Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
AJ
“ A re you positive you're okay?" Lauren asks.
I glance over to her from where I've been staring out the wall of windows along one side of my office, overlooking the practice rink. Below us, the players are on the ice, getting ready for tomorrow night's game when Philly comes to Boston.
I've been so focused on McCabe that I've literally lost track of our conversation. I’m too busy worrying about how he’s dealing with me walking out yesterday, and not responding to his text last night asking if we could talk.
As I watch this practice, it’s clear that something’s off with him. And the way Charlie’s arms are flying and his mouth doesn’t stop moving while McCabe stands there hanging his head, I’m worried about whether it will affect his game, too.
“Yeah,” I say with a small laugh and a shake of my head. “I guess I'm just thinking about our next game.”
Lauren eyes me skeptically, like she knows I'm not telling her the truth. “What's really going on, AJ? You're not yourself.”
Shit. And here I thought I was doing such a good job hiding my feelings, but I guess I'm not. “Nothing's wrong.”
“You're never distracted like this,” she says. “You’ve had this vacant look on your face half the time we’ve been chatting. Like, you're physically here, but your mind is elsewhere.”
Laughing to myself, I’m thankful I'm able to hold it in because, yeah, my mind is certainly elsewhere. Mainly thinking about all the ways in which I've probably already screwed up this thing with McCabe.
Yesterday morning, I rushed out of his condo because I was overcome with emotion. The way he was looking at me while I sat on the floor playing with Abby, and the way my heart ached for a life I once thought I could have—a life full of children, a loving husband, and something to fulfill me besides my work.
It was just too much, because that's no longer my reality.
Sitting there on that floor, though, with Abby on one side of me and McCabe on the other, I had this moment when I wondered if that life was still a possibility. If maybe I was being given some sort of a second chance? A do-over?
But I needed space so I could figure out if the complexity of our situation is too much of an obstacle to overcome.
“AJ.” My name is a sharp reprimand coming off Lauren’s lips. “You're scaring me right now.”
It's only then that I realize I haven't even responded to her. “I’m sorry. I really am just lost in my head.”
“Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?” she asks.
God, do I want to talk about it.
And while I know that I could tell Nicholas and my secret would be safe with him, I also know that the advice he would give me might not be as right for me as the advice Lauren could give. As an employee here, she will understand the nuances of this situation more than Nicholas would. As a woman who decided to take a second chance on love after roiling from the turmoil of betrayal, she’ll understand why I’m so hesitant to believe that this could work.
“I do want to talk about it,” I say with a sigh. “But the problem is, Lauren, I can’t.”
“Why not?” Her eyebrows dip with confusion and concern. “Is it too personal to share?”
I take in the way she looks a tiny bit hurt at that idea. Like she thought we were close enough that I would confide in her, but is now realizing we're not. And I don't want her to feel that way, because that isn't accurate. She knows all about my struggles with infertility, Chet cheating on me, and our divorce. She knows how distant I keep myself from men now, so that I can never be hurt like that again. She’s the best friend I have, and I trust her implicitly.
“No,” I tell her, “it's not that. It...it has to do with work and it's highly confidential.”
“Well, if you change your mind, I'm happy to keep your secret. I think you know you can rely on me not to say anything to anyone. Especially not here at work.”
I think about how I once offered to bury a body for her, and I’m sure she’d do the same for me. If I can't even talk to her about this, how could I ever go public with our relationship?
The reason I'm so fucking conflicted is that yesterday, after I woke up from some of the best sex of my life and I sat playing with Abby on the floor, McCabe came in with his hair all disheveled from sleep and that dreamy look on his face as he stood there in nothing but his grey sweats...looking at me like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I've never wanted anything more in my entire life.
A man who listens to and respects me, who delivers orgasm after fucking orgasm, who takes care of me when I’m hurt, who has a child I adore, who’s life I fit into so easily and naturally that it’s hard to picture myself walking away.
I don’t want to walk away.
“Do you swear you can keep this secret, Lauren? Because it’s a big one.”
Her eyes widen, like she really didn’t think I was going to confide in her.
“Yeah, of course,” she rushes out, a small smile playing on her lips. “I can keep your secret.”
“Okay, so here's what's going on . . .”
Ten minutes later, I'm trying my best to hold back the tears and she's sitting next to me, clasping my hand and looking at me like she doesn't even know me.
“AJ, you really have feelings for him, don't you?”
“Yeah.” The word is an admission that comes out with a laugh. Because this is the most unlikely thing that ever could have happened.
“Why is there even a question in your mind, then?” Lauren asks.
“Because how could it ever work out? How could I ever be with him when he works for me? How could I ever be with him without ruining everything I've built for myself? You have to admit, I’ll become a laughingstock as a GM if I'm dating one of my players.”
“Will you?” she asks as she pushes her red hair behind one shoulder. “Or are you just worried that you will?”
My eyes narrow. “I’m worried because I know it will happen.”
She just gives me a small smile and questions me once more. “Do you?”
“Lauren, what do you think is going to happen? You think I'm just going to tell the world that I'm dating our team captain, and everyone's going to be like, ‘Cool, cool. Yeah, that seems appropriate?’ I've spent my whole life carving space in this sport for women. I've made this team into what it is, staked my reputation on honesty and transparency, and I've never once even thought about crossing any kind of a professional boundary. I've made sure that I've brought on players who are not just excellent at their sport but are also good people, because I never want to work with an asshole like Chet again.”
“So you're telling me, that even though you've done everything you possibly could to prevent yourself from having feelings for one of your players, McCabe still managed to sneak right past all of your defenses and make you fall for him?”
“Yeah, I guess that is what I'm saying.”
“And you're telling me,” she says, looking at me pointedly, “that you don't know if that’s worth fighting for? This person who knows you, who you've confided in, who's obsessed with you and has told you he wants more than just sex, and you don't think that's worth fighting for?” The pitch of her voice raises with each question. When she puts it like that, it does sound like maybe I’m focusing more on the obstacles than the possibility, and perhaps I'm not trying hard enough to find a solution.
“I just don't see any way it can work out...”
“No, you don't see any way it can work out without some discomfort. But is that really the worst thing? So people talk. So people question whether it's appropriate. If you know in your heart of hearts that this is good and right, why does any of that matter?”
“I never wanted to be a public figure,” I say with a little laugh.
Lauren gives me a smile. “Perils of breaking the glass ceiling, I guess.”
“Mmhmm. I just never envisioned a downside to this work. Hockey has always been the singular focus of my life,” I tell her. “And I love that Frank gave me a chance in this organization. And I love that the team has stood behind me every step of the way. And the thought of anything that I've built here being called into question, of my ethics being called into question.” I have to stop because my throat is thick, and the tears are threatening to fall.
“Yeah,” Lauren says, squeezing my hand. “People might call your ethics into question. But you know that there's nothing to question. And I know it, and Frank will know it, and every single person in this organization will know it. And isn't that what really matters?”
I think about what she's saying and realize that there's a lot of wisdom there. It’s exactly what McCabe has been saying. His words from our conversation in the car in Philly keep going through my head. I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks, AJ. And the sooner you can let go of maintaining this perfect image, the sooner we can stop sneaking around.
“I guess I can kiss that GM of the Year Award goodbye,” I say with a watery laugh. I don’t know why I’m crying. I resigned myself years ago to the fact that I was never going to get that award, but with this year’s nomination, it felt so close...so possible.
“Maybe,” Lauren says, “but maybe not. You never know, AJ. People might surprise you.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat, wishing that we lived in a world where there was any chance of that happening. “Yeah,” I sigh. “I don't think that will be the case.”
But when I really stop and think about it, does it even matter? So I don't get this award. I’ve never been the kind of person who needed an award to tell me I’d done a good job. The satisfaction is always in the work itself, in winning on the ice. Does not getting an award negate any of the success I've had here?
In the end, what's going to be more fulfilling? Twenty years from now, am I going to say to myself, Thank God I gave up on that relationship , but at least I got that award?
“I think you know what you need to do,” Lauren tells me.
“Yeah.” I nod, taking a deep breath. “But I don't even know where to start.”
“Might I suggest that you start by talking to Frank?”
“The thought of telling my boss that I'm sleeping with one of my players has me about to throw up.”
“Maybe it's time you stop letting fear rule your decision making.”
I chuckle at her kind critique and how she winces slightly as she says it.
“Yeah, maybe. But first, I think I need to talk to McCabe. If this were any other new relationship, we wouldn’t need to go public about it like this. I hate that we can’t keep this private and see where it goes.”
“AJ, if this were any other relationship, there’d be no reason to keep it private. The only reason you’re scared for people to find out is because he works for you.”
“And because I’m terrified by how quickly and completely I’m falling for him. This is all happening so fast.”
She gives my hand one last supportive squeeze, like she’s trying to tell me she believes I can do this. “Fast doesn’t mean bad. Let me know how it goes with both those conversations.” As she stands, she turns back to me. “Oh, what are you doing tomorrow night? Paige is finally home from her last business trip, and we’re going to go out for dinner. Morgan might come too. You want to join us?”
“I’d love to,” I tell her. I could really use more girl-time in my life, and I haven’t seen Lauren’s sister, Paige, in months. She’s a business consultant who travels all the time for work, but we have a ton in common and I really like her. “But I already told Nicholas he could come over for dinner.”
I’m always happy to see my brother, but I feel a pang of regret that I can’t take her up on her offer. In my entire adult life, I don’t think I’ve ever had girlfriends I could trust and talk to until now.
Part of that is my fault. My move back to St. Louis after college, dating Chet, and ultimately getting my first job in the NHL—in those years I was either surrounded by the backstabbing social elite I’d grown up with, or hockey men.
When I moved to Boston, I was so focused on my career that I didn’t make time for friendships, or any kind of non-business relationships. I was too busy making sure my brother was adjusting to boarding school but still knowing that I was here for him, and rebuilding this team into what it is today.
Immersing myself into work was the easiest way to avoid thinking about how shitty my parents and my marriage both were. Instead, I’d focused my attention on the fact that I had broken Nicholas and myself free of their toxic generational cycles. And I’d relished those victories so much that I’d inadvertently made work my entire personality.
But the way Lauren has worked to fold me into her friend group over the last year and hasn’t given up on me even when I’m always working or traveling; the way she knows that female friendships are hard for me, but doesn’t let me pull away; the way she shows up for me, like I showed up for her a year ago when she discovered her late husband had a whole separate life she didn’t know about—it makes me realize that maybe work isn’t “enough.”
Maybe my life would be far more fulfilling if I focused more energy on relationships outside of work.
“You’re cooking?” she asks, like it’s the most preposterous thing possible, more so even than me being in a relationship with McCabe.
“He’s cooking, just at my place.”
“Okay, well, tell him and Nicole I said ‘hi.’ And if anything changes, please come out with us.”
“I will. But if not this time, next time, for sure.”