Page 40 of Hockey Wife

“I want a waffle.” I vant a vaffle.

“Have at it, Cap.”

Petrov leaned over and used the tongs to pluck three waffles from the stack. Cheeky. “You ready for tonight?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The aristocratic Russian gave a somber nod. “How is married life treating you?”

“We’re doing this now?”

Petrov looked amused. “Merely an enquiry after your relationship status.”

“Not sure why everyone’s so interested.”

Several “news” outlets had been in touch, looking to do a joint interview with the new couple. Even the Rebels own PR machine wanted to run a feature on them. Worst of all, Georgia’s high value status as a media property meant her Greatest Hits were on a comeback tour. Like the time she splish-splashed in Buckingham Fountain. Or did the Polar Plunge in a tutu. Or covered herself in mud at Coachella to protest climate change.

The new attention meant that the sports media, who until now had treated his journeyman career with the distance it deserved, were suddenly interested in him. Did he trade to Chicago to be with his wife? (Like he had a choice.) Was Georgia excited about the playoffs? (She barely knew they existed.) Did he think the Rebels would renew his contract at the end of the season? (Now, that was a question he’d like to know the answer to.) Having spent the last sixteen years under the radar, his privacy-craving self was not enjoying this.

“People like the new and shiny,” Petrov said. “It will die down.”

“Can’t happen soon enough.”

He filled up his plate and took a seat at the table, only to be joined by O’Malley a minute later. Barely had he put a piece of bacon in his mouth and the kid was off to the races.

“Mind if I ask a question, dude?”

“Yes.”

“You seem to have your shit together.”

Banks chewed his bacon and waited.

“You own a house in Nashville, right?”

“Rented out.”

O’Malley nodded. “And you probably know all about the league pension plan, like how that works.”

He put down his fork. “What’s on your mind?”

“I have responsibilities now. Ashley and Willa. And with a bit of luck, more people to look after. Like a new baby when Ash is ready. My mom, too.”

O’Malley’s mother was an ex-con who had recently re-entered his life. Sounded primo sketch, but then this was O’Malley, the sketchiest player in the league.

“Play for ten years, get a pension. It’s pretty simple.”

“Yeah, but what if I want to do other things? Like buy a house? Or set up an education whatsit for Willa? I’ve got a couple of million in my checking account, and I think maybe I could be making it work better for me.”

Jesus. “You keep all your money in your checking?”

“Yeah. I tried to open an investment account, but I didn’t know which stocks to buy. Like Apple is good, right? And Google?”

“It’s Alphabet.”

“What is?”

“Google’s parent company. You need a financial advisor. You can pay people to help you make these decisions. Who’ll do it for you.” Not that Banks trusted anyone else. He handled his mom’s and Connie’s finances. His sisters’ as well, because they were always asking him where they should put their money. He had trusts set up for his nieces. He hired someone to do his taxes because you didn’t fuck with the IRS.

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