CHAPTER THIRTY
RHETT
Day Twenty-Eight
The deciding playoff game begins forty-eight hours after I clear return-to-play protocol.
Coach limits my minutes. The trainer checks my pupils until I threaten to start charging rent. Lucas says this is what happens when a brain finally becomes valuable.
Before warmups, the locker room is quiet.
The series has stretched through injury, scandal, and enough public opinion to bury a season. The younger players look at me because captains are expected to manufacture certainty.
I used to give speeches about sacrifice.
Tonight, I say, "Do your job. Trust the next man. If you make a mistake, own it before it spreads. No one wins alone, and no one gets to hide inside the team."
Lucas taps his stick against the floor. The others follow.
The game is not cinematic.
It is exhausting.
We trade goals. I miss the net twice. Lucas allows one he will replay in nightmares. A rookie defenseman recovers from a turnover and blocks a shot with his ankle. In the third period, tied three to three, I win a faceoff and send the puck to the point.
The rebound reaches Mateo Ruiz.
He scores.
Not me.
The final horn sounds with us leading four to three.
For the first time, advancing feels better because I did not need to be the hero.
During the on-ice interview, the reporter asks two hockey questions before making the inevitable turn.
"Rhett, your wife leaves soon for an international assignment. Does winning tonight change anything for your marriage?"
The arena waits.
Nora is not in the photo bay. She chose to spend the evening finishing exhibition sales and preparing equipment. I am glad she is not here to become a reaction shot.
"My wife was never a prize awarded for winning," I say. "She accepted an extraordinary job because she earned it. The result of a hockey game has nothing to do with whether she should live the life she wants."
"Are you asking her to stay?"
"No."
A murmur moves through the crowd.
"Do you hope she comes back?"
I think of the note in my wallet. Not forgiveness. Not nothing.
"I hope she goes everywhere she once made herself smaller to avoid," I say. "If our paths meet again, I want it to be because we both chose the same place."
Tessa ends the interview.
By the time I reach the locker room, the clip is everywhere.
Lucas throws a towel at my head. "You made the equipment manager cry."
"He's emotional."
"He fought a mascot last season."
My phone contains one message from Nora.
NORA: Congratulations. And thank you.
RHETT: The team earned it. You earned the job.
NORA: I leave a day earlier than planned. Flight changed. Tomorrow night.
The room tilts without any concussion.
Tomorrow.
Every instinct tells me to go to her. Make a final speech. Stand in the airport. Give love a scene large enough to compete with departure.
I call Tessa.
"Do not arrange anything," I say.
"I wasn't going to."
"Do not let me arrange anything."
"That I believe."
At the hotel, I write Nora a letter.
Four pages become two. Two become one. I remove every sentence asking her to remember me. I remove promises measured in forever because forever is where I hid delay.
The final note reads:
Nora, make them see what you see. Travel safely. I will protect the foundation, respect the legal process, and continue the work whether you are watching or not. I love you. — Rhett
I do not send flowers.
I do not send a car.
I send the note through Maren and go to practice.
Leaving her free feels nothing like losing.
It feels like loving without possession for the first time.