CHAPTER FOUR
RHETT
Day One
The video has six hundred thousand views by the time I arrive at the arena.
Every screen in the communications office shows my face.
My mistake has captions now.
MARRIAGE WAS A MISTAKE.
NORA BECAME A DISTRACTION.
I'LL DEAL WITH IT AFTER THE PLAYOFFS.
Twenty-three seconds, edited without the question before it or the silence after it. Context would not save me. Context is the life jacket cowards throw at words they chose willingly.
Damon stands beside Tessa's empty desk. "We release the denial now. The marriage was private, not secret. You were discussing media obligations, not your wife personally. The clip was manipulated."
"It wasn't manipulated."
"It was selectively edited."
"I said every word."
He lowers his voice. "NorthStar's chief executive is waiting. If you confirm a secret marriage, they can claim misrepresentation."
"Did I misrepresent myself?"
Damon looks away.
My phone vibrates.
A text from Tessa:
Nora knows about the leak. Do not call her yet. She asked for the full sponsor contracts and foundation schedule.
I type back:
Give her everything.
Damon watches me. "You are not thinking clearly."
"No. I think I'm doing that for the first time in a while."
Coach Halpern enters with our general manager, Elena Ward. Elena closes the door.
"We have two problems," she says. "A captain who humiliated his wife and an agent attempting to dictate a team statement. Only one of those problems is employed by the Breakers."
Damon's expression hardens. "I represent Rhett."
"Then represent him somewhere else for ten minutes."
He turns to me. "Do not speak until I return."
I meet his eyes. "Leave."
The door shuts behind him.
Elena folds her arms. She is fifty, brilliant, and unimpressed by men who believe volume is authority. "Are you fit to play Friday?"
"Yes."
"That was fast. Try again."
I stare at the conference table. "Physically, yes."
"Mentally?"
"No."
Coach shifts beside her.
I brace for the benching.
Elena says, "Good. Honesty saves time. What do you need?"
No one has asked me that in years.
"I need to fix this."
"Your marriage is not a third-period deficit. There is no line change that fixes it."
"I know."
"Do you?"
I think of Nora packing while I explained. Nora walking into the rain. Nora's ring on our dresser.
"Not enough."
Elena nods. "Tessa will help with a statement, but it will not contain a lie.
You will attend practice. You will not speak to media today.
You will meet with the team psychologist before tomorrow's skate.
And if your personal crisis becomes an excuse to endanger my players, I will bench you regardless of the playoffs. "
"Understood."
Coach follows her out, then pauses. "Callahan."
"Yeah?"
"The room doesn't need a perfect captain. It needs one who owns his damage before it spreads."
When I am alone, I call Damon.
He answers on the first ring. "Finally. We can still—"
"You're fired."
Silence.
Then a short laugh. "You are emotional."
"I am married. You taught me to treat those things as weaknesses."
"I built your career."
"You negotiated contracts. I played hockey."
"And who made the world care?"
I look at the screens. The world cares now.
"Send my records to Tessa. Do not contact Nora. Do not contact the foundation."
"NorthStar will sue."
"Then they sue."
I end the call.
My hand is shaking.
Not from fear of Damon.
From the realization that firing him took thirty seconds.
I could have done it any time.
I call Maren's office. Her assistant puts me on hold long enough to communicate contempt.
Maren answers. "This call is not privileged, friendly, or welcome. Proceed carefully."
"Is Nora there?"
"No."
A lie, probably. I do not challenge it.
"Tell her I fired Damon."
"Do you expect a cookie?"
"No. I expect she may think I did it to manipulate her. Tell her I should have done it months ago, and it changes nothing she needs to decide."
Maren is quiet.
"Anything else?" she asks.
I look down at the gold ring in my palm. I brought it with me without meaning to.
"Tell her the house is hers for as long as she wants it. I will stay at the team hotel."
"That's legally unnecessary."
"It isn't legal. It's home."
"It was home," Maren says.
The line goes dead.
At practice, the team pretends not to stare.
Lucas Reed skates beside me during warmups. Our goalie has known me since juniors and believes tact is an infection.
"That was spectacularly stupid," he says.
"Thank you."
"Want me to hit you?"
"A little."
"Coach said no head contact."
"Body is fine."
He checks me into the boards hard enough to rattle my teeth.
For three seconds, pain is simple.
Then I straighten and see Nora's empty seat in the photographer's bay.