Chapter 5 #2
After two years together, an engagement ring, and with wedding planning underway, the minute my shoulder injury looked like it might be the end for me in the NHL, she was gone.
Couldn’t handle the uncertainty. Needed stability, security, someone whose future wasn’t tied to whether a surgically repaired joint would make it another season.
I see now that she was just in it for the glamorous life I could afford her.
The fact that I didn’t realize that sooner gets me in the gut like a sucker punch every time I let myself think about it.
The flight to Omaha provides time for me to think, which turns out to be both a blessing and a curse.
On one hand, I can process what happened without the constant ping of notifications.
On the other hand, I have nothing to distract me from the memory of Nina’s gray eyes, or the way she felt in my arms during our kiss, or how right it felt when I said, “I do.”
Which is ridiculous. I don’t even know this woman.
Maybe that’s exactly why it felt so real.
She doesn’t know about my injury history, or my struggles with living up to Dad’s legacy, or the way Xoe looked at me when she left—the pity made me feel so pathetic I didn’t leave the house for three days—the rest of the summer remains a blur spent on a tropical island during which I hardly bathed except for daily soaks in the salty sea while I stared up at the sky.
Nina doesn’t know that I’m considered a risky investment by half the league, or that some days I’m not even sure I still love playing hockey.
She just looked at me like I was someone worth choosing.
Back at my apartment in Omaha, which is nothing special—a simple two-bedroom in a decent neighborhood with the kind of non-descript, practical furniture that could belong to anyone—I flop onto the couch.
I’ve never been much for accumulating stuff—too many years of being on the road.
Not only that, but Xoe took everything she bought with my credit card when we split.
On the upside, it made the move here easier.
The condo is quiet and after the circus of last night, that’s exactly what I need.
I check my voicemails while I unpack my overnight bag.
Desi, as expected, rattles on, saying it’s important that we speak.
In my sister’s seventh message, she threatens me if I don’t call her back.
There is a lot of background noise, indicating her New Year’s celebration went late—or early, depending on how you look at it.
Vinny, my agent, also left multiple messages that are less garbled than my sister’s but equally insistent. There are a few from the guys, plus several reporters and influencers asking for interviews.
And Nina. Even though we already connected—this one must’ve been from earlier—I press play, listening to her voice through the speaker.
“Hi, it’s Nina. From ... well, from last night.
I know this is strange, and I’m sure you’re as confused as I am, but I think we should talk.
Talk about what happened, and what we’re going to do about it.
Before you leave, maybe we could meet somewhere?
I have no idea where you live in Nebraska.
Big state and all. Anyway, I hope you’re okay. This is all pretty overwhelming.”
Her voice is different on the voicemail—more uncertain than it was during our call, but equally warm. Like she’s talking to someone she actually cares about instead of a stranger or enemy she’s trying to negotiate with.
I replay the message twice before I realize what I’m doing.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Nina: Did you make it back to Nebraska safely?
The question catches me off guard. When’s the last time someone checked if I made it somewhere safely? I’ve been looking after myself for a long time.
Me: Just got in.
Nina: Are we still on for this afternoon?
Me: Yeah. Looking forward to it.
I stare at that last sentence after I send it. Looking forward to it? Since when do I look forward to difficult conversations?
Nina: Fair warning. I may have been engaging in kitchen therapy this morning.
Me: Kitchen therapy?
Nina: It’s like retail therapy, but in the kitchen and rather productive since I run a bakery. Also it smells better.
Despite everything, I find myself smiling at her little speech bubble.
Me: What did you bake?
Nina: Cinnamon rolls, cupcakes, chocolate mousse. Something I’m calling “confusion cookies” because I’m not entirely sure what I put in them, but they turned out surprisingly good.
Me: “Confusion cookies” sound about right for this situation.
Nina: My thoughts exactly. See you at two?
Me: See you then.
After I put my phone down, I realize I’m still smiling. Which is problematic because I should be focused on finding a solution to this mess, not enjoying text conversations with my accidental wife.
I call my lawyer. “Brad, it’s Lane Sheridan. Happy New Year and all that. I need some advice.”
“Lane! Congratulations, man. I saw the video. Very romantic. Wasn’t expecting that.
Didn’t know you had it in you after—” He’s well-versed in the Xoe breakup debacle because she had some fly-by-night attorney contact him about alimony.
We weren’t even married, but the woman tried to bleed me for every penny.
“It’s not what you think.”
Twenty minutes later, after explaining the entire hypnosis situation, his tone has shifted from congratulatory to concerned.
“You’re telling me you got married in Vegas, but not because you were impulsive or ...” He pauses delicately. “Under the influence?”
“We were hypnotized.”
“But the marriage is legal?”
“According to the hypnotist, yes.”
Brad is quiet for a long moment. “I’ll perform due diligence, but I’m going to be honest with you. This is unusual. I’ll have to do some research, but if you signed the paperwork and went through a legal ceremony, even under hypnosis, the state of Nevada probably considers it valid.”
“What are my options?”
“Annulment or divorce. Annulment would be faster, but you’d have to prove fraud or coercion, which might be difficult given that you both appeared willing on the video. Divorce is more straightforward but takes longer.”
“How much longer?”
“Weeks. Maybe months, depending on how cooperative you both are.”
Weeks. During which I’d be legally married to a woman I barely know.
Brad continues, “The video has gone viral. The whole story is everywhere. If you immediately file for annulment or divorce, it’s going to look ...”
I can almost hear Vinny scolding me after everything he and the PR team had to do last year after I went off-grid. “Bad,” I finish.
“Really bad. Like you used this poor woman for publicity and then threw her away. That kind of narrative could further damage your reputation, especially with your career situation being what it is.”
My career situation. Right. The injury, the trade, the constant question marks about whether I’m still elite-level material.
“You sound like my agent.”
“I’m choosing not to be offended.”
Vinny is generally a good guy, but he’s a hustler. If anything his clients do reflect poorly on him, he goes after them like a gangster with a vendetta. I would know.
“What’s the benefit of staying married?” I ask, though I can’t believe I’m even entertaining the question.
“Time, mostly. Let the media attention die down. Show that you’re a stand-up guy who honors his commitments, even accidental ones. Vinny will probably tell you this, but the romantic love story could only stand to benefit you, given the fallout from things with Xoe.”
I’ll never understand why I was painted as the bad guy in that situation when she was the one who left me for no good reason.
Brad continues, “When you do eventually file for divorce, it’ll look like you gave it a real try instead of bailing out at the first opportunity.”
“And if I don’t want to divorce her?”
The question surprises me as much as it does Brad if his prolonged silence is any indication.
“Well, then I guess you’d better get to know your wife.”
After I hang up, I sit in my kitchen, staring at nothing, until I realize a pair of striking gray eyes fills my vision, along with a smoothly sloping nose, full lips, and a beautifully oval face. Nina, last night, smiling.
The smart play is obvious. Meet with Nina, explain the situation, agree on a timeline for divorce that makes us both look good, and move on with our lives.
But I keep thinking about dancing with her, that video, our kiss.
About the way she looked at me when she said, “I do.” About the fact that she checked to make sure I made it home safely, and that she’s using baking as an emotional coping mechanism with her “confusion cookies” because this whole situation is as overwhelming for her as it is for me.
Before I know it, I’m in my bathroom, getting ready and applying shaving cream. Which is ridiculous, because I shaved yesterday morning. I’m not usually a daily shaver unless I have a media obligation. I’m more of a “shave when I feel like it” kind of guy.
Apparently, I feel like it today.
As I lather my face, I try not to think about why I’m suddenly concerned with looking good for a meeting that’s supposed to be about ending my marriage before it really begins.
I definitely try not to think about the fact that Nina mentioned cinnamon rolls.
Or that I’ve been wondering what she looks like when she’s not dressed up for a fancy party.
Or that part of me—a part I’m trying very hard to ignore—is actually looking forward to seeing her again.
Because that would be complicated.
And after Xoe, I don’t do complicated.
Except, apparently, I just married it.