41. Shannon
CHAPTER 41
SHANNON
I’ve just gotten back to the hotel with my new dress when I get a text message that makes my blood run cold.
Russ: I fucked up. I’m so sorry.
No further explanation.
It’s the kind of message that doesn’t invite a clear response. I’m typing my third variation of what did you do??? when texts start rolling in from Highlander WAGs. Asking if I need a drive to the arena, to the hospital.
What. The. Fuck?
I reply to the group chat, letting them know I’m in New York, and asking what happened.
Radio silence is the only response, for what feels like ten minutes but is probably thirty seconds. And then Kiley calls me.
“Hey, babe. Sorry about the drama. First of all, everyone is okay.” She sounds calm. Too calm.
I squeeze my shaking fingers into a fist and try to breathe. “Then why was Ani asking about the hospital?”
“We might have overreacted a little.”
“To what?”
“There was a brawl in the dressing room.”
Russ’s text message flashes through my mind. Oh no.
Russell, what did you do???
“Okay. Is, um… Who is injured?”
“Who isn’t?” She sighs. “Ty thought Max was going to the hospital, but apparently he’s being treated by the team doctors at the arena. It’s his jaw.”
“Oh my God.” My heart is in my throat. “And…everyone else?”
“Cuts and scrapes, I think.” She pauses for a second. “It sounds like emotions were running high at practice today since they’ve lost the first two preseason games.”
That’s a line if I’ve ever heard one and I think we both know it. “Okay. I’ll, um, reach out to Max.”
On the other end of the line, Kiley is silent. But she doesn’t say goodbye.
I wince as I realize what she must be thinking. And the worst part is, she’s not wrong.
Before Ty, Kiley was cheated on repeatedly by her ex. Infidelity is a sore point for her—as it should be. It’s a horrible feeling to be cheated on.
It’s a horrible feeling to have your friend judge you for getting between teammates, too, though.
“If you talk to Rusty, too, let me know how he’s doing?” she finally says.
“I—” There’s strength in honesty. I swallow hard. “I will. But Kiley?—”
“It’s okay. I love you, babe. Whatever those two dummies were fighting over, that’s between them.”
“I owe you a long story sometime soon.”
“Is it podcast worthy?” She retracts that almost immediately. “Forget I said that. Bad instincts. But if you want to share a bottle of wine when you get back, I’m all ears.”
“Thank you. I love you, too.”
But when I hang up, I can’t stop thinking about her first instinct. A podcast about breaking up a hockey marriage is radically different than my original idea.
It’s scarier.
More raw.
More dangerous in so many ways. I don’t know where it would go. I can’t imagine how to craft a story that is still unfolding.
I look at Russell’s text message. I fucked up .
But here I am, sitting in another city, secretly arranging to meet up with someone from my past to benefit someone else who I want to shove into my past, when my heart is back in Hamilton, worried about Russ blaming himself for something that was probably inevitable. Between the two of us, I’m the one who is fucking up more.
I need to reply to him.
I should also check on Max.
Need. Should .
A kernel of a podcast idea comes to me. I don't know when I'm gonna be willing to share it with the world, but just in case it ever becomes something, I want to document this time in my life.
I sink down to the hotel room floor and turn on the voice recorder on my phone. "My marriage ended yesterday. I can't tell anyone because my friends are fellow wives and girlfriends of hockey players. That's the life that I have lived for the last eight years. Where he goes, I go. Where he plays, I build us a life. In his circles, I find friends, and we knit together into supportive, wonderful networks—but the second he’s traded, I have to do it all over again. Today, I’m actually in the city where he used to play, and as I record this, I realize it didn’t even occur to me to reach out to those WAGs I was once tight with here. But to explain what I’m going through right now would mean unpacking a lot of the lies I used to live.”
That’s hard to say. I let the recorder keep running, but I have to pause for a minute to compose myself. My voice grates a bit when I resume.
“One day, they might hear this and wonder why I didn't tell them what I was going through, and I honestly hope that they never understand, because I truly believe that the only person who can understand what I feel right now is an ex-WAG. And right now, I feel very alone, but I know that I'm not. I know that this life chews people up and spits them out."
I sigh, audibly, and I don't know if my phone picked that up, but if it did, I would love to have it worked into the opening credits of the Ex-WAG Club .
“There are lessons to be learned when you have invested your entire life in someone else's entire life. And those lessons probably aren't just for women who marry professional athletes, but also for anyone for whom marriage is a trap."
Another audible sigh. I fist my hand and push it into my temple. Fuck.
"I have so much to say, and right now I have nobody to say it to, but in the future, if you're hearing this, it's because I realized that there were people who I could say this to, and that's you. Thank you for making me feel a little less alone in this very lonely moment.”
I stop recording and listen back to it. It’s not much, but it’s a start.
And then I think about the fact that Max hasn’t texted me. Why do I feel like I should make sure he’s okay, when the phone works in both directions?
Only one person reached out to apologize for what happened this morning. He’s the only person I need to check on right now.
Shannon: I heard there was a fight. Are you okay?