Page 38 of Hockey Wife

“Not anymore. He’s found a lovely girl to settle down with.” Tara had texted her the details. Dex had emerged from his court case this morning with a tap on the wrist and a reunion with Ashley before the boys headed to Dallas for a game. “That’s how I know Banks. Dylan.”

“You’re a dark horse, that’s for sure,” Jim said through dry lips. The cap hung loosely on his head, which had shrunken with the ravages of his illness. Why hadn’t she gotten it signed? It was the least she could have done. “All this time, I could’ve been asking about the Rebels.”

“But then we wouldn’t have time to listen to Ella and Billy and Count Basie, would we?”

Debbie gave her a look, making it clear she’d much prefer some Rebels gossip. “Was it romantic?”

“What?”

“The wedding!”

“Oh, that. It was Vegas. Glam, quick, unexpected.” Not romantic, except for what he called her.

Peaches.

She squeaked.

“You okay?”

“Fine! Absolutely fine. So tell me about the birthday party? Who showed?” As Debbie filled her in on Jim’s party, Georgia’s mind strayed to that night.

Peaches. That’s what you are.

He’d called her that last night—and that night. What did he mean by that? Since then, he’d mostly called her princess, a way to demean her, assess her uselessness. Put her in her place.

As Debbie launched into a recap of Jim’s party, Georgia decided that maybe not remembering that night clearly was its own sort of blessing.

13

Banks

Forgot to tell you the alarm code.

Peaches

For the house?

Banks

Going to call you. Pick up.

The phone rang four times before she answered.

“Hello?”

“Three-two-three-nine.”

“That’s it? Why didn’t you just text it?”

Sighing, he leaned back against the headboard in his Dallas hotel room and adjusted the ice pack on his shoulder. “Because I don’t want it written down. You need to memorize it.”

“Okay, three-three-three-nine.”

“Three-two-three-nine. It’s Gretzky’s point total.”

“Who?”

Give me strength. “Wayne Gretkzy, the Great One? The GOAT?”

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