Page 9 of Breaking the Rules
“Only the third best team in the nation.”
“He wants you guys to up and move to Nashville?”
I nod, and just like that, the group of women who have so graciously tried to lift my spirits are down on my level.
“He can’t just ask you to ...” Elise trails off, clearly perplexed that her brother would put me in this situation.
Me too, Elise.
“To be fair, I only told him last night. So don’t crucify your brother yet.”
Ana seems at a loss of words when she finally says, “You’re right. That is complicated.”
A silence falls around us. Still, their presence is a comfort in itself.
Who else can relate to my specific troubles? Of all the women I know, these are the few who understand that NHL doesn’t mean National Hockey League. It means No Home Life—because our husbands’ travel schedule during the season has them playing away games in cities around the country several nights a week.
5
OWEN
“Keep it open,” Grant tells the waitress, holding out his credit card and motioning to the rest of us at the table. “Drinks are on me tonight, fellas.”
“Sure thing. Two lagers and three IPAs coming right up.” She tucks the card into her notepad, taking extra care to shoot our rookie extraordinaire Preston a smile and a wink. “I’ll be right back, handsome.”
Preston doesn’t so much as look at her, let alone smile back.
“That’s it,” Jordie says with a snicker. “We’re calling you Handsome from now on.”
Our team captain has always had a soft spot for rookies, so it was no surprise that Grant invited the new kid out for drinks. Preston got called up from the minor affiliate team and has been training with the Ice Hawks for a few weeks, but I can’t say I really know the guy. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t have much of a personality. He’s quiet, focused, and unproblematic. Hell, that’s probably why Grant likes him.
Jordie’s still chuckling when the waitress returns with our beers.
“To the new season!” Grant lifts his beer and we all follow suit, clinking our pint glasses together and spilling onto the plastic menus.
It isn’t the fanciest joint in town, but any old run-of-the-mill brewpub would have done the job after a long week of practice. It’s weird being out of the swing of things, but I’m grateful that the guys still think to include me, even if I’m no longer on the active team roster.
“And to the new kid,” Justin says, clapping Preston on the shoulder.
“To Handsome!”
Preston gives us a half smile and mutters a thank-you before guzzling down half his drink in record time. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he asks, “Anyone want another?”
Grant shoots him a critical look. “Slow down, son. It’s not a competition.”
With a shrug, Preston heads for the bar, and I clock a group of women ogling him on the way. When one of them shoots her shot with a sultry little wave of her fingers, he brushes her off without a glance.
I can’t say I miss that. I never grasped how marriage would change these nights out with the guys until I had an actual ring on my finger. Now that most of the team is off the market, we don’t get nearly as much female attention as we used to when we were single. Speaking for myself, I prefer it this way.
“Missing the glory days?” Jordie asks, catching me watching the rookie.
“Don’t say that,” Justin grumbles. “I already feel old as shit.”
“That’s ’cause you are. All of you. Bunch of old farts if I ever saw any.”
I scoff. “Yeah? Well, this old fart’s in talks with Nashville.”
Jordie’s mouth drops open. “No shit?”
