Page 1 of Hockey Wife

1

January

The All-Star weekend was usually a blast.

For the fans and the younger players, mostly. This was Dylan Bankowski’s fourth invite and given the way his body was holding up, it would probably be his last.

Thirty-six and feeling it.

He had tried to enjoy the events. He’d gotten a kick out of yelling at the rookies, had acquitted himself well in the one-timer event in the Skills Comp, and managed to get a goal on his former Nashville tender, Jimmy McPherson.

But it had felt like the end. Of his career. Of the most important period in his life. Traded from Nashville to the Chicago Rebels this same weekend was about as ignominious a finish as could be expected. Heading for pasture, his body breaking down slowly.

A first world hockey player problem, to be sure. He’d had a good run. Never won the Cup but he’d come close a couple of times, including a heartbreaker of a Game 7 with the ’Ville a few years back.

The vibe at this dive a couple of blocks off the Las Vegas Strip suited his mood. Real Housewives junk on the TV and the crowd as miserable as he felt. A couple of old timers propped up the bar on one end while a gaggle of girls from a bachelorette party were trying to stump the bartender with tricky cocktail requests (do you know how to make a Cosmopolitan?).

A text came in from his mom.

Nice game, sweetheart.

Banks

Thanks. I managed not to fall over.

The phone rang and he answered it. His mom picked up the conversation like they’d been chatting all night.

“Wasn’t expecting the trade.”

“Neither was I. But Chicago’s a good landing place.” His family lived in Apple Falls, Wisconsin, about a three-hour drive from the city. The Rebels, though? Definitely the lesser franchise in Chi-town. They’d won the Cup six years ago and hadn’t come close since. Made it seem like a fluke, and the rivers of young blood running through the team confirmed it.

“Doesn’t matter where you are, we’ll be there for the playoffs.”

It was a family tradition. They always came to visit for the first round, and as there would be fewer of those to come, this one would be special.

“Better find a house then.”

“Bathrooms for everyone! You heading out with the boys later?”

“Probably. Just easing into the night for now.”

She clucked. “Have a good time. Maybe find yourself a nice girl to settle down with.”

A joke, but also not. He had no problem attracting women but connecting on a meaningful level was a whole other story. That he had “the personality of a tree stump,” as one ex-girlfriend had so eloquently put it, didn’t help.

“I’m not exactly husband material, Mom.” It was worth reminding her. His family saw the son and heir’s singledom as a problem to be managed.

“Because some flighty piece couldn’t see what’s right in front of her? Don’t you dare let any woman decide whether you’re good enough.”

He huffed out half a laugh. “Except the ones I’m related to.”

“Damn straight. The Bankowski women determine your worth, and don’t you forget it.”

She always had the capacity to bring him out of himself. Around her and his family he was about 10% more cheerful, but not enough for Stacy, his ex in Nashville. Once in Chicago, he wouldn’t have to worry about running into her. One positive to the trade.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the bachelorettes had detached from the herd, like a stray gazelle in one of those nature docs, and was currently zig-zagging her way over to his side of the bar. He assumed she was heading for the restrooms until she placed a hand on his arm.

“Well, aren’t you a Grizzly-beared hunk of man?” Her voice had a twang to it, Texan probably, though exaggerated by whatever she’d downed so far. “Wanna buy me a drink, sugar?”

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