Page 6

ELLIETTE

“ O kay, Elli. Enough thinking. Time to start writing.”

And, yes, I was talking to myself. So, sue me.

It had been a day. And after a long afternoon of trying to figure out what the hell to do about my try-out for Oisín O’Rourke, I made myself a cup of tea, added about a quarter cup of honey, and curled up in the big, overstuffed chair that faced the floor to ceiling windows of the luxury apartment I shared with Daniel.

It was dark outside, and twenty stories below, a line of red taillights was snail-trailing it out of the city, headed for the suburbs.

Daniel was working late again—something about a deposition that was scheduled for the morning—and I didn’t want to pull out the pots and pans to cook just for me. Tea would suffice for now. Maybe toast later.

I flipped on the TV but turned the volume down low. Ever since college, I worked better with background noise.

Now, what to write? What would make that old boar sit up and take notice, especially since none of the players had agreed to an interview?

But then…maybe I didn’t need a true interview to write a short article for O’Rourke. I knew enough about hockey that I could totally make something up. If he saw through it, he might even be impressed by my creative writing skills.

Before I focused on the article, I warmed up with a list of potential social media captions, just to get the juices flowing. For example,

HELL HOUND RAFE MACCONALL IS HEAVEN ON ICE

Or I could post a photo of one of the berserker-bear goalies making an amazing save, shaved ice spraying up into the air, and the caption:

SPRIGGANS GOALIE SAVES GAME BY THE BEAREST OF MARGINS!

I felt my lips quirk. Sometimes I even cracked myself up. In fact, there were a ton of bear puns I could use: bear necessities, bear minimum, bear with me, bear witness, or?—

I had it! A photo with goalie Bjorn Eliasson flexing his biceps, along with the caption:

ELIASSON EXERCISES HIS RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS!

Hmmm . Maybe O’Rourke would appreciate something even a little sassier, like:

WHAT THE PUCK JUST HAPPENED? ANOTHER GREAT SAVE BY ELIASSON.

Or even something like:

HOW THE PUCK DID LUKAS BAKKEN END UP IN MINNESOTA AND RUIN THE TEAM’S DIGITAL AND SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGER’S FLEDGLING CAREER?

I adjusted my position in the chair, took a big gulp of tea, and set my tablet on the armrest. This article wasn’t going to write itself.

The only player I’d gotten more than two words out of was the rookie, Caden Kelly. Had I learned anything of note? I placed my fingers on the keys, hoped that something would just come to me, and typed:

Spriggans’ rookie center, Caden Kelly, is enthusiastic about his first year in the Savage League, and he is inspired by the team’s more senior players.

Truly. Whatever the senior players say, he follows. For example, if an all-star forward were to tell him not to speak to an interviewer, this gancanagh turns his back on his own sociable instincts and obeys. That’s what you call a team player.

I sighed and stared out the windows for a few minutes while I gathered my thoughts. I wasn’t going to let Lukas ruin this for me.

I tried again.

Spriggans fans, particularly those of the female variety, will no doubt howl in triumph to learn their team has re-acquired ten-year veteran and all-star forward Lukas Bakken from the Baltimore Boggarts .

Ha. But not this female. After our conversation today, I realized what an idiot I’d been to carry a torch for so long. In fact, I pitied the woman who ultimately caught Lukas’s eye. Hockey players sucked. My brother excluded, of course.

Bakken achieved early fame in the league with his aggressive play—something he doesn’t always reserve for the ice.

And while he may have the reputational scars to show for his more reckless run-ins, he was still the league’s top scorer last year — again both on and off the ice—humiliating everyone who dared stand in his path.

And what did I care about how he’d emotionally eviscerated me when I was just eighteen? I had a boyfriend now. Daniel and I were practically engaged, for Pete’s sake.

Some might call the Spriggans’ new forward arrogant, but Bakken has more than predicted that the Spriggans will make the playoffs — he’s made a solemn promise saying, “The drought is over.” And once Lukas Bakken makes up his mind about something—or someone—you better take it as gospel, or else.

This is one wolf you don’t want to cross.

My phone pinged with a text from Jen, but I didn’t read it. I was on a roll. What this fake article needed was a juicy photograph.

I didn’t have any current shots of Lukas, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t deleted all of the really old ones.

I found a candid photo I’d taken of Lukas and Evan after their rookie season.

They weren’t wearing their helmets and hockey pads; they were in board shorts at a local beach—their hair dripping wet and their skin sun-kissed .

They were twenty-one. I’d been sixteen. In fact, I’d just gotten my license the day before.

I cropped out my brother and added the photo of a half naked Lukas to the dummy article, then continued writing, using the bits of information about Lukas’s career that I’d learned from Evan or from the myriad news articles I’d been too stupid to avoid.

My phone pinged again, and I got around to reading Jen’s text:

Do you know where Daniel is tonight?

I gave the text the side-eye. What did she care? I typed back:

He's got a late-night strategy meeting.

I hate to tell you this, hon, but...

The three little bubbles pulsed for several seconds before a photo popped up on my screen.

It was of Daniel in a bar with another attorney from his firm.

Her name was Adrienne. I’d met her at the Christmas party.

Now, they were sitting across from each other at a little round table, and Daniel’s hand was halfway up her skirt.

A second later, another photo popped up—this one of them kissing.

A shiver ran down my arms, and more than just my little finger was trembling. Still, I managed to call Jen.

She answered immediately. “Elli…”

“There’s got to be a mistake,” I declared.

“ El …”

“No. Tell me where you got those photos.” I laid my hand over my chest to steady my racing heart .

“I took them myself. About twenty minutes ago. I would’ve sent them right away, but I first had to get close enough to make sure it was really him without him seeing me.”

“And did you? Is that really Daniel?” I don’t know why I asked. It was definitely him.

“Hon… It’s really him.”

“I don’t understand.” I glanced wildly around the apartment as if the answer lay in the impeccably coordinated throw pillows Daniel and I had bought last week, or possibly in the paint chips he’d taped to the wall because I’d commented that our place might need a refresh.

“He’s supposed to be preparing for a deposition that starts tomorrow morning. ”

Ugly, twisted feelings of betrayal snaked through me, even though a part of me still insisted this couldn’t be real.

“I think he lied to you, El. About a lot of things.”

“But…” Daniel and I had talked about marriage. Just three months ago, when we went to the Mall of America, we stopped at a jewelry store to check out the engagement settings. I liked the solitaires. He leaned toward the princess cuts.

“But it’s good that you know the truth,” Jen added. “Right?”

The truth? The truth that Daniel had lied to me? Betrayed me? Made a fool out of me?

I sat there in stunned silence, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Still hoping it was all a terrible mistake. She didn’t see what she thought she saw.

But there were those photographs. And Jen wasn’t techy enough to doctor them up, to make them look like something they weren’t. And why would she even do something like that? And she said she walked right by him to make sure.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked.

“ You didn’t do anything wrong.” I crushed a throw pillow against my chest, then got up and started pacing. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“For being the messenger.”

I blinked back tears and threw the pillow at a decorative crystal globe that was balanced on a tall stand. I sucked in a breath as soon as the pillow left my fingertips, then sighed in relief when it dropped to the floor without knocking the globe off its stand.

“Elli?” Jen asked. “Are you there?”

“I’m here. And I’m not mad at you. Someone had to pull my head out of my ass.” Then a new thought occurred to me. “It’s not just hockey players who suck. All men suck!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” she said. “But what are you going to do?”

“What else can I do? I have to break up with him.” I choked on the last few words.

“I know but… when? ” Jen asked. “And how?”

I froze, caught off guard by her response. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying,” Jen said slowly, “you’ve got your life pretty tangled up with this guy, and there are some logistics to think about before you go crazy and rip his head off.”

Logistics? What kind of logistics? I collapsed onto the couch. “Explain.”

“For example, that car you’ve been driving. And that posh apartment.”

“Oh.” I didn’t want to think about things like cars and apartments. My whole future had gone up in flames. But Jen was right. I had no savings. Where was I supposed to go from here? Evan would help me out, I supposed, but I didn’t like the idea of having to ask him.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t call him out,” Jen said, “and I’m not saying you shouldn’t end things. I’m just saying, whatever you decide to do, do it right. Calm. Controlled.”

“Of course,” I said, even though calm and controlled were the last things I felt right now. “I’m totally in control.”

“Good. And good luck. And, hon…I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” I said, and we hung up.