of what I’ve done wrong to have someone who looks official, which he attempts to prove as he holds out a clip-on badge, too close to my face.

He looks supercilious as I squint to read his small details – making out before any other words Department for Immigration.

Oh fuck.

“We can go to my office,” Sienna says, then to Coach, “Sorry, Coach.”

Sienna leads the way and the immigration guy seems genuinely buzzed about whatever is going down here as he follows her.

Coach holds up my sneakers, which he must have brought from the locker room, and asks through his teeth, “What is this about, Jax?”

I want to give him one of my usual witty retorts. Be dismissive. But the truth is, I don’t know and I don’t like it one bit.

* * *

I haven’t had reason to come to Mitch’s office since Sienna took it over but it feels different – smells like her, has incense sticks in the window and a vase of flowers on the corner of her, unsurprisingly, neat and tidy desk.

There’s a small table in the room with two chairs at it. She wheels her desk chair over so that we’re all sitting together, though it still feels like Mr Mantel – as he’s introduced himself – adopts a power position.