Chapter 9 – Empty Net Christma
Left Wide Ope n
December
Amelia
It's just past midnight when I see my NHL phone light up on the nightstand with Jaxson's name. Not a call. Just a text. Short and to the point.
Jaxson: Spending Christmas in Palm Springs with mom and Dad this year, since that's where the charity game is. Got the team celebration afterward, so won't be making it home. Figured you'd be with your dad for the holiday. Just letting you know. Merry Christmas. Jaxson
Another fissure forms in my heart. No conversation, no call. Just a text telling me we won't be spending Christmas together for the first time since we met.
I feel beyond hurt. It's as if I'm being pushed away, not just from him, but from his family and the team, too.
He knows I don't really spend much time with Dad at Christmas.
Usually, it's just a quick visit, a short dinner, or even a phone call if I can get away with it.
He's making it sound like a holiday tradition, but it's coming out of left field.
I can't understand him. Is it shame? Guilt? Is that why he's pulling back? Or is he just out there living his life and doesn't want to spend another minute on me?
I know I'm not sitting back and waiting on him like the good little wifey I'm sure he wants me to be, but I haven't gone out and hooked up with everyone I meet, either. I'm beyond exhausted and done with his uncaring attitude toward me.
Why does he think he needs more when, in truth, I am the upgrade he already has? I know this .
The fact is, my dad and his wife, Carlye, have already contacted me, and they plan to go to Europe for the holiday.
It's always been my stepmom's dream to visit Colmar, France, at Christmas.
I totally get that. I'd love to go myself.
It looks like a fairytale. The streets are lined with crooked pastel buildings, and the entire town reminds me of gingerbread houses dusted with powdered sugar.
It's romantic and festive, with candlelit cafés, palace courtyard Christmas markets, and mulled wine.
Need I say more?
I'm happy for them. Truly. But this leaves me completely alone for Christmas.
My NHL phone buzzes loudly on the nightstand with an incoming call. The screen flashes Jaxson Kingston .
Shocked, I quickly answer the call. “Jaxson?”
“Hi, Melly,” a smooth, silky female voice purrs. I pull the phone away and look at the display again.
Yep, Jaxson Kingston. It’s his phone. I put it back to my ear.
“Can I help you?” I ask acerbically.
She giggles coyly. “I'm Mandy. Jaxson's new personal assistant. ”
“Personal assistant?” Am I reduced to short phrases now?
“Yes,” she replies, her voice too happy, too bright. She sounds suspiciously like the woman who answered Jaxson's phone a few weeks ago, when he was in the shower. The one who told me not to call back. I guess he's decided to keep her around.
That woman.
I don't say it out loud.
“Do you know what time it is?” I ask testily.
“Oops, sorry,” she simpers, obviously not. “It's just after nine here in Palm Springs. Jaxson and I have just returned from dinner. I thought I'd call you while he's in the shower.”
“What happened to Mrs. Baker?” After the photos of Jaxson and another woman surfaced, team leadership stepped in and assigned someone to handle him. The coach's secretary left me messages with Mrs. Baker's number, as if I were still trying to reach him. By then, I was done trying. I wasn't calling.
Mandy interrupts my thoughts with a syrupy, sweet chuckle. “Well, some things change. Out with the old and in with the new. ”
I know she's emphasizing the word old because Mrs. Baker, Jaxson’s former PA, is in her sixties. Or maybe she's implying I'm the old item being discarded.
I scoff, not bothering to hide my annoyance, but it only seems to egg her on.
“Anywaaaay," she drags out the word in a sing-song voice, "I'm calling to ensure that the Christmas gifts I picked out for you from Jaxson actually made it to you. You know how slow the post can be this time of year.”
“Mmhmm," I tighten my lips. So now he's not only outsourcing sex, but he's also outsourcing me entirely. No emotion, no attention, just letting his AP—oops—PA, oversee his meaningless little tasks for him too.
I don't cringe at the Freudian slip. In this case, "Affair Partner" and "Personal Assistant" are interchangeable.
“They were supposed to be delivered yesterday. Did you get them?”
“I sure did.”
I glance at the trash can by my bed, where a pot of dead funeral flowers sits, along with a ribbon that reads Sorry for your loss . It all makes sense now. It's not a florist's mistake, but Mandy's attempt to get her digs in .
I'm not sure what she's trying to prove, but there's also a see-through nightie in a size too large for my athletic frame, along with some cheap perfume that smells like my grandmother's always did.
Both were wrapped in gaudy gold boxes with bright red bows.
I didn't dare touch them before I threw them in the garbage.
And now I'm glad I didn't, given they came from Mandy.
I wasn't sure what Jaxson was thinking when I opened them, but now I know.
It appears Mandy is gunning for the Gold and may have the upper hand.
Little does she know, while I'm barely holding it together, doing everything I can to stay upright and land the jumps and spins in my marriage despite obstacles being thrown in my path.
I'm already skating my final performance on thin ice with shaking blades.
I'm exhausted and fighting to keep my footing, but it’s not because of her.
I'm preparing to walk away once I legally can.
Jaxson's the one who's tripping over his own skates and already headed to the penalty box, likely costing himself the game.
By Spring, there'll be an opening in the Kingston household once the horrid NDA is fulfilled.
“He didn't tell me what to send, but I had carte blanche. Men! Am I right?” she coos.
“So, I made sure to add a few special touches.
But you really should see what he personally picked out for me himself.
Thoughtful to those he cares about, isn't he?
You should know. He used to care about you, didn't he?”
Girl, you have no idea. You think you've got a winner on the hook? I've got news for you. He's not. It's a shame it took me so long to realize it.
“That's… very considerate of him," I reply evenly, my voice flat, “personally picking out gifts for you while leaving me to your discretion. I can only imagine how important that makes you feel. Just remember, if his high school sweetheart can be replaced, so can you. Hope you like being temporary.”
Mandy lets out a tiny, almost inaudible gasp. Then an awkward silence stretches between us.
“Well, I know how open marriages work,” she rushes on, “and I thought it might be better if I just went ahead and ripped the band-aid off by introducing myself rather than being secretive about it.
I don't want you to be kept in the dark.
That wouldn't be a fair fight. Everyone needs to know their… replacement.” She laughs darkly this time, all sweetness gone.
“Replacement?” I laugh bitterly. The word is almost funny. She really believes what she's saying.
Mandy giggles, clearly enjoying her delusion. “Yes, your replacement. ”
“Consider me enlightened,” I reply coolly, inwardly cursing Jaxson for putting me in this position.
I'm not carved from ice. I have feelings, and despite his callous treatment over the past few months, I'm far from immune.
It cuts me to the core that I'm being subjected to this idiocy.
The only word from him comes through detached texts, or his so-called PA—the same woman he's apparently sleeping with, if she's to be believed.
Not a fleeting one-night stand, not a casual hook-up, but a full-on betrayal in the form of a side piece.
“I'm not going anywhere,” she hums triumphantly.
“Does Jaxson know you called me?”
For a moment, it feels like I've sucked the oxygen from her lungs as she hesitates. But then she claps back.
“Why don't you ask him the next time he calls?" she snickers, "Oh, right… he doesn't call you anymore, does he?”
Silently, I close my eyes as a tear of humiliation slips free.
“Merry Christmas, Melly. We won't be thinking about you.”
Click .
I lay back, staring at the ceiling, tears tracking down my face, into my hair, and onto the pillow. With the pain comes a hefty dose of clarity, cold and sharp.
He didn't forget me. He's replaced me. And that woman, she's wearing Jaxson's attention like a crown. If she only knew how fickle he is. But she'll find out, just like I have.
What makes the other woman, the one who wedges herself between a marriage or relationship, think she's so special that she'll be the one to change a man?
Why does she think she's better, or that things will be different?
Jaxson and I were high school sweethearts!
If that isn't worthy of loyalty and devotion, then what is?
I'd rather have someone who tends to my heart than someone who bends to fleeting desire and chases sexual gratification.
Lust is temporary. It wanes once satisfied, and its object is suddenly no longer enough.
It might not happen overnight, but it almost always comes due, like a bill that has to be paid.
You open your eyes, and he's already moved on to the next thrill, the next conquest.