Page 9

Marty

I think about Stevie’s panic attack a lot the next few days. She was fine once she rode on the teacups with Martin, and the rest of the night was great. But she’s obviously dealing with a lot, and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t like that she trusted me to get her out of the house of horrors. That she didn’t protest when I lifted her in my arms. Or how good it felt when we held hands.

I can’t remember the last time Brenna and I held hands. She was never one for handholding or cuddling. Apparently, just nude photos for her affair partner.

As if she knew I was thinking about her, I see her name flash on the screen of my phone. The kids have just finished breakfast and I’m planning to go out to the pool with them.

I pick up the phone and brace myself. “Hi.”

We never have good conversations anymore, not even when it’s just about the kids.

“Why didn’t you call me last night before they went to bed?” she demands by way of greeting.

“Because we didn’t get home from the carnival until eight, they were all overtired, and by the time I gave them baths and got Brad settled, it was midnight your time.”

“It’s not like I have a curfew,” she snaps.

“No, but they were tired and cranky.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have kept them out so late.”

I grit my teeth, trying to keep things civil. My lawyer said not to engage when she gets like this.

“Do you want to talk to them now?” I ask instead.

“Yes.”

“Emma, Mommy’s on the phone.”

Emma grabs the phone from me. “Hi, Mommy! I have a lighted wand and a four-hundred-pound hipp-opossum-mus. And Auntie Stevie braided my hair! Do you like braids, Mommy?”

I mentally wince.

I’m going to get an earful about Auntie Stevie.

“I didn’t like the corny dog but the fucky cake was yummy.”

I nearly groan.

“Is that Mommy?” Martin snatches the phone from Emma, who immediately starts crying. Any time Emma cries, Bradley makes it his mission in life to cry louder so now I have two of them to comfort while Martin leaves the room with my phone.

This is going to be a disaster, but I don’t have a choice since I’m trying to console two hysterical children.

As much as I love my kids, I’m beginning to see how difficult it is to take care of them on my own. Brenna had more help than I do right now, but she also had more responsibility. Getting them to school, doctors, and other engagements. Bradley didn’t sleep through the night for almost a year so that was hard too. And then I’d sweep in on random days off wanting to do fun stuff while she just wanted to rest. Have a little time to herself.

It doesn’t excuse cheating, but it gives me a lot to think about.

Emma finally calms down when I let her have a popsicle, Bradley is distracted by a bottle, and I finally go in search of Martin.

He’s sitting on the floor of his room still talking.

“…and then she took us on the Ferris wheel…it was so high!” He’s quiet for a moment, listening. “No, I wasn’t scared. Auntie Stevie held my hand...no, Daddy’s tummy hurts on the fast rides. So he stayed with Emma and Bradley…I don’t know… no, Auntie Stevie went to her house… I don’t know , Mommy.” He sounds a little frustrated now.

“Okay, buddy, it’s pool time,” I say gently. “Say goodbye to Mommy and go put your bathing suit on.”

“Bye, Mommy! I love you too!” He thrusts the phone at me and then goes running out of the room even though this is where his bathing suit is.

“Who’s Auntie Stevie?” Brenna demands.

“Stevie is a friend of Ivan and Chey’s,” I say. “I’m sure you met her.”

“The supermodel?” She snorts. “Is that who you’re fucking now?”

“No,” I say patiently, reminding myself I want custody of these kids. “She’s a friend. A group of us went to the carnival. You know I can’t do the rides, and Martin loves them.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Still? Dude, you’re going to have to man up for your kids.”

Man up?

Like my whacky inner ear that causes my motion sickness is something I can control by being… more manly?

“Okay, so we’ll call you tonight before bed?”

She pauses. “No, we’ll be on a plane. Philippe and I are going to Europe for a week.”

Now I understand. She didn’t care about missing last night’s call; she just wanted to talk to them before she left the country.

That figures.

“So bedtime for them will be morning for you over there.”

She hesitates again. “Unless we sleep in.”

“That’s fine. You call whenever you have a chance. Take care, Brenna.” I disconnect and let out a relieved breath.

She’ll be out of the country and difficult to reach.

So no nightly phone calls to worry about.

No stressful conversations.

No contact at all.

That feels like a bonus.

Hopefully, the kids won’t miss her too much.

* * *

I spend the next week trying to find some semblance of a new normal. If I do win custody, this is a taste of what it will be like. Except it’s the off-season, so no hockey. I really need to start interviewing nannies. I just don’t know what to tell them. I can’t hire someone and then fire her if I lose the court case. It’s a real catch-22 and I’m not sure what to do about it. My lawyer assures me the judge will understand, as long as I engage an agency who’s ready to have me start interviewing.

In the meantime, the new babysitter, whose name is Ireland, is a lifesaver.

She needs money between now and when she goes back to college, which is in two weeks, so she’s willing to come over any time I call. It gives me time to get my car washed, play some golf with the guys, and work out. I spend the rest of the time with the kids. By the pool. At the park. The movies. Making breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Bedtime. Bathtime. Reading to them. Playing games.

If I’m honest, I’m tired.

I didn’t underestimate how exhausting it would be, but I hadn’t considered the toll it would take on the rest of my life—because I don’t have one. Other than a couple of golf games and meeting Connor at the gym once, I haven’t seen anyone or talked to anyone or done much. Normally, we’d spend the off-season traveling and seeing our families. This year, I’m too busy trying to move forward without a wife.

My mom is coming next week for a visit, to see the kids and help me for a week or two, but I’m starting to worry. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to manage once hockey season starts. A nanny will have to stay with them twenty-four-seven when I go on road trips. I can be gone as long as two weeks sometimes, though it’s usually just a few days, so it will be a huge balancing act.

And technically, I’m taking them back to Tennessee the first week of September. Then a month later we see the judge. I have proof of her cheating, but California is a no-fault divorce state so that doesn’t mean much of anything. And adultery doesn’t necessarily make you a bad parent. The problem is that she’s said some things in the heat of the moment that make me think she doesn’t really want the kids. I know for a fact Philippe doesn’t want her to have them, but my gut tells me she’s waiting for a big payday. If I give her enough money, she’ll let me have custody.

The question is how much.

I make good money but I’m not one of those guys with a twenty-million-dollar contract. I make a respectable 2.5M a year. After taxes and all the expenses that come with being a pro athlete—like chiropractors and special meal plans and such—my income is fine but the mortgage on the house we bought is high, and property taxes don’t help. Having one kid in private school is a lot—three of them is going to drain me.

And Brenna and I weren’t great about saving. I have a retirement fund that’s maxed out, but it’ll be thirty years before I can tap into that. Everything else, other than a handful of small investments, is tied up in the house.

I also had to give Brenna money to live on when she went to Tennessee. Not to mention child support. Luckily, I’m not paying any this month since they’re with me.

I sink down on the couch and stare off at nothing.

I’m trying not to freak out, but reality is starting to set in.

If I lose the court case, my life will get easier but I’ll never see my kids.

If I win, my life will be exponentially harder, but I’ll get to raise them.

That’s what I’ve always wanted.

I just never planned to do it alone.