5. Graham #2
Graham pulled the polo from the open bag and stripped the damp compression shirt over his head.
The motion tugged at the shoulder that had taken the board hit earlier, and he paused long enough to work the ache out before dragging the polo down.
Miller stayed near the doorway, one hand braced against the jamb while the celebration rolled past behind him.
“Where’s Riley?” Miller asked. “Thought she’d be glued to your side tonight.”
“She needed some air. The crowd got to her.”
The lie came easier once it was out. It wasn’t even a full lie, not the way Graham chose to tell it. Riley did hate the noise. She did hate the press. And she had left because the arena had become too much.
He didn’t mention the lanyard on the bench.
He didn’t mention the ring in his pocket.
Miller’s gaze dropped toward the empty stall beside Graham, then returned to his face. “You talk to her?”
“She’s fine.”
“Fine where?”
Graham reached for the towel and rubbed the last of the champagne from the back of his neck. “She grabbed a rental and got out past the city. Bruno confirmed it.”
Miller straightened away from the doorway. “A rental?”
“The noise on the ice was too much for her, Miller. She grabbed a rental to get past the city limits and decompress.”
The lie sounded believable enough, the sort of thing Riley had done in smaller ways before when the league circus became unbearable.
Miller stayed where he was. “The team buses are staging out front, Graham. You riding with the boys to the club, or do you want me to pull a separate VIP car around?”
“Bus is fine.”
“On a Cup night?” Miller stepped farther into the room. “Let the GM run interference. We’ll dispatch a team car right now, and I’ll cover your absence with the board by claiming a stomach bug.”
The ring pressed through the fabric of Graham’s pocket when he shifted his stance.
For one moment, he registered only the hard edge of the metal against his leg and the lanyard still sitting on the bench.
Miller was handing him an exit. No penalty, no public explanation, no sponsor confrontation.
Graham could walk through the back corridors, get into a car, and chase Riley before the city gridlocked behind him.
Then another burst of cheers broke through the hallway.
He had just won the Cup.
Riley had chosen tonight to make her point.
“Stand down, Miller. I’m not abandoning a championship celebration to chase a rental car. The situation is handled. I’ll check on her tomorrow.”
Miller watched him for a beat. “You sure?”
Graham picked up his wallet and slid it into the gear bag. “I said it’s handled.”
Miller gave a short nod and stepped back toward the hall. The music swelled again as the door opened wider, carrying voices, laughter, and somebody shouting for the captain.
Graham rested one hand against the edge of the stall until Miller disappeared into the corridor. The ring stayed in his pocket.
Riley could wait until morning.
The door opened again before it could swing shut.
Nicolle stepped into the room without knocking, her heels striking the rubber floor beneath the music pouring in from the corridor. His sweater still hung over her dress. One repaired cuff sat folded back near Nicolle’s wrist, and he paused at the sight of Riley’s stitching.
“Why are you both still standing in here?” Nicolle asked. “The cars are already loading.”
“We’re dealing with something,” Miller said.
“Then deal with it on the way. The board is waiting.”
Nicolle crossed toward Graham and touched his arm. The sweater brushed his skin, familiar wool against his forearm, and his gaze dropped to the patched elbow Riley had mended years ago after he snagged it on a nail in their basement apartment.
He should have taken it back on the ice.
Instead, he had laughed for the cameras.
Nicolle followed his glance. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Miller shifted near the doorway. “Riley left.”
Nicolle looked from Miller to Graham. “She left the arena?”
“She needed space,” Graham said.
“Space?” Miller cut in. “She took a rental out of the city.”
Nicolle shrugged and adjusted the sweater at her shoulder. “Good. Then she found somewhere quiet.”
Miller stared at her. “That’s your takeaway?”
“You know Riley hates this circus.” Nicolle turned toward Graham again. “She complains every time the sponsors turn a win into a six-hour production.”
“She needs her husband,” Miller said.
“She needs quiet. You know that better than anyone.”
Graham looked toward the bench. Riley’s lanyard remained where she had left it.
Nicolle’s version fit too well. Riley had spent years telling him she wanted nothing to do with sponsor dinners, VIP rooms, or executives who treated every celebration like another sales meeting. Dragging her through tonight’s party would have guaranteed another fight.
“We’re doing her a massive favor, Graham,” Nicolle said. “You know she despises the VIP meat grinder anyway. If we’re going to keep the apparel brand happy tonight, we need to leave right now.”
“The sponsors can wait, Nicolle.” Miller planted himself between her and the doorway. “His family takes priority over a club appearance.”
Nicolle gave him a flat look and reached for her phone. “The engagement metrics on the sweater photos just came back from the social media team, and they are astronomical. We have executives waiting at the club right now who want the Ice Royalty.”
The sweater.
Graham looked back at the cuff near her hand. Riley had sat beside him for an hour repairing that seam while he complained about a blown skate edge and a missed scoring chance. She had laughed at him for caring more about hockey than the hole in his sleeve.
Now strangers were turning the same garment into campaign data.
The thought should have sent him after her.
Instead, he looked toward the hallway, where another cheer broke out and someone shouted his name.
Nicolle slipped her phone back into her bag. “We can stand here debating a woman who already drove away, or we can finish the obligations still in front of us.”
Miller shook his head. “Graham.”
“I heard you.”
“That isn’t the same as listening.”
Graham rubbed his face and glanced once more at the lanyard. Riley was safe. She had transportation. She wanted distance.
Tomorrow, he would give her whatever explanation she demanded.
Tonight, the party was still waiting.
Miller stayed in the doorway another moment, looking from Graham to the abandoned lanyard on the bench.
“I’m not covering this twice, Graham. If she calls, you answer.”
“I will.”
“Make sure you mean that.”
Miller stepped into the hall. Music and voices rushed through the opening before the door swung shut, leaving Nicolle and Graham alone with the locker-room hum.
Graham turned toward his stall.
The ring was still in his pocket.
He pulled it out and laid it in his palm.
The silver rested in his palm, familiar enough that he could picture it on Riley’s hand without trying.
She had worn it through everything—the basement apartment, the minor-league years, the first contract, the first move north.
She had taken it off tonight as a warning.
Fine. He understood.
That did not mean the marriage had vanished because she drove south for a few hours.
Graham reached into the open gear bag and pulled his wallet from beneath a roll of athletic tape. He opened the small zippered compartment inside and paused with the ring pinched between two fingers.
Keeping it here made sense.
Riley had thrown away access to the arena, but she had not thrown away years of marriage. When she came back, he would put the ring on her finger himself, and they would have the argument when neither of them was running on exhaustion and noise.
He set the ring inside the compartment.
The zipper rasped shut.
“There,” Graham muttered. “Safe.”
He checked the zipper once with his thumb. He slid the wallet into his duffel and pushed it beneath the compression shirt he had changed out of earlier. The ring was accounted for. Riley was accounted for as far as security could manage. He would deal with the rest tomorrow.
Nicolle stepped closer. “Are we done with the domestic crisis?”
Graham looked at her.
“That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
Nicolle lifted both hands. “Then your wife. Whatever label keeps you from biting my head off. The board is still waiting, and half the executive floor is already at the club.”
“You could go without me.”
“And explain why the captain disappeared on the biggest night of the season?” She pointed toward the hall. “Not happening. They paid for the Ice Royalty circus, and right now they expect both halves of it to show up.”
The sweater shifted at her shoulder when she reached for his arm.
Graham’s eyes dropped to the repaired cuff again.
For one beat, he considered taking it back.
Then a camera flashed in the hallway, bleaching the doorway white before the photographer moved on.
Nicolle caught his arm and tugged. “The board is ready to pop the vintage champagne, champion. Let’s move. You can grab a shower when we reach the hotel, but we cannot afford to lose this momentum right now.”
Graham glanced once toward the bench.
Riley’s lanyard remained there.
He could still stop.
He could pick up the phone, call Bruno again, get the rental information, and start driving.
Instead, Graham adjusted the strap of his bag and stepped toward the door.
“I’ll follow you out. If the board paid for a show tonight, let’s go deliver it.”
Nicolle turned into the corridor, still holding his arm. Graham went with her as the music grew louder and another camera lifted toward them.
He left Riley’s ring zipped inside the bag.