Accidentally Living With The Captain (Chicago Awakenings #3)

Chapter 1

HUDSON

End of September

“Hudson, this is your third year now as captain, how are you feeling about the team culture going into this season?” one of the many reporters surrounding me asks.

I’m sitting on the bench in front of my stall in the locker room after winning our final preseason home game, stripped down to my base layers with a towel draped around my shoulders, answering the media’s questions.

Each reporter has a microphone or phone held out toward me, hoping to get something interesting to report on, and I’m happy to play along.

I’ve been in the NHL for thirteen years now, and the AHL before that, so I’m no stranger to these post-game interviews. Some of the guys despise any and all media interaction, but I’ve never minded flashing a smile to the cameras or talking about how great my life is.

Even on the days that we lose, we’re still out there getting paid to play hockey, and until recently, I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

“I’m feeling great about the team,” I answer honestly. “We’ve got a lot of young talent moving up this year, and it's been awesome to see how hard they’re working to earn their spot. They really want it, ya know? That’s only going to help us out on the ice.”

“Are you hoping for another year with Bell and Martin on your line? Or do you think Coach will switch things up with all the new names?”

“I mean, yeah, I’d love to finish things out with them. Our line had the highest points last year for a reason, that chemistry is solid, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries out some other options, too. Especially with it being my last season.”

The crowd murmurs at the reminder of my retirement.

For some reason after I made the announcement that I’d be done after my current contract, almost no one believed me.

There were countless articles about how I was using my retirement “threat” to negotiate a better deal, that the Werewolves weren’t offering me enough money, that I was too young to really be done, so it had to be a ploy.

But thirty-four doesn’t feel young when I’ve spent most of my life being slammed into the boards and taking punches from the best of them.

“Hudson, are you still planning to be done at the end of the season?” another reporter asks, because apparently, if I don’t officially confirm my retirement plans after every game, they aren’t happening.

If possible, my smile grows even more as I look right at the camera that’s aimed at me.

I don’t want them to misinterpret my answer.

“Hockey has always been my focus, and I’ll always love it, but I’m also excited for the next chapter in my life.

I’ve been lucky to have a long career, but I don’t think I’ll be able to keep up with these young guys much longer.

” I nod my head to the side in Oliver Bell’s direction where he’s surrounded by his own media crowd.

“It’s been an honor to play for the Werewolves for as long as I have, and to be their captain, helping guide so many young players at the start of their time in the NHL.

I’m really looking forward to this final season skating with them, I hope it’s a long one.

When it ends, though, whether that’s in April or in June, I’ll be happy to hang up my skates.

I’m ready to focus on my family. My beautiful wife, Shelby, has put up with my crazy travel schedule for long enough.

I can’t wait for us to finally expand our family and become parents. ”

“Hudson Roy?” a man in a plain black suit, just like other reporters, asks as he presses his outstretched phone even closer to me.

I don’t recognize the media outlet on his press pass, and maybe he’s new, because I only heard him ask my name, but I don’t want to embarrass the guy on his first day by calling him out on not knowing the players or what the typical interview style is.

“That’s me,” I reply easily with another smile, earning a few laughs from the rest of the people surrounding me.

He reaches into his laptop bag and pulls out a thick manilla envelope, holding it out to me. “You’ve been served.”

“Served?” I repeat, my smile faltering a bit, because I have no idea what he’s talking about. The crowd around me has gone silent, and without really thinking it through, I open the envelope.

I’m used to being given direction and following it without complaint.

One of the coaches wants us to run through a drill?

Or have me skate with a different line? I do it, no questions asked.

That’s part of why they like having me as their captain.

I set a good example, both on the ice and off it.

I have the experience, good instincts; I know the other players and what works in a game.

I’ve always been one of the top scoring players on the team.

I’m also easygoing and approachable. I handle the media well.

I’m not in any news headlines. I’m married, not out hooking up and partying after games.

But outside of hockey? I might not be the smartest guy out there. Following my gut to act quickly on the ice also means I tend to act before considering the consequences. Like right now, as I skim the document this stranger just handed me, reading some of it aloud in my confusion.

“State of Illinois… Summons? Petition for the dissolution of marriage? You have thirty days to file a response? What the fuck does any of that mean?” I mutter to myself, the lack of understanding overwhelming my media training so I completely forget where I am and who can hear me.

“Are you getting a divorce?” someone asks.

“Hudson, you just said you were planning to focus on your family; is there trouble at home? Is that the real reason you’re retiring?”

“Now that your wife is leaving you, will you want to stay in the league?”

Each question sounds further away as the reality of what’s happening finally sinks in.

Shelby is leaving me.

With no warning, no discussion, no attempts at therapy. She’s already filed legal paperwork for a divorce.

I thought we were happy. In love.

We’ve been talking about having kids. I wasn’t just saying that for the cameras.

Maybe it’s a joke? Everyone knows that Shelby and I are married. There was no hiding her name from the media when she used to be a supermodel. Maybe someone thought this would be a funny way to convince me not to retire.

I need to talk to her.

“Excuse me,” I finally mutter, standing and weaving my way past the crowd of reporters that seems to have doubled since I was handed this envelope.

I duck into a dark hallway that leads to some of the assistant coaches’ offices and PT rooms, not really sure where I’m going, but I know I can’t be around all those people. I don’t bother to see if anyone follows, but I hear someone say “No media access back there, leave him alone” pretty harshly.

God, I hate that my team has to step up and defend me. That’s supposed to be my job.

Luckily I’d already grabbed my phone from my bag, so I pull up Shelby’s number. After what feels like an agonizing pause where the phone rings far too many times, she finally answers.

“Hey.”

“Sweetie, what's going on? A man just handed me what looks like divorce papers. Is it real?” The silence on the other end of the call has my stomach twisting. The hope that this was all a misunderstanding is fading fast, stealing my future and all my hopes and plans with it. “Can’t we talk about this?” I practically beg, my voice cracking.

“Hudson, you had to have seen this coming,” she finally answers, sounding like this conversation is already exhausting her. “I’ve told you that I didn’t want kids.”

Um, no. She didn’t. That would have definitely stood out to me. “But we talk about having kids all the time.”

“No, you’ve been talking about having kids constantly. I’ve been trying to talk about literally anything else. I told you a few months ago that I wasn’t getting pregnant.”

“I thought you meant while I was traveling so much, not forever. I’ll be retired, I’ll be home all the time now.”

“Yeah, that’s not the selling point you think it is,” she says dismissively. “I have no desire to volunteer to get fat and be tired all the time. There’s just no way I would willingly get pregnant.”

What the actual fuck is happening right now? How could I have been so wrong about what my wife had planned for us? Maybe it’s just cold feet about the being pregnant part. Maybe there’s a chance I could still fix this.

Feeling desperate, I try to come up with a compromise. “Well, don't celebrities hire people to grow their babies? We could do that.”

Shelby sighs loudly into the phone. “You don’t get it, Hudson. Babies are always there. If I have a baby to take care of, how will I go on trips or go shopping or do all of the things I need to do for myself?”

“You’d really rather go shopping than be a mother?”

“Don’t make it sound so awful, not everyone wants to be a parent.

Plus, if you’re retiring soon, how will I afford that stuff anyway?

It's been fun but it's over. Don’t come home. This place is mine. I picked it out and designed everything. You’re never here anyway so it won’t even matter. I'll have my lawyer call your lawyer.”

She hangs up.

And just like that my marriage is… over?

All the plans I’d been making in my head, the two of us decorating a nursery, singing to the baby, teaching them how to walk and talk, none of that will happen now.

I had all these ideas of what our family would look like: what sports the kids might play, that I could help coach, the vacations I wanted to take them on, even the books I was excited to read to them.

What the fuck do I do now?

My future hasn’t felt this uncertain since I entered the draft.