Chapter 2
Chapter two
Gabriel
“Shelly, who died or did you finally get dumped?”
I miss the pass.
Not barely. Not a close shave. I flat-out miss it.
The puck slides clean past my stick and into the boards while Bryce swears and Coach blows the whistle like I just insulted his entire bloodline.
“Again,” Coach barks. “And this time, Shelly, try using the blade.”
Laughter ripples down the line.
Dex skates past me. “He’s distracted. That’s woman trouble. I’ve seen it.”
“Please,” Mason says. “Woman trouble implies he actually went on a date.”
I shove Mason lightly with my glove. “You’re hilarious, jerkoff. If I remember correctly, you were recently ghosted.”
“Yeah,” he says. “But I don't miss her as hard as you just missed that shot.”
Coach points at me with his whistle. “Gabriel, are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
He studies me like he knows that’s a lie.
“Then act like it.”
We reset.
I take the next pass clean. Fire it top shelf. Crisp. Controlled. Exactly where it belongs.
Doesn’t matter.
Because I’m still thinking about California.
About the word custody landing in my ex’s voice like it’s casual.
Like she’s talking about changing dinner plans.
Practice runs another forty minutes, and it is forty minutes of me pretending I’m fine.
Line rushes.
Breakouts.
A power play set where Dex is supposed to slide the puck back to me at the point and instead sends it right through my skates like he is trying to prove a point.
“Shelly,” he yells as he loops around, “your stick isn’t decorative.”
“It is when you pass like that,” I fire back.
The boys laugh, because I am participating, which means they assume I’m okay.
I'm not.
Coach has us run a neutral-zone regroup drill. Hard stops. Quick turns. Timing.
Timing is everything.
It is also the thing my life doesn't have right now.
I’m late to the slot by half a second.
I overcommit on the wall.
I take a shot that should be a one timer and instead I cradle it like it’s fragile.
Mason skates by and shoulder bumps me.
“Bro,” he says, like we are discussing the weather, “you're playing like you had a funeral this morning.”
“Shut up.”
He grins. “Okay, so who is she?”
Dex barks a laugh. “Yeah, Shelly. You only skate like that when a woman texts ‘we need to talk.’”
“Keep skating,” I tell Dex.
He taps his helmet. “You’re welcome. I’m keeping you humble.”
Coach blows the whistle again.
“Shelly,” he calls.
I coast toward him.
He waits until the rest of the guys are far enough away that he doesn’t have to perform captain-coach theater.
“You’re thinking about something that isn’t hockey,” he says.
“I can handle it.”
He looks at me for a second longer than I want.
“Your kid okay?”
The question hits the real target so clean it almost knocks the air out of me.
“Yeah,” I say, and that part is true. “Maddie’s fine.”
Coach nods once. Like he filed that away.
“Then handle the rest,” he says. “Because if you take your head out of this room, somebody gets hurt. You know that.”
“I know.”
“Good,” he says, and then he raises his voice like he’s back in show mode. “Next rep. Move your feet.”
We finish with conditioning. Sprints. Lines. That last gut-check where your lungs burn and your brain goes quiet.
It helps.
Until my phone buzzes on the bench as soon as we’re off the ice.
A text from Jenna.
Maddie is great. Finished her homework. She wants to show you the picture she drew.
And then a second text.
Also just a reminder. I can stay until the 18th. After that I need to leave.
I stare at the screen until the numbers blur.
The 18th is two and a half weeks away.
Two and a half weeks until my daughter’s entire routine changes.
Two and a half weeks until my ex has exactly what she wants.
I shove the phone in my pocket like that will make time stop.
Handle it...coach said.
I nod once to myself.
I always handle it.
***
The locker room is chaotic.
Music blasting. Tape ripping. Steam from the showers curling toward the ceiling. Someone arguing about protein powder like it’s a moral issue.
Dex is half-dressed and fully loud.
“So which one is it?” he calls across the room. “You knock somebody up or get dumped?”
Bryce doesn’t look up from retaping his stick. “Dumped. Look at him. That's a dumped face.”
“I don’t have a dumped face,” I mutter, yanking at my laces.
Mason fires a towel at my chest. “Yeah, you do. Either that or you’re 0-for-everything lately.”
I toss it back at him. “You’re all idiots.”
“Proud of it,” Mason says boldly.
Colby’s voice cuts through it. Calm. Captain.
“Enough. What’s going on, for real?”
The room quiets just a notch.
I don’t look up when I say it.
“My ex is threatening custody.”
Silence.
It is the kind of silence that only happens in a locker room full of men who chirp for sport.
Dex’s mouth hangs open like he forgot what joke comes next.
Bryce’s grin slides off his face.
Mason just stares at me.
Colby turns the music down with one sharp gesture.
“Okay,” he says. “Start over. Slowly.”
Even the music seems to shrink.
Dex lowers his water bottle. “Like… real custody?”
“Real custody.”
Mason straightens. No smirk now. “Over what?”
“She moved to L.A. years ago,” I say. “Now she thinks California is a better idea than Nashville.”
Bryce leans back against the lockers. “She can’t just decide that. She's been a part-time mother for years.”
“She thinks she can.”
“Has she filed?” Colby asks.
“No.”
“Then it’s noise,” Dex says.
“It’s not noise,” I say evenly. “She’s serious.”
I grab my towel. Run it over my hair.
“And to add more shit to the pile, Jenna’s leaving.”
The words hit the room like a second whistle.
Bryce winces. “That’s brutal timing.”
“She has a family emergency,” I say. “She’s gone in two weeks.”
Mason exhales hard. “Damn.”
Dex shrugs. “Hire someone else.”
“I will,” I say. “But if there’s a gap, she’ll use it.”
Silence settles heavier now.
Colby studies me. “You talk to a lawyer?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“It’s not great,” I say. “If she pushes, it gets messy.”
Dex mutters, “That’s garbage. Moving a kid across the country isn’t stability.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “She’ll spin it.”
Eli leans back against his stall, quiet but solid. “She forgets something.”
We all look at him.
“What?” Mason asks.
“That this room is family,” Eli says. “We look out for each other. That includes Maddie.”
Bryce nods once. “Annabelle would back you. In a heartbeat.”
“Mia too,” Eli adds. “You know she would.”
Colby crosses his arms. Thinking. “There has to be a solution.”
Silence stretches.
The kind where everyone is actually thinking.
Then Dex, casual as breathing:
“Get married.”
The room erupts.
“Shut up,” I mutter.
Dex keeps going because he can’t help himself.
“I'm serious. You want stability on paper? You want a judge to stop imagining you eating cereal out of a helmet? Get married.”
“I have never eaten cereal out of a helmet,” I say.
Dex pauses. “That is exactly what a man who has eaten cereal out of a helmet would say.”
Bryce nods. “He's guilty.”
“I'm not,” I insist.
Mason points at my stall. “There is literally a granola bar in your glove.”
“That’s not evidence.”
“It’s absolutely evidence,” Dex says. “Your Honor, Exhibit A.”
Colby points at Dex. “Stop talking.”
But the word sticks.
Married.
I stare at the tile floor like it just betrayed me.
Married.
Visible stability.
Public commitment.
No ambiguity.
The guys keep talking.
Mason is back to chirping.
“Who would even say yes?” he asks. “You’d need someone sane. Which eliminates most of Nashville.”
Dex grins. “We could run auditions. ‘Wanted: emotionally stable woman willing to marry professional athlete for legal optics.’”
“Add dental,” Bryce says.
“Add patience,” Eli adds.
I tune them out.
Because I’m already running through names in my head.
And none of them work.
Not random dates.
Not someone from a charity gala.
Not a PR arrangement.
Not someone who wants cameras.
I need someone steady.
Someone Maddie already trusts.
Someone who won’t panic when this gets messy.
Someone who won’t treat this like a headline.
Natalie surfaces.
Not like lightning.
Like logic.
She’s organized. Calm. Capable. She has her own life. She doesn’t orbit anyone. She doesn’t need saving.
And Maddie likes her.
That matters.
Mason is still talking.
“Just don’t do anything stupid,” he says, clapping my shoulder.
But this idea doesn’t feel stupid.
It feels… possible.
I head for the showers.
Water pounds against tile. Steam blurs everything.
I rest my palms against the wall and let the noise fade.
Married.
The word shouldn’t land this easily.
But it does.
Because I trust her.
Because she’d protect Maddie like she protects everything else in her life.
Because she wouldn’t implode under pressure.
And yeah.
I’ve never once had to fake being attracted to her.
That part is a bonus.
Not the reason.
But a bonus.
I think about the end-of-season party two years ago.
Balcony.
Music inside.
Her too close.
The almost.
The line I didn’t cross because Mason was five feet away and because she deserved better than being a reckless choice after too many beers.
If that night had gone differently, this wouldn’t feel like a stretch.
It would feel inevitable.
I turn the water off.
This isn’t about inevitability.
It’s about stability.
If my ex files, I need to show something solid.
Something real.
I dry off, pull on sweats, grab my phone.
I type Natalie’s name.
Start a message.
Delete it.
This isn’t a text conversation.
I need to look her in the eye.
Mason and a few of the guys are still in the locker room when I walk out.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“Out.”
“That narrows it down.”
I grab my keys.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he calls after me again.
I don’t answer.
Because I already know what I’m about to do.
And it doesn’t feel stupid.
It feels necessary.
I don’t drive home.
I drive to Natalie.