Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JULIAN
I should’ve expected her to show up since I had hired an attorney to officially end this marriage.
I hadn’t had a reason to push it before.
But now I was seeing Cassidy two, sometimes three times a week, and she deserved better than being the other woman.
My agent also reminded me I needed to get something on the record before contract negotiations started, or she’d get half.
But if I had to guess, it was the photos of Cassidy, aka my mystery woman, and I from Halloween that brought my soon-to-be ex-wife Emily here today. The photos had been splashed all over social media. Thankfully, the photos had been pretty grainy. Not that I cared, but Cassidy did.
I met Emily at the door. I thought I’d still feel something for the woman who walked up to the house. The house she’d wanted and I was now stuck paying for.
But I felt nothing as I opened the door. The anger I had felt this summer was gone.
“Make it quick. I got a game,” I said, walking away from the door.
“Can I come in or…”
“It’s still legally your house.”
“You hired an attorney?” she asked, closing the door.
“You fucked another man,” I reminded her, walking into the kitchen.
It was the reason she wanted this house.
She had said it was perfect for hosting parties.
I thought it was too big since she didn’t cook.
But she’d started crying, saying she didn’t want to leave LA and the least I could do was give her the kitchen she wanted.
“I guess I deserve that.” She walked into the kitchen, looking around. “The place looks good.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Nothing had changed since she left. The cleaning lady still came and dusted the photos and fluffed the stupid pillows on the couch.
“I’m surprised, that’s all.” She turned her gaze back to me. “I watched your game last night. You looked good out there.”
Everything in me wanted to say it was because of Cassidy.
Because for the first time in five years, I felt like I didn’t have to play some role.
Emily had this idea of what being married to a professional player looked like.
This perfectly curated life of couples’ Halloween costumes and matching ugly Christmas sweaters.
That didn’t fit in with game schedules, the sore joints, and overused muscles.
It competed with the hours spent going back and forth to the arena, practice, therapy, and the gym.
The demands of being Quinton Silver’s son.
“Say something, please,” Emily said.
“I want to sell the house. My contract is up this year, and I’m not sure where I’ll end up.” Though with the games I’d been having, my agent believed Vegas would want to hold on to me. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hold on to them. Or this game. Both had taken too much.
“Oh.” She bit her bottom lip, blinking back the tears I could see. “I thought maybe we—"
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? I made a mistake. I’m sorry. I’m going to therapy, and I want you to come with me. We both have some things we could work on.”
“There is no ‘we.’ I want a divorce.” There, I said it. The thing I had been too afraid to say. It would mean I failed at something. Something that should be easy.
“I don’t. I want us back. The us before all the shit and…”
“Before you slept around. Before that?”
“Of course this is all my fault.” She threw up her hands.
“You always love to play the victim in this, don’t you?
If you had been a better husband, I wouldn’t have needed to find someone else.
You put everything before me, Julian. I gave up everything for you and your career.
All I asked in return was that you give me the time of day. But you couldn’t give me an hour.”
“I didn’t have an hour for myself.” I stepped away from her.
“Liar!” Emily yelled. “You had time for Anders and Mason. For Murry and the fucking reporters at the arena. How many hours did you give them?”
“It’s my job.” There weren’t enough hours in the day for me to be anything but Julian Silver, the hockey player. “I did the best I could.”
“No, you didn’t. But he did. He made time for me,” she cried.
“All I ever wanted was for you to notice me. I didn’t know what else to do.
I screwed up. But I was desperate.” She smiled sadly.
“My therapist says I rush into everything. I need to take a step back and think. And I have. All I’ve thought about is us.
We both made mistakes. If you come to therapy with me, we can work on—”
“No. You fucked another man. You told a room full of NHL players that I…” I swallowed down the words. That night played on repeat in my head. The words she screamed across that room.
“I was hurting. You knew I wanted a family. That’s all I ever wanted.”
“And you knew I couldn’t give that to you. I never hid that.” I ran a hand over my mouth.
“But you could—”
“No! We’re not doing this. We are not going down that road again.
” Seven months into our marriage, Emily wanted to try.
We met with doctors and specialists. The next step was to try surgery, but the recovery time would cut in to summer training and the preseason.
And there was no guarantee it would work.
“Why? You don’t want to hear the truth. That the perfect Julian Silver isn’t so fucking perfect.
You don’t want the world to see what you truly are.
You need help. Please, Julian, come with me.
We can both get the help we need. We can put this all behind us.
” She walked around the counter towards me.
“Don’t.” I held up my hand. I had put it behind me, and that was where I wanted it all to stay. “I can’t do this with you right now. I have a game.”
“Of fucking course you do,” she cried. “Why couldn’t you be what I needed? Why couldn’t you be there when I needed you?”
“Me? What about you? Everyone expects me to do better. You. My team. Everyone,” I shouted at her. “And when I can’t, then I’m nothing. I’m nothing to you. To them. To everyone. There aren’t enough hours for me to be all the things everyone wants.”
“Not everyone. Just me!” she yelled back. “You are so worried about what everyone else thinks, you forget about those closest to you. I gave up my life to follow you here. I sat home while you traipsed all over the country. I made sure you had a home to come home to.”
“A home? You think that’s what I needed?
I needed someone on my side. And when I needed you, you weren’t there.
You never were.” My last season in LA, I took a bad hit.
For days, my shoulder hurt so much I couldn’t even dress myself.
Getting out of bed felt impossible. Emily hated it—hated me—because I wasn’t Julian Silver the hockey player anymore.
“I didn’t know what to do. You were hurt and…” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I tried.”
“So did I.” There was nothing more to say. “I’ve got a game to get ready for.” I left her standing in the kitchen.
“Does she realize you’ll never choose her? That pretty little blonde you were photoed with on Halloween. Nice touch with your sweatshirt. Is this your payback?” She wiped the tears away. “Haven’t you hurt me enough?”
“She has nothing to do with you and me. We ended a long time ago.”
“Maybe I should tell her what you’re really like. What you’re like after you lose a game. Or when you get hurt. How you can’t button your pants or dress yourself. Or some nights you can’t get it up. Should I tell her that?”
“Leave.”
“I hate you!” Emily screamed.
“Get in line.” I turned and left her standing in the kitchen she promised would save our marriage.