Chapter 13
~Three months later~
~Daley~
Early morning sunlight streaks through the linen curtains in my kitchen as I cream the sugar and butter in my mixing bowl.
At the table on the other side of the cozy room, Jane bends over her paperwork, doing whatever magic she does to balance the books for my tutoring business.
Teaching might be my forte, but accounting, I leave to her.
“You still haven’t told me what the plan is when you see him today,” she says when I switch the mixer off to crack a couple of eggs into the mixture.
“River?” I ask, knowing very well my friend isn’t talking about my son. “I’m going to tell him I’m proud of him and to have a great time at his first NHL training camp.”
Jane’s unsatisfied scowl makes it hard not to laugh, but I manage to keep my lips in a straight line. “You know I mean Mr One-Night-in-Vegas with the huge…”
I switch the mixer back on before she can finish her sentence. It doesn’t stop Jane from talking, but at least I don’t have to hear whatever’s coming out of her mouth.
“You’re going to make me regret that I ever told you about it,” I warn her when the dough looks right and I pop the beaters out of the mixer and toss them into the sink. “You’re supposed to be sworn to secrecy.”
“Who am I telling? There’s no one else here.”
True. At the moment, we’re alone, but my students have a habit of wandering in and out of my house like it’s their own. My door is always open, and the last thing I need is for someone to overhear Jane commenting on the size of Deacon’s… equipment.
Which I only told her because she demanded it as payment for all the information she had about the Wolves’ captain.
It didn’t take her long to figure out something happened between us when I asked her if she’d ever heard of the guy, thanks to my traitorous blushing cheeks, and it took even less time for her to get all the details out of me.
Truth be told, I’d been dying to tell somebody about the best sex of my life.
Jane couldn’t have been more thrilled for me, and it turned out she also knew quite a bit about him.
“He’s originally from Michigan, got drafted by Boston and played there for a few years before moving to Sioux Falls seven years ago. The local press is obsessed with him. He was named South Dakota’s most eligible bachelor for three years in a row.”
I could only shrug at her disbelief that none of this sounded familiar to me. We were having our usual morning break at my kitchen table, just the two of us, and I brought my coffee cup to my lips, inhaling the rich, earthy scent before taking a drink. “Go on.”
“Two years ago, he married Megan Artwell.”
She raised her eyebrows meaningfully, which I took to mean that I should recognize the name, but it didn’t ring any bells. “Who is she?”
“A model, Miss South Dakota, weather girl on Channel 11. You know the type.”
Though I didn’t remember ever seeing the woman, I could indeed form a pretty clear vision of her in my head from that description. “And they broke up?”
“Well, yes, but it’s the way they broke up that everyone’s been talking about.
She’d built up a social media following, showing off her perfect life, blah blah blah, and in one of the videos, there was a tiny little glimpse of a naked man in a mirror behind her.
A man who was definitely not her husband. ”
“Oh.” My chest tightened as I remembered the look on Deacon’s face when he told me he wasn’t married anymore, and that he found it refreshing that I didn’t know anything about him.
To not only be cheated on but to have the whole thing play out publicly was a nightmare I wouldn’t wish on anyone, and especially not him. “That’s awful.”
“It gets worse,” Jane continued grimly. “The naked man wasn’t just any man. It was Brady Miller, a starting defenceman on the Wolves.”
I nearly spluttered into my coffee. “His teammate?”
“And friend, apparently. The whole thing blew up just after Christmas. I can’t believe you didn’t hear anything; everyone was talking about it. You really do live in your own little world, sometimes.”
I couldn’t argue with that. When River was young, I did my best to wrap us up in a small, safe and predictable space where he could find his feet without feeling the sting of his father’s disinterest. Somehow, years slipped by and not much had changed.
“So, about six months ago?” I asked, piecing the timeline together in my head. Long enough that they were divorced and he was clearly moving on, at least physically.
“Yes, and then they had to keep playing together for the rest of the season. Can you imagine the tension?” She shook her head before sipping slowly on her coffee.
“As soon as the playoffs ended, the Wolves traded Brady. Everyone assumes Deke demanded it, and since he’s the star player, they did what he wanted. ”
“And that’s why they need a new defenceman,” I guessed, finally seeing the big picture and how River fit into everything. My thoughts, however, stayed with Deacon. “Poor guy.”
“I think he’s doing alright since he was out picking up a cougar for the hottest one-night stand in Las Vegas,” she grinned, reaching over to nudge my shoulder. “I’m sure you could help him forget all about it again. And maybe a couple of more times after that.”
I shut her down fast and hard. “No.”
“But you said it was good…”
“Not happening.”
Over the past three months, no matter how many times she brought it up, I gave her the same answer: it can’t happen again, no matter how incredible it might have been.
River and Deacon have stayed in touch, the veteran player suggesting summer workouts for River to keep in shape and be ready when the season begins, and every time River casually mentions his name in conversation, something squeezes inside me.
My son still has no idea.
But River’s the reason I’m currently mixing oats and chocolate chips and M&Ms into my cookie dough. He called last week from his new apartment in Sioux Falls to invite me up today to watch their first team practice, and for me to bring in my customary first-day-of-the-season cookies.
“Are you sure?” I squeaked, unable to cover my surprise. “It won’t embarrass you?”
Although I’ve brought his team cookies every year since he started playing, I honestly didn’t expect to do it this year. He’s an adult now, playing on a team of men who earn millions of dollars a year. My homemade cookies aren’t going to impress anyone.
However, River insisted. “You never embarrass me. I already checked with the coach and it’s fine. I’d really like you to be there, Mom.”
He didn’t come out and say it, but I could hear the nerves underpinning the request. Everything will be different this year for him, but this one small tradition can stay the same.
How could I say no?
And no matter how hard I try not to think about it, the idea of seeing Deacon again buzzes through my body with such force that I nearly lose my grip on the wooden spoon I’m using to stir. Splatters of dough hit the countertop as Jane gives me a knowing smile.
“So, what’s the plan?”
“The plan hasn’t changed. I’ll say hello to him, offer him a cookie, and wish him a good season as my son’s team captain. Nothing more.”
Jane's lips press into a pout. For a woman with a husband and two kids of her own, you’d think she’d have better things to do than worry about my sorry sex life, but she’s been looking forward to my inevitable reunion with Deacon almost as much as I’ve been dreading it.
“This plan sucks.”
Maybe it does, but it’s the safest course of action. He’s almost 15 years younger than me, my son’s teammate, and a public figure who just went through a very high-profile breakup. Every sane brain cell tells me to stay far, far away.
I just need the rest of my body to get on board.