Chapter 10 – Hook & Hol
Mandy Pulling The String s
December
Mandy
Wow! That conversation with Melly went smoother than I expected. I thought I'd get a full tantrum out of her. Honestly, I'm disappointed. I do enjoy a bit of drama.
I stretch out on the hotel bed after putting my plan in motion.
Jaxson's passed out beside me, drunk again.
He's wasted most nights now, slurring, stumbling, out long before the late news.
I wouldn't be surprised if he takes a shot before he even steps onto the ice these days.
He starts hitting the bottle the moment he gets up.
Right now, he's snoring heavily, completely unaware I'm even here.
Some days, I have to sneak into his room becaus e it feels like he's avoiding me, and I can't have that.
I've worked too hard to let anything, even him, get in the way.
Earlier, on the hotel balcony, I slipped away with his phone to take care of a few… necessary tasks. When he's that far gone, unlocking it with his thumb is child's play. He didn't even stir. I sat in a chair and flipped through his contacts, deciding where to strike first.
My opening move was Melly’s dad, Gord. I edited his contact, deleted his real number, and replaced it with one of the burner phones I picked up for this purpose.
A few taps later, a fake text sat ready to send in Gord's firm tone.
Stern disappointment, with just enough bite to sound authentic.
I even threw in a curt, "We don't want to see you at Christmas.
" Then I marked Gord's real number as spam and blocked him.
Next was Melly. Same process. Swap her number with another burner I bought.
And while Jaxson sleeps a mere ten feet away, I send her a carefully curated message to her real number from his phone.
The fake Christmas text. Aimed for maximum damage.
Short, cold, it will land like a slap. Once it sends, I block her real number and mark it as spam so that none of her calls or messages will ever reach him. Not that they ever try anymore .
I leave the burner phone number in her contact field, unblocked, so that Jaxson will think nothing is wrong, if he even notices or cares. Next level genius. And, if he does text her, the messages will come to me! And Melly will be shut out entirely.
Then I dug through his apps until I found that annoying auto-message Jaxson set up to drip-feed Melly every morning. It took me thirty seconds to deactivate it. No bounce backs, no alerts, nothing but silence. He won't realize anything is wrong until it's far too late.
Once all call logs were cleared, backups wiped, and all traces of what I'd done were gone, I called Melly from his phone. By the time she picked up, the fake Christmas text had already simmered nicely. Twisting the knife was delicious.
Everything I told Melly? Lies. Complete fiction. I paid for the tacky gifts I sent her myself, after cancelling the diamond bracelet Jaxson had ordered for her. I'm already working on securing my spot for Christmas in Palm Springs with him and his family.
And the best part? We're not even in Palm Springs.
I followed Jaxson to his last game like all the other puck bunnies.
But unlike them, I have a goal. He sat alone in the corner at the afterparty, drinking himself sideways, while he ignored me all night.
Just before passing out, his eyes finally land on me.
That's the only time he reaches for me now, when he's too far gone to know better.
Rod hauls him back to his hotel room and unceremoniously dumps him on the bed.
I smile sweetly and offer to take care of him .
Rod practically flees the room, relieved I'm there to take him off his hands.
As I unbutton Jaxson's shirt, I laugh at how easily things have fallen into my lap.
When I first saw Jaxson on the ice, I knew he would be mine.
Teresa, my best friend, pointed out he was married and, at the time, was aloof.
But the more games I showed up to and put myself in front of him, flirting, the more he watched me.
At first, it was just subtly, but then I noticed him eyeing me more and more.
Once Rod pulled Teresa and me into his circle, Jaxson loosened up almost overnight.
That first night with Jaxson was a little touch-and-go until I got enough shots in him. I stayed sober, of course. He loosened up, and while it was a sloppy encounter, it didn't take as much effort the next time.
I practically lived and breathed the team after that.
Sticking close by, making myself useful when I could, and soon, Jaxson and I became a hot item.
I managed to keep other women away from them.
It was easy if you were as experienced in manipulation as I am.
A bit of intimidation, combined with being sexy, worked wonder s.
Keeping the girls scared off while seducing Jaxson was child's play.
But it seemed he was still hung up on his wife, so I had to work hard to keep him occupied, showing up everywhere he was.
You'd be amazed at what you can learn when you stay quiet and listen.
His actual PA, Mrs. Baker, was only hired after those paparazzi photos I arranged outside Jaxson's hotel room hit all the headlines.
His PR team practically forced him into taking her on—damage control and all that.
Cost me an enormous amount to get that photographer in the right place at the right time, but it was worth every penny to drive another wedge between Jaxson and his wife.
She needs to get with the program. He's had an upgrade. Me.
Now Mrs. Baker is off sipping cocktails on a two-week Christmas cruise with her new husband, which means even if Melly tries to reach her, she can't. Not that she even makes the effort—at least not now.
So I generously step in while Mrs. Baker's gone.
I don't think Jaxson's thrilled about it, but oh well.
He needs one, and now he has me. Everything's lining up perfectly.
Even if Jaxson doesn't bring me to Palm Springs with him, I'll follow. He's not getting rid of me that easily.
I know it's complicated, but hey... what else is a girl to do to keep her man ?
I smile blissfully and curl up to Jaxson, pulling the cover up over us. "Good night, my love," I whisper as I kiss him while he sleeps.
Jaxson
"What the heck!" I exclaim as awareness creeps back in. My arm is tangled in long hair, a warm body pressed against me. Melly? I force my eyes open. My stomach drops.
Mandy.
I groan as I ease myself loose from her, scrubbing my hand down my face in frustration.
Did I let her in my room again?
When I opened the marriage, I fantasized about nonstop sex.
Quick hookups, stolen moments, bathroom quickies, fast thrills, a little chaos to spice up my life.
I imagined laughter and heat and bodies pressed together in dark corners, maybe a few hotel-room encounters after games.
Nothing serious, nothing messy, just easy excitement.
Instead, it's exhausting. Most of the time, girls barely say hello before their hands are out.
Drinks, meals, gifts, favors. They don't care about me.
In a bar, men with money or fame blend together, and girls hunt perks, not people.
If I hesitate for even a second, they move o n to the next target.
I learned after the first few times that it didn't matter in the end whether I played Daddy Warbucks, because they had their agenda, and it wasn't always me.
Mandy was the only one who started off differently. Flirty, sexy, interested in me. Our first time together was a little awkward because I'd only ever been with my wife. I had to get a little tipsy to be with Mandy. After that, it got easier. Didn't have to get as wasted with her.
Then I played a game that Mandy didn't show up for, so the team ended up at a local bar afterward. It felt freeing to walk in and see all the chicks eye-banging us. The attention went straight to my head. Wanted. Desired. Invincible. It was fantastic.
But as everyone loosened up, the phoniness hit me. Girls were hanging all over me, but their smiles were meant for my wallet.
"You buying, handsome?" one of them asked as she slid onto my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck.
She didn't even know my name. It didn't matter.
She ordered a forty-dollar appletini without even confirming if I was paying.
Before I knew it, I was covering drinks for an entire table.
A shot here, a cocktail there, and suddenly I was the bank for a bunch of drunken women, and th e girl wasn't even on my lap any longer, but in the corner making out with another chick.
Behind me, the group whispered loud enough to catch every slurred word.
"Yeah, they're in the NHL. They're loaded."
"That's right," another chimed in, giggling, "Last time I went out with a sports celebrity, it was a two-month party. He showered me with gifts. See these diamond earrings? Play your cards right, girls, and we'll be rolling in the dough."
The way they laughed and watched me, like I was their puppet, set my teeth on edge. That was when I realized I was just a dollar sign to them.
I went in expecting excitement. Easy fun.
Instead, it was all transactional. They wanted things, not me.
Honestly, I could've called an escort service, and it would've been more straightforward.
Every attempt at a so-called casual encounter ended the same way, leaving me disappointed, frustrated, and completely speechless at the girl's sheer audacity.
No chemistry. No spark. Just "give me, buy me, get me. "
It was too much work.
Mandy began to follow me everywhere. I'd show up at an afterparty, and then she'd appear. Always there, hovering. Watching. At least it helped ward off the vultur es who used me as an ATM. But the novelty wore thin. The attention, the looks, nothing sparked anything in me.
Now, I find myself thinking about my wife more and more, which leads to drinking.
I can't even stomach the thought of another woman.
At least not until I'm completely wrecked.
And even then, it feels a bit forced and mechanical.
Not even scratching an itch anymore, just doing it because it once felt important to me.
If I admit to myself that I was wrong, where would that leave me?
Possibly having destroyed my marriage for nothing that mattered in the end.
No. Melly loves me. When the season is over in April, we'll close this chapter, and everything will go back to the way it used to be. I've definitely gotten this out of my system, and Melly will be waiting at home with open arms.
I look at Mandy asleep next to me. This doesn't feel like freedom. It feels like I'm trapped, smothered.
A slow, sick realization settles in my gut.
I didn't just open the door.
I let something in.
The room spins as I sit up suddenly. My thoughts begin to settle, so I swing my legs off the bed and grimace. My head pounds as the floor tilts beneath me .
I hear Mandy sigh behind me. "Morning, Baby."
Don't call me that.
I don't say anything out loud. I stare at the floor, realizing a brutal truth I've been avoiding for months.
I opened my marriage because I got too comfortable in something perfect, thinking it was boring. Instead of cherishing what I had, I got greedy. I wanted more.
And I got more than I bargained for. Mandy is everywhere, hanging off my arm, clinging to me in bed, crowding my space. We don't even have sex anymore. Not that I can remember if we do. I don't acknowledge her at all unless I'm too intoxicated to stand.
But she's not more. She's not better, she's smaller—not physically, but… you know, shallow. Smoke trying to pass as fire, pretending to have substance. She doesn't.
I stagger to the bathroom, the cold tile under my feet shocking me into awareness. The mirror reflects a version of me that Melly wouldn’t recognize. Bloodshot eyes. Stubble that looks scruffy instead of attractive. Regret carved into every line of my face.
I undress and toss my clothes in the corner. I turn on the shower and step under the stream, letting the water pound my back as if it could knock some sense into me.
Like a loop, my brain is on repeat, and I bang my head on the wall.
This is not what I signed up for. The reality didn't match fantasy, that's for sure.
It's awkward conversations with strangers who only want free drinks or a story to tell their friends, and Mandy, who feels like a rope around my neck that's tightening. That's not fun, it's punishing.
Now she's pushing to spend Christmas with me and meet my parents. As if. She acts like a girlfriend instead of a woman who only sleeps in my bed when I'm too drunk or spineless to stop her.
She's not special. She's just a hanger-on, a puck bunny.
And the worst part? I miss my wife.
But I don't call her. I don't text her. I don't even look at our old conversation thread. I'm afraid that if I hear her voice or read her words, I'll finally have to face that I've probably lost her.
And I don't want that. I have to figure out how to make us good again.
My thoughts turn to Melly at sixteen, pink-cheeked from the cold, skates at her side, sitting on the hood of my old beater truck. She's laughing at something stupid I said, her head thrown back, her face lit up as if I were the only person in her world.
Then, another memory hits—our wedding day. We stood before the officiant, our hands clasped together, trembling, promising forever.
I swallow hard, bracing myself against the wall as the water streams over my face, washing away the tears.
Melly always loved me fully. She never did anything halfway. And I took that love and treated it as replaceable.
Now, here I am, hiding in the shower from a woman who won't let me have a moment's peace, and a wife I'm too cowardly to face.
I don't feel free… only lost.