Page 25 of Making the Save
“What if I didn’t want to do it?” I snapped.
“Well, you put us in this mess, so I’m not sure you get a say.”
Tyler stood as if this was the end of the discussion. This was not the end of the discussion.
Number one, I didn’t do makeup. Two, where the hell was I supposed to stay around here? Three, was this what Syd really wanted? A sit down with a woman who sounded just as mean as Tyler.
Beatrice followed Tyler out of the house. They were having a heated conversation and I heard another sneeringhockey playercome out of his mouth.
When they were gone it was quiet. Just the sound of waves and gulls crying over the beach. Syd and I sat next to each other in total quiet, like we understood what we needed. The peace ofthis place worked fast, and after a few minutes it was like Tyler hadn’t even been there.
Eventually, I turned to look at a clock mounted on the wall inside, surprised to find it was dinner time. Other than our breakfast this morning and a few cookies I’d managed to snag off the fancy tea serving plate, I hadn’t eaten nearly enough and I was starving.
“I need to find a hotel,” I said. “Is there anywhere close?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Syd said quietly. “We can’t spend our second night as a married couple separated.”
Married couple.
Marriage was always something I imagined I’d do after hockey. When I could devote myself to my wife and family.
Which wasn’t the case for a lot of players. Coaches and ownership actually encouraged marriage. They believed, especially with some of the younger players, it settled them down. Made them less likely to get in trouble or want to party too hard.
Wives helped players manage their professional careers off the ice. Charities, attending the right events. Team outings. Family days.
But I wanted a partner, not a personal assistant.
My parent’s marriage was rough in a lot of ways, but my dad loved my mom, full out. Sacrificed a lot to be with her. Compromised even more. Mom did the same in her way too.
I looked at Syd, staring out at the water from this home she’d bought, with money she’d made from her music. She was a first-class talent with a massive career. Fame and popularity. Maybe some tarnish on her reputation from the media, but wasn’t that always the case with someone who shined so bright?
She would make a lousy hockey wife.
Her work would absolutely take priority over managing my boring life. She would attract all this attention, which would bea terrible distraction during my season. She’d be on the road touring instead of coming to home games.
None of that was in the WAGS handbook.
Could I be a music star’s husband? I imagined there’d be parties. Some red carpets. I hated the sound of that. I wasn’t good at parties. And red carpets seemed stupid. But, there would also be lots of concerts in foreign cities. That didn’t sound so bad.
Our kids would have to wear those big headphones to protect their hearing.
Holy shit, man. Get it together.
One day in this fake relationship and I was thinking about kids.
A little girl with Syd’s adorable elfin face…
“I have two bedrooms here,” she said. “You can take the guest room. It’s not like we’re strangers, given that we slept in the same bed last night.”
There was that blush again. It started at the base of her neck and moved up over her cheeks. I wanted to run my thumb against her skin to see if I could feel the heat of that blush.
“Are you hungry,” she asked, and stood up to go into the kitchen. “I haven’t been here in a few days, but I keep the basics around. Spaghetti, okay?”
My stomach rumbled. “Spaghetti sounds great.”
She got out a pot and I took it from her to fill it with water. I set it on the stove and turned the gas to high. I wasn’t much of a cook, but I could help her out. She seasoned the water with salt and then took a box out of the cabinet. She pulled out a handful and looked at me as if to gauge my reaction to the serving size.
My brows lifted.