Page 9 of The Rebound Plan

So, I never say anything. It’s none of my business. His career is his career my role is charity support and being the pretty, cheering face in the stands.

“Yeah, I’m relieved that we finally have some good leverage. This new agent is earning his cut, that’s for sure.” He releases me and takes a big, slurping sip of his smoothie even before I pull away from him.

And I guess the sweet intimacy part of our day is over.

I pat his arm. “Russ hasn’t texted me back. Are you sure he wants the wives and girlfriends to come up, too?”

“That’s what he said.” Max wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Apparently this place is huge. Big enough for a good party, with separate accommodations for couples.” Max waggles his eyebrows at me.

And now the pervy suggestions part of the evening begins.

My husband is a teenage boy when it comes to sex—mostly a lot of hot air and promises that don’t materialize, which is for the best because his idea of what issuper hotis often super not. He never believes me that I’m happy with the standard vanilla basics, but the way he tries to fancy it up can be a mood-wrecker.

Add beer into the mix and…a weekend with his teammates sounds like a lot of feelings to manage. His, mine, and outside observers.

“I don’t know,” I say, but then his expression drops.

Trap, trap, trap.

I resign myself to the inevitable. “I’ll get on the group chat, then.”

He gives me a cocky grin that tells me I negotiated the mine field well. “You’re the best, hun.”

Shannon: Have you guys all heard about this mini team retreat Russ is hosting next week? We’re invited, too. Let me know if you have any questions.

While I wait for the other wives and girlfriends to reply, I walk over to Ani Hale’s house, just a few blocks away. She and her husband Jenson are a decade younger than Max and me. Jenson wears an A on his jersey as an alternate captain for the team, the hometown boy who will be the face of the franchise for the next decade or more. Right now he’s in Vail at a skating camp with a few other Black professional hockey players, both from the NHL and the new women’s pro league, and some other minor pro leagues, too.

Since she’s alone for the week, and our other friends aren’t in town—Harper in Italy on her honeymoon, Becca up north in Pine Harbour, Kiley in Miami—it’s been my pleasure to distract her.

The fun little painting adventure we’re going on tonight is exactly what I need to take my mind off the strange, unsettled feeling that looms whenever I’m alone.

She’s outside when I get there, talking to her neighbour, a middle-aged white hippie chick who I recognize from previous visits but I can’t remember her name. She smells like patchouli and weed, and reminds me of my first landlady in NYC. She’s also a fan of Ani’s art, if maybe slightly too enthusiastic.

Today she seems to have questions about an Indigenous banner Ani has hung out front to represent her Six Nations heritage.

“No, but Ani, Ilove it. Name your price.”

“Here’s my friend,” Ani says brightly, excusing herself from the conversation. “We’re running late for a Paint and Sip night!”

“What was that all about?” I ask once we’re safely in Ani’s car.

“She wants me to make her a matching banner forsolidarity,” Ani says. “And wasn’t picking up on my clues that I made that for myself, not to sell.”

“That’s awkward.”

“A little bit. But she’ll have forgotten by tomorrow. Or when she’s not high, she’ll hear my no more clearly. Anyway, are you ready to get your paint on?”

“For a professional artist, you are very into this idea.” I narrow my eyes as she innocently stares straight ahead. “Wait a second. Are we doing professional reconnaissance here?”

“Maaaaaybe.” She winks at me. “But not for profit. I was thinking of hosting a fundraising paint night for the team foundation. I didn’t want to put the idea forward until we’d actually gone and done one of these things, to have a proper feel for it. What do you think?”

“I love it. Truly, a genius idea. And if you wanted to make it a series of events, we could probably have a goalie helmet artist lead a night, too?”

She bounces in the driver’s seat. “Yes! And maybe…”

We pinball ideas back and forth until we get to the shopping centre where the studio is located. Inside, we’re shown to our reserved easels, and then a waitress comes around with a menu.

I order a glass of red wine, and Ani asks for the featured mocktail.

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