31. Shannon
CHAPTER 31
SHANNON
“Shannon, thanks for joining us. Max looks good out there.”
I smile and nod in agreement as one of the other committee members for the Highlanders Ball makes small talk. Very deliberately, our next meeting coincided with the end of the first week of training camp—the team foundation knows how to make people feel special, giving them insider access to the rink, and the players.
The event looks like it’s in good shape. We’re slightly behind our target for sponsored table ticket sales, but I’ve volunteered to make some phone calls and send some emails this week. We’ll hit our fundraising goal, I guarantee it.
We’re in a suite not that far from the press box, so this end of the arena feels pretty bustling. I can feel curious journalists glancing in our direction.
Smile. Laugh. Nod again. Look engaged.
Don’t let on that I haven’t seen my husband in almost a week.
After Max came to find me at the bakery, the Prince Charming routine faded faster than it ever had before. Now I’m just getting the silent treatment and he’s not even sleeping at home half the time.
I’m numb to it all.
I’ve shaken nearly everyone’s hand and circled the room when my phone vibrates.
Kiley: Are you at practice today? In a suite filled with people?
I make my way to the front of the suite and scan the stands. From the opposite end of the arena, a few small figures wave from the upper deck.
I’ve been putting off talking to Kiley about the podcast. Dreading this, in fact, but now that she’s here, and I’m finished with the committee…it’s time to rip off the bandage.
Kiley: Come join us if you can get away
Shannon: What section are you in?
I excuse myself as soon as she replies. The arena feels massive when it’s empty. The concrete stairwells echo and the curved mezzanine that wraps all the way around the building seems to go on forever. It does eventually deliver me to their section number, though, and I find Kiley in the stands with not just Harper, but also her twin brother Grant, who is one of the team’s doctors.
“Hello, friend,” Kiley says happily. "I haven't seen you since the cottage.”
She pats the seat next to hers, and I sink into it. "I know. I've been busy. I'm working on the Highlanders Ball. That’s what you spied—the committee getting a little reward of watching practice.”
“It’s a good one. Did you see the fight?”
A frisson of fear races up my spine. “Who fought?”
“Two young dumb bucks.” Kiley shakes her head and glances over at Harper. “Mason and Zondi?”
Between them, Grant gets a message on his phone and clears his throat. “Speaking of, I’m needed downstairs. Excuse me.”
He hops over the seats, gives his sister a shoulder squeeze goodbye, and disappears.
I take a deep breath, glad it wasn’t Russ and Max.
Focusing on the ice, I try to spot either of them. Max is readily found, but Russ doesn’t seem to be skating today.
I bite my lip, wanting to ask Harper and Kiley if they know where he is—but dreading them picking up on my curiosity as meaning something more than just an idle question.
Then there’s a whistle on the ice, and everyone huddles up around the coach for a quick chat.
I shake my head, clearing it of thoughts of hockey players. That isn’t as important as my friends who are right beside me. “So, what’s new with you guys?”
Harper’s expression brightens right up. “Did you hear Kiley’s news?”
Kiley grins. “We’ve bought an apartment. Well, Ty's bought a condo, and I'm gonna live there rent free."
“Hey, congratulations!” I know that Kiley currently lives in a small run-down World War II era apartment building in a cute, walkable neighbourhood not far from the arena. Harper lived in the same building before she moved in with Kieran last season, and when Harper moved out, Ty moved in to her place—subletting it so he could be closer to Kiley.
But the two of them living upstairs/downstairs from each other wasn’t really long-term NHL-calibre accommodations, so now that he’s convinced her to be relationship official, a move is definitely in order.
“Thanks. And we get possession pretty much immediately because it’s vacant already. It’s got a very different vibe from my place, and everything I own is hand-me-down anyway, so I’m treating it like a blank slate and finding all new stuff. Well, new to us. Ty loves art deco and mid-century modern, so I’m getting up to speed on retro furniture pretty quickly.”
“It sounds lovely.” I pause a beat, then glance at Harper, testing the next thing I feel I need to say. "I don't want to be a downer. I promise I'm not trying to be. But you know you need to save all of your income as yours, right? Don't split anything. Let him pay the bills, especially as life gets more expensive.”
"Oh, I know, and he is. He's great about that."
"Good, good. Of course he is.”
Harper nods along. “I had the same talk with her, don’t worry.”
Heart pounding a mile a minute, I smile through the discomfort.
Down on the ice, everyone skates off, Max last.
I remember when he started paying my bills. It felt so romantic, not having to worry about rent or anything else. And then my lease came to an end, and of course it made sense to move in with him. His Upper East Side apartment in a building with a doorman was better than my shitty walk-up. No brainer.
But then I was in his way during play-offs. We fought. I learned not to throw surprises in his path. Then came the pressure to work less, as if me being more dependant on him would be easier. Followed by a romantic proposal. A legal meeting that went by in a blur. “It’s all pretty standard.” A wedding that same summer. More pressure to give up work.
A move to another country was just the last in a long line of small maneuvers to make me wholly dependent on him.
A credit card he pays off every month can’t be used surreptitiously for divorce lawyers. It can’t cover my rent for the next twelve months while I wait out a separation period.
And our marriage contract foresaw me being the one who would leave him, and it punishes me appropriately.
Another group of skaters arrive, and with a jolt, I realize I recognize the biggest, tallest person on the ice.
“Why is Russ skating with a bunch of AHLers?” I sound alarmed, because I am alarmed.
Kiley glanced at Harper, who shrugged.
Neither of them have been around long enough to understand the nuances of training camp groups.
I frown.
To distract myself, I circle back to Kiley’s moving plans, because a weird idea occurs to me. "Are you planning to sublet your apartment?”
She shakes her head. “Luckily we don’t need to do that. We’ll get possession of the condo two weeks before my lease is up, which is basically perfect.”
Damn it. “Well that’s good!”
Kiley tips her head to the side. "Why? Do you know someone who needs an apartment?"
I shake my head, "No," I lie. "I was just, you know, curious."
Which is a silly response. I should have said it was for someone I met through volunteering.
Or you could tell her the truth.
I could. I probably should.
But I can only peel off so many layers of my skin in one day, and there’s something else I need to talk to her about, too.
And when Harper gets a phone call from her mom and excuses herself to go up to the mezzanine, I realize there’s no time like the present.
“Listen, I need to hit pause on the podcast idea.”
Kiley’s face falls. “Oh no. Can I ask why? Is there anything I can do to lighten the workload?”
I shake my head. I practiced this. But my voice still catches. “I think there’s a reason I spent so long developing the idea. I don’t think I’m the right person to host it.”
“I think you’re perfect.”
I laugh weakly. “Definitely not. But I love your vote of confidence, thank you.”
“Let me know if you ever change your mind. I remain excited about producing a show for you.”
“Thank you. You’re the best.”
She glances at her watch, where a text message has just shown up. And she smiles with a secret pleasure that makes my chest hurt, it’s so beautiful.
“Is Ty finished now?”
“It’s fine, I can keep talking about this,” she says hastily.
I shake my head. “Go. Find your man. Make him buy you lunch.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night? Did you see that Jenson booked a suite for us?”
I noticed the group texts about the WAGs sitting in a suite instead of family seats closer to the ice. I hadn’t replied yet because… Well, I hadn’t replied for silly reasons. I’m going to cling to this girl group as long as I can. “Yep. I’ll see you back here for the game.”
When she leaves, I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees, and I watch Russ skate circles around the less skilled players. He steals their pucks and gets in their way. He fucks up their shit in every possible way, until he’s called over by the coach, presumably to give the rest of them a chance to do anything without a mountain ruining it for them.
He spends the rest of practice chatting with the coach, looking as casual as can be. I walk down to the edge of the upper bowl and sit there, as if being fifteen feet closer will make a difference.
Or maybe I want him to see me, because when he looks up, I wave.
Even from this distance, I can see the surprise on his face. He waves back.
I pull out my phone, knowing he won’t see the message until he’s changing back into his street clothes.
Shannon: Good practice today. What’s up with the AHL group assignment, though?
I’m about to go into a Pilates class when his response finally arrives.
Russ: Who knows. Just gotta roll with the punches. It was nice to see you in the stands.
Shannon: I’ll be watching tomorrow night, too.
Russ: I better make the starting line up, then.
I have to put my phone away after that, but when I finish the class and check again, there’s another message.
Russ: I wasn’t sure if I could text you.
Wild, electric heat rolls through me. He shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t encourage him. But my phone has a password on it that Max doesn’t know. It’s one of the first questions the divorce attorney asked me, and thankfully, despite all the other ways our lives are entangled, our phones have always been ours alone.
Except for my location tracking, which I’ve now turned off—probably one of the reasons Max stopped speaking to me again.
Shannon: You can text me. I have it on good authority that friends do that sort of thing.
Russ: Good. Because I like texting my friends.
The first pre-season game of the year is my first chance to catch up with the WAGs who don’t live in Hamilton year round. Magnus Gustafsson’s Swedish girlfriend, for example, whose English is broken but enthusiastic.
Some of them, like Andrew Mitchell’s girlfriend, Emma Point, don’t even live in Hamilton during the year. The lawyer met the west coast D-man back home in Vancouver two summers ago, and given that the team is away half the time during the season, and a decent number of those games are up and down the west coast, she’s stayed with her firm there.
“Until he puts a ring on it,” she jokes to Kiley.
Kiley glances my way, clearly remembering my warning. “That’s smart,” she says. “Save your money, too. Make him pay for the flights.”
Emma winks in agreement. “My sister is a lawyer, too—family law—and her mantra is, don’t do anything you wouldn’t advise a client to do . So you bet, I’m putting the onus of financial responsibility on the higher earning partner.” She pauses for effect. “With appreciation shown on my knees, of course.”
Kiley hoots and claps her hands. “That’s it. That’s the right answer.”
I grin and go take my seat as the game starts. Because it’s a home game, they’re playing their top lines, even though this is mostly a chance for the coaches to see some of the players who are on the line to get cut out of training camp. And because it’s an away game for Montreal, the other team sent their B-squad.
It doesn’t look that way off the first face-off, though.
Hamilton is rough , and it hurts to watch.
We’re in a suite today, which comes with food. The temptation to slide out of my seat and go peruse the buffet is high, but I stay parked on my butt until the buzzer goes at the end of the first period.
Then I hightail it to the back of the suite.
Emma is already tucking into the salsa. She gives me a sympathetic look at the state of the game.
“Maybe the second period will be better.” I reach past her and grab a plate, and then load up on veggies and dip. And cheese. Tonight calls for cheese.
I was really hoping the tension at home wouldn’t be reflected on the ice, but Max isn’t playing well at all. And Russ has barely had any ice time, too. Right now, I imagine the two of them circling each other in the dressing room like cage fighters, blaming the other for their bad first period showing.
When the truth is probably that it’s my fault. Not for anything I’ve done, maybe, but for what I haven’t done.
I clear my throat. “Emma, can I ask you a legal hypothetical? Well, it’s not really hypothetical, but I don’t know all the details. It’s for a friend.”
“Umm…” She shrugs. “I mean, with the caveat that this is not legal advice because you haven’t hired me…yes.”
“I get that.” I take a deep breath. “I know this woman who is in a difficult position because she's here in Canada and her marriage has broken down, but she can’t move back to the States, for financial reasons. No job prospects, no family or friend supports there. And she can’t afford to wait out a year-long separation here in Canada, either.”
“She’s American?”
“Yeah.”
“Does her spouse have financial resources?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a prenup?”
“Yeah.”
“Is the spouse opposing the divorce?”
That gives me pause. “I think so. I’m not sure.”
She takes a deep breath. “Well, as an American, the easiest divorce would be found by going to Guam, which only has a residency requirement of something like a week, last I checked. But it takes money to get done that quickly and if it’s not agreed upon by all parties, then it can be challenged in court. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that lawsuit. Otherwise, any competent attorney should be able to advise on the states that have the shortest residency requirements, or refer to an American lawyer.”
I don’t think that was mentioned in my first appointment, but I wonder how many cross-border divorces the small town family law firm I randomly walked into has ever handled.
When I don’t reply, Emma pulls out a business card. “You can pass this on to your friend. I’m actually an immigration attorney, but as part of that, I do refer to family lawyers on both sides of the border. Another option is appealing to the American consulate for assistance, and we can help with that, too.”
I’m stunned. “Thank you. I’ll pass that on. That’s…I wasn’t expecting to have so many options…to tell her about.”
The suite door opens and a little blond tyke comes barrelling in.
“Charlie!”
I crouch down and get in front of Becca and Hayden’s son. “Hey, mister.”
He giggles and dodges around me, but I dart my arm out, catching him around the middle.
“Noooo,” he howls, kicking his feet.
His mother swoops in and scoops him up.
“Thanks,” she says breathlessly. “Look, Charlie. There’s food up here, like I promised.” Then she looks at me. “We sat down by the glass but then he got hungry.”
“You came to the right place.” I offer Charlie a carrot.
He looks at it suspiciously. I swipe it in the thick Greek yogurt dip, and he takes it from me more readily. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. There are meatballs and garlic bread, too.”
He gets a big grin on his face at that.
I leave them to it and go back to my seat, thinking about what Emma said.
The second period starts with Kieran at centre instead of Max, and two prospects on either side of him. Then Russ comes out after the first line change, and some kid on Montreal’s team picks a fight with him, which makes no sense because Russ is twice his size and Montreal is leading two to nothing.
Russ grabs a fist full of jersey and holds the kid at arm’s length, letting him pinwheel fists of fury for twenty seconds before Russ takes him down to the ice with a single swinging left hook. As he stares down at the other player, he shakes his head, then skates back to the Hamilton bench, not looking at the refs.
It doesn’t work—both players get a penalty called on them—but the fans think it’s funny to watch on the Jumbotron as Russ pretends not to be aware he’s going to have to go to the box.
Then he grins and nods, and heads to the sin bin for two minutes.
Since both teams have someone in their respective boxes, the teams play four-on-four, a prime opportunity for Hamilton to score as the better skilled team.
We do, Hayden Calhoun posting the first goal for Hamilton tonight, bringing us to within one.
Becca and Charlie cheer like mad, and we all cheer with them.
But when the final buzzer goes after the third period, that’s the only goal we’ve scored.
I’m dreading Max coming home tonight.
And Emma’s card is burning a hole in my pocket.