4. Riley #2
Her fingers stayed against the glass.
Nicolle folded her arms across herself and made an exaggerated show of shivering for the photographers. She laughed toward Graham, tipping her shoulders as another burst of flashes scattered across the ice.
Graham laughed too.
Then he unfolded the sweater.
Riley waited for him to sling it over one shoulder until his pads came off. That was what he always did. The sweater belonged to the ritual after the game, after the noise, after the cameras lost interest.
Instead, Graham stepped toward Nicolle.
He lifted the sweater around her shoulders.
The old wool settled over her dress, and Nicolle gathered the front closed with both hands while photographers crowded in. Graham adjusted one side where it had folded beneath her hair, then drew her against him for the shot.
Riley stopped pressing against the barrier.
“The captain is officially joined by Nicolle on center ice! Look at the Ice Royalty soaking up this incredible championship victory, keeping each other warm for the cameras!”
The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena.
That sweater had lived through broken heaters, unpaid bills, rusted lockers, and nights when she had sharpened skates until her hands cramped because ten dollars mattered. She had patched it instead of replacing it because Graham loved that it came from those years.
Now Nicolle wore it for a campaign photograph.
Graham leaned toward a nearby microphone.
“This season belongs to Nicolle! She is my absolute good luck charm, and together we’re an unstoppable powerhouse on this ice!”
Riley stared at the wool gathered beneath Nicolle’s hands.
The pregnancy test was still inside her purse.
This morning, she had believed one word on a tiny screen could remind Graham where home was.
He had just handed their history to somebody else.
She let her hands slip from the glass.
“She can have it. Take it all.”
Nobody around her reacted. The crowd kept roaring, the photographers kept shooting, and Graham remained under the lights with Nicolle wrapped in Riley’s sweater.
Riley turned her back on the ice and walked away.
The roar from the arena faded behind Riley as she reached the home-team corridor. A security guard stood beside the locker-room entrance, attention divided between his radio and the celebration spilling through the tunnel.
“Can I see your credential?”
Riley lifted the lanyard from her chest.
The guard glanced at it. “Locker room’s empty right now. Players are still tied up on the ice.”
“That’s fine.”
He stepped aside.
Riley pushed through the door, letting it shut behind her. The closed door muffled the crowd outside, leaving the room entirely quiet among the rows of stalls, discarded tape, and the faint smell of sweat and ozone.
For the first time since the final horn, nobody was trying to move her.
She crossed toward Graham’s stall.
His team-issued phone rattled against the shelf.
The screen lit up.
Riley stopped beside the bench as the first notification appeared beneath the time.
“Brilliant stunt today! The board is completely ecstatic over those sweater photos on the ice.”
She stared at the words.
Sweater photos.
Not an accident. Not Graham improvising because Nicolle claimed she was cold. Somewhere inside this building, executives were already congratulating one another because the woman standing under the cameras had been wrapped in Riley’s work.
Another notification replaced it.
“Engagement is tracking through the roof right now. Make sure you hit the VIP party by eight sharp to fully capitalize on this momentum.”
The phone buzzed again.
Riley stared at the screen until it dimmed.
That morning, she had sat on the edge of the sink with a pregnancy test in her hand and convinced herself that Graham only needed something real enough to cut through the noise.
She had carried that secret into this arena believing their baby would remind him that sponsors were temporary and family was not.
The board had watched him give away their history and called it brilliant.
Her purse rested against her side, the test still sealed inside.
Riley reached up and pulled the VIP lanyard over her head. The plastic credential dangled from her fingers before she set it on Graham’s bench.
All-access.
The phrase printed across the card almost made her laugh.
The credential had gotten her through doors. It had not earned her a place beside her own husband.
“Have fun at the VIP party, Graham.”
His phone buzzed against the shelf again.
Riley reached over and turned it facedown.
The room returned to its muffled quiet. Her lanyard remained on the bench beneath the shelf.
She looked at the empty stall.
“It’s exactly the life you paid for. I hope it keeps you warm.”
She looked down at the silver band on her left hand.
For years, she had worn it through freezing apartments, broken equipment, overtime shifts, and every move Graham’s career demanded. It had stayed on her finger while they counted grocery money and strangers began recognizing his face in airports.
Now it looked out of place.
Riley touched the ring with her thumb.
She twisted it once around her finger.
“I swear to God, Riley, I will always protect you first. You are the only thing in this world that actually matters.”
His old voice belonged to a different room and a different version of him. Back then, promises had come without handlers standing nearby to approve them.
She worked the ring over her knuckle.
It caught for a moment.
Riley adjusted her grip and pulled again until the band slipped free into her palm.