Game Over, My Mr. Hockey

oe

the study to ask my husband about his plans for to

gn of celebration. Despite always te

lway. Three years. Three years in this gilded cage I called ho

The NHL superst

ways told myself that. But it was a f

spilled out, casting a strip of glow across the dark

interrupt him when he was working. I held my brea

he leather sofa. I couldn't see his face, but

l come pick you u

never heard him speak to anyone with that tone. I couldn't make out

. But I couldn't look away. I

ry about anyone else.

Chandler. I've a

fr

ow of his late brother,

and was on the phone professing his love to

un, to retreat into the shadows. As I stepped back

ell from the shelf with a du

apped toward the

ornered animal. Shame and fear warred

e between the sofa cushions. He stood, o

ow and gravelly. "Why didn't

. Only a

urname with for three years, and a laugh b

stared at him as if se

tion. His pho

shot me a glance, a silent

to me, walking toward the floor-to-ceil

rry, I got di

ain. She was calli

ained gentle

ropping on a happy family, listening to

I turned and walked out of the

door. The click of the latch cut

e and dialed a numbe

A sharp, crisp female voice cut through th

calm. "I've made a decision. I nee

e bed, calm and composed. He had a cold look on his face, as if everything t

nation were a great favor. "She's been going through a difficult time. My mother and I discussed it, and we

is mistress to move into his wife's home

a slow smile sprea

Of course. We're

by my easy agreement. Relief washed o

ng truck pulled up i

n holding her five-year-old son Caleb's hand. She carrie

straight to me, pulling me

breath warm, her voice drip

oe. I'm sorry f

ion made my

on my home turf, I was not ab