4. Riley #3
A pale band of skin circled her finger where the ring had been.
She looked at the plastic VIP credential on Graham’s bench, then at her silver wedding ring.
Neither one had gotten her past the glass tonight.
Riley lowered the ring.
It struck the bench with a soft clink, settling next to the lanyard.
She left it there.
The phone remained facedown above them.
She adjusted the purse at her side, still holding the secret she had guarded since morning. She had spent the day imagining Graham’s face when she told him they were having a baby.
Now the news belonged to her.
The locker-room door handle rattled.
Riley turned toward it.
Someone knocked on the door, then tried the handle again.
“Graham! Hey, are you in there? We need to load your gear bag for the transport to the club right now!”
The voice belonged to one of the PR handlers.
Of course it did.
Even now, someone was waiting to move Graham from one obligation to the next. Ice to photographs. Photographs to a club. A marriage reduced to whatever scraps of time remained after everyone else finished using him.
The handler knocked again.
“Graham? We’re on a schedule!”
Riley stayed beside the stall.
The ring gleamed next to the discarded credential.
She looked at the closed door and answered in a voice meant only for herself.
“He isn’t here anymore.”
The knocking stopped a moment later.
She turned back toward Graham’s stall. Her silver ring sat beside the VIP lanyard, two small objects arranged beneath the shelf as if someone might return in five minutes and put them back where they belonged. His phone remained face down above them.
Riley reached for her purse.
The pregnancy test was still inside.
Everything else could stay.
She crossed the locker room without touching the gear scattered near Graham’s stall. Pads, equipment bags, spare sticks—pieces of the life that had swallowed every hour that was supposed to belong to them. None of it required her attention anymore.
The service door was at the rear of the room.
Riley hit the release bar and shoved it open.
Humid June air rolled through the doorway, instantly warm against her skin. The arena’s cool air faded the moment she stepped outside, replaced by the smell of pavement and vehicle exhaust, and the summer heat trapped between concrete walls.
She stepped into the alley.
A security guard stationed near the service gate straightened and raised one hand. “Hold on, miss. This service alley is restricted to team personnel. I need to see your credentials before I can clear you through these gates.”
Riley kept walking.
The lanyard was still upstairs on Graham’s bench.
“I don’t carry credentials. I resigned from the team.”
The guard left his post and followed her. “Ma’am, you need to stop. I can’t have unauthorized guests wandering through the loading area.”
“I’m leaving the loading area.”
“You still need an escort.”
Riley passed the parked equipment trucks and headed toward the mouth of the alley. Her boots hit the warm asphalt. Behind her, the arena continued celebrating, the concrete walls muffling the crowd to a distant rumble.
For months, she had waited for permission.
Permission to interrupt sponsor meetings. Permission to enter camera lanes. Permission to stand beside her husband while strangers built a commercial version of his life around him.
Not anymore.
The purse bumped against her side, and the test inside it was the only thing from tonight she intended to protect.
Her baby would never grow up learning that love meant waiting behind ropes until someone waved you through.
“Hey, stop right there!” the guard called. “You cannot walk out into that street without a team escort. Event traffic is locked down!”
Riley reached the end of the alley.
Cars crawled past the barricades, horns cutting through the gridlock. People in jerseys crowded the sidewalks farther down the block, singing and shouting toward the arena while police directed vehicles through the intersection.
The guard was still following her.
Riley lifted one hand toward the street.
“Watch me.”
A yellow taxi edged through the traffic and slowed.
She stepped off the curb and flagged it down, waiting until the driver pulled toward her. The cab barely rolled to a stop before Riley grabbed the rear handle and climbed inside.
“Miss!” the guard shouted from the alley. “You need to wait for security clearance!”
Riley pulled the door shut.
The glowing arena dimmed behind the tinted glass.
She pressed the lock and set her purse beside her on the seat. For the first time that night, nobody could grab her arm, redirect her toward a designated area, or tell her where Graham’s wife was supposed to stand.
The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Where are we headed?”
Riley looked through the rear window.
The arena lights burned above the surrounding buildings. Somewhere inside, Graham was still celebrating beneath them, hemmed in by executives, cameras, and people eager to tell him what came next.
She turned back toward the road.
“Drive me to the 24-hour car rental lot out by the interstate. Just go.”