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Chapter 25

Tenley

T his is the single solitary place I do not want to be. But yet, here I am, wearing my Westwood 77 Quake jersey and painting dragon wings on a seven-year-old with a very runny nose. It's gross, but it's for charity. Liv is beside me at the booth, squatting down in front of an adorable curly-haired girl painting colorful daisies on her cheeks. About ten other WAGS are doing it at this booth and one across the arena. It's early and the doors haven't opened but season ticket holders got early access to bid on some auction items we set up on the concourse and pay a nominal fee to have their kids' faces painted by WAGs.

And of course the documentary crew is here so I have to smile, even while I gently ask the mother to wipe little Cale’s nose again. Finally, I’m done and the mom looks pleased as she thanks me, drops a five into the jar on the table and trots away with her son. I look at Liv and sigh.

“Can you two make small talk about the Day with the Cup?” Fisher prompts.

Liv glances up at him. “Like, what we’re planning?”

He nods. Liv looks over at me and I search for another customer to avoid having this conversation. But it's late in the event and I think we've painted all the little faces. Damn. Fisher motions toward me. "Come here and sit in the chair. It will make a great two-shot with Liv crouching like that."

“You can’t get the child’s face,” I warn and he nods curtly.

“Yeah. I know,” Fisher says.

"So… Umm…" Liv is not the smoothest when she knows she's on camera. "I was thinking… if they win the Cup… I am going to have Crew's Day involve something at the local beach."

“Why the beach?”

“Because he was once a lifeguard there,” Liv explains. “When he was in his rebellious phase and tried to quit hockey.”

“Nash must have been so pissed at him.” I smile despite not feeling all that smiley when thinking about Nash these days.

I got home from Maine this morning and he was at yoga. When he came home he greeted me with a kiss and acted like nothing was wrong. But something was wrong. I asked him point-blank where he was the day of Callie’s surgery but he just said, “I needed to unplug from everyone. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“What do you have planned?” Liv prompts because Fisher is mouthing the words at her off-camera.

“I… I don’t want to jinx it by planning too much,” I mutter and smile again, but it’s fake and I know it shows and I don’t even care.

I catch the glare Fisher is giving me and I remember this is my dream project. So I give in. "I was thinking we would start the day at the arena where he played juniors. He didn't get to go there when he won last year because it was closed and being renovated. And I may have contacted his juniors team and they said if Crew and Nash win back-to-back Cups, they'll retire both their jerseys and arrange the ceremony to be on Cup day. Also that night I thought a barbecue for friends and family and I'll hire a Tragically Hip cover band. He loves The Hip but the lead singer passed so a cover band will have to do."

Liv looks like I just blindsided her. Her big brown eyes are wide and her mouth is forming a tiny shocked O. Yeah, I have pretty much figured out how to make the day as special as possible for my fake husband who I am not even going to be fake married to by the time this day rolls around.

The crowds have virtually disappeared now as the little curly-haired girl jumps off the seat, hands Liv a ten-dollar bill, thanks her, and darts over to her mom. I look at the other table of WAGs, who should be packing up the face paint as we have to be out of the concourse by the time they open the doors for the game, but they're all gathered around in a huddle. Curious, I walk over.

“You think she knows?” the backup goalie’s wife is saying.

“He couldn’t even give them a year before he started cheating?”

“A year? How about a season? Damn.”

“And he goes and does it with a co-worker? And signs freaking paperwork? Dirt bag!”

“Hey! What are you guys doing?” I ask as I lean over Carly’s shoulder to see what they’re looking at.

Carly Pattison is married to Noah Pattison who has been on the team a few years longer than Tate. Carly sees it’s me and jumps back from the gaggle of other WAGs, tucking her phone into her pocket as the other women scatter like scared mice. “Hey. Nothing. Just online garbage.”

She seems way too flustered and every time I look at one of the other WAGs they look away. I put my hands on my hips. “What the actual hell is going on Carly? Come on!”

My voice is low because there are still some people lingering, mostly looking over the silent auction items. Carly looks like she wants to run away. “It’s not my place to show you.”

“Show me what?”

“You know that site called The Warren?”

“Unfortunately yes,” I say. “Why?”

She holds out the phone. The Warren is a message board that looks a lot like Reddit, but every thread is about hockey players, written by women who either want to fuck them or have fucked them, allegedly . The headline on this particular thread says “Nash Westwood in NYC with NOT HIS WIFE”

"Okay well they aren't known for their grammar," I mutter, assuming it's just one of those fake reports because Nash hasn't been in New York. He's in the middle of a Stanley Cup run and New York isn't so why on earth would he be…

Carly uses a perfectly manicured nail to scroll down the thread and a picture of Nash pops up. He’s sitting at a restaurant, in a dress shirt, with a woman. She has her hand on his. He’s smiling. I can’t see her face in the picture because her long dark hair is covering her face but somehow she seems familiar and I feel sick.

“Oh. When was this? It has to be old.” I sound desperate and I hate that for me.

Carly looks so empathetic and it makes my blood boil with humiliation. “They say a couple of days ago.”

When I was in Maine and he was MIA…

Any hope of giving him the benefit of the doubt burns up in the heat of my ever-growing humiliation. I can feel the camera on me. Hear the deafening silence as everyone waits for my reaction. Fisher must be jumping for joy inside. He got the scandal he's always wanted, and from the one person who fought him the whole damn time.

"That's just a work thing," Liv lies to me because I can't seem to find any words. "Isn't that the sports agent Uncle Jordan recommended Nash meet with?"

Carly means in and whispers. “TMZ says Nash and the trainer signed paperwork. To cover their asses with the team. After your wedding. I’m so sorry, Tenley.”

I catch Liv’s eyes, and feel hot and sick, like I might puke. I swallow and my rain scrambles to figure out a response. But I have no lies to dig myself out of that news. Liv smiles, like Carly’s words mean nothing. “Welcome to the world of hockey rumors. They can be insane! Anyway, that trainer didn’t agree to be in the doc, so this footage isn’t usable. Sorry, Fish.”

“Fish ER ,” he corrects and then turns to his small crew. “Cut! Let’s go down to the locker room.”

When the crew is across the concourse waiting for the elevators, Carly says to Liv, “Nice save.”

I give her a weak but grateful smile too. Carly scrolls again, and lower down on the thread is another photo. It’s outside the restaurant and Nash, always the gentleman, is holding the cab door open as the woman climbs in. I can see her face. It’s that trainer that stopped us in the parking garage a while ago.

I liked her , I think and feel betrayal. Why the hell does this hurt so much? We aren’t actually married. I take a slow breath trying to steady my emotions. “Okay well, whatever.”

Carly nods. “Good attitude! It happens. Honestly, wait till you have kids. I’m actually happy he’s got extracurriculars. I’m so damn busy being a solo parent most of the season to the four little ones, I should probably send his side pieces thank you cards.”

“What?” Liv looks flabbergasted.

I’m slightly stunned. I know that some players cheat and some wives turn a blind eye. I didn’t know some actually condone it. I shrug. “Sure. I mean I should totally send this one a thank you card. And I know exactly where to send it.”

I turn and walk toward the elevator.

Liv follows me, probably because she’s panicking. She doesn’t know what I’m thinking or what I’m doing. I can feel the tension in me getting higher as the elevator gets lower. By the time it opens on the bottom level I am seeing red. I march right past the locker room. Lucky for Nash I don’t want to barge in there and ruin his pre-game mojo or whatever, only because my brother is on this team too.

I end up at the trainer's office and find the door open and, conveniently, Nash is in there. Seeing him standing next to her, by the side of her desk, is like someone donkey-kicked me in the solar plexus. He sees me and of course, he looks guilty. "Ten. Hey. What's up?"

“Probably you,” I retort. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“This? No. We were just discussing his leg,” the trainer whose name I can’t remember says.

"Oh. I thought you were planning another romantic getaway to New York," I say and they both go near matching shades of white. For the first time in my life, I hate how smart I am. I pull the beautiful engagement ring from my finger, walk over, and place it on the corner of her desk.

“Tenley, don’t be?—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I hiss. “If you had something to say to me you should have said it before now. Too late. Marriage is over. I mean, it was never real anyway. None of it was real.”

I pivot on my heel and walk away. I can hear Liv scurrying behind me. She's urgently whispering my name, like a panicked librarian or something. I keep walking. Past the elevator, up the stairs, to the concourse, and against the current of people now filtering in.

Outside, in the dry, dirty air, I order an Uber and spend the ride willing myself not to cry.