Page 115 of Hockey Wife

“Everyone’s an auntie. That way, I always have an army of babysitters to call on in an emergency.” She ushered her inside. “Come on, the game’s about to start.”

This would be the first time Georgia had met the rest of the WAGs. She already knew Mia and Tara, but everyone else was new, and she was extremely nervous.

“Say hi to Georgia, Ezzie.” Little Esme burrowed into her mom’s neck while Georgia waved at her.

“Aw, she’s shy.”

“It’s past her bedtime but she said she wanted to see all the pretty ladies. Didn’t you, sweetie?” Tara gestured toward the back of the house. “Go on in and meet everyone. I’m going to put this one down.”

Without Tara’s bubbly chatter as her shield, Georgia took tentative steps toward the gathering. Within a few feet, she found herself in a great room with a buffet of snacks, a help-yourself-bar, and at least eight women gathered in various convo-combinations. Mia spotted her and came bounding over, then wrapped Georgia in a hug.

“Hey everyone, come meet Georgia and her wicked scar.”

Georgia’s wicked scar made for a great icebreaker. Everyone wanted a recounting of the event, how much it hurt, and what kind of compensation she expected (a joke, but maybe not?). She was the first WAG that anyone could recall getting hit during a game, and that gave her some sort of cachet.

In Tara’s absence, Mia made the introductions.

“So this is Elle—she’s married to Theo Kershaw and they have two adorable littles, Hatch and Adeline.”

“Oh, I love his Insta. He’s so funny.” And sexy, though she didn’t add that. Instead, she tried to imagine Banks on social media and came up blank.

“And this is Casey. She works in the front office and is married to Erik Jorgenson, the Rebels goalie.”

Georgia went for handshakes but got cheek kisses instead. “Great to meet you both.”

“Likewise,” Casey said. “I hope you enjoyed the tea hamper Harper sent.”

“I did! Was that you?”

Casey grinned. “It was. We talked to your husband, and he told us you were a big tea drinker. And that you love oranges. Harper is dying for you to come in and have tea with her one afternoon. She has a new Wedgewood set she wants to try out.”

Banks told people she liked tea? And oranges?

Oh, she got it now. Their origin story, the one he told her parents. He’d chased an orange that dropped from her shopping bag. That was unaccountably cute.

She jerked herself back to the conversation and specifically Casey’s invitation to tea with Harper. “I’d love that.”

On it went. Sadie was married to forward Gunnar Bond and was a famous dress designer. Georgia had one of her dresses, which she was glad she didn’t wear tonight because that would have been a little too much. Jordan was married to center, Levi Hunt, currently injured and being “an absolute bear” about it, per his wife. She was a hockey reporter with a well-known podcast that Georgia had listened to during her research. Such a smart lady. Piper, daughter of the Rebels head coach, was dating Bast Durand and was a student finishing up her master’s in education. A very pregnant Kennedy was married to Bast’s brother Reid. She ran the concierge business that managed errands and dog-walking for high-end clients, many of whom were the Rebels.

“You do our grocery shopping!”

Kennedy chuckled. “Well, not me personally but one of my minions.”

“I used to be a minion.” Tara had just walked in. “Great way to make friends with hockey players and snoop in their medicine cabinets.”

“And that is why Tara didn’t last long in the personal assistant-slash-concierge business.” Casey’s comment produced chuckles from everyone.

These women had history together, a special connection because of their husbands’ jobs. If Georgia wanted to be a good hockey wife, then she could learn so much from them.

It took barely a moment for Georgia to feel at ease.

The Rebels WAGs didn’t think the Bankowskis’ origin story so strange. As Tara and Mia had already hinted, these couples all had stranger than fiction beginnings. Met your man after he texted his dead wife and you got her recycled number? That happened! Got knocked up by a cinnamon roll defenseman in the early hours of Christmas morning? You’d better believe it! How about becoming a live-in dog nanny for the puppy you jointly saved from Lake Michigan with a grouchy right winger? Why not!

A drunken marriage in Vegas was positively tame by comparison. Laughing about it in present company relaxed Georgia and, once the game started, gave her confidence to ask silly questions like why one kind of penalty got two minutes in the box, and another got five. Or what constituted offside (she still didn’t get it). Or why the game was just so darn physical.

It seemed like all kind of contact was allowed short of bashing another player over the head with a stick—and Georgia suspected some officials might turn a blind eye to that if it happened. Neither did she understand why the shifts were so short. Just as a line started to build some momentum, they were replaced by a different set of players. “Fresh legs are competitive legs,” explained Mia. Basically, sprinting for 45-60 seconds was super fatiguing, and an opponent’s switch to a new line would give them an advantage if the team kept the same players on the ice.

Mostly, Georgia watched her husband, marveling at his determination and skill, and cringing whenever he took a hit. Every opposing player seemed to know the exact location of his bruises. How to press on them. How to hurt him.

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