Page 18 of Sew Matcha in Love
Sweet! I’ll pick up you and the girls after practice Saturday and have you home before my flight to New Orleans Sunday night.
That sounds a bit crazy. We can do it another time, when you have more time.
I live for crazy.
That I knew. It was what I was afraid of.
I liked my small, quiet life.
Zaki Marsch was not small or quiet.
Good thing this arrangement was temporary.
CHAPTER 6
Zaki
Iput my phone away and leaned over Xavier’s shoulder. He was on a video chat playing peek-a-boo with Penny and Melody, who was clapping her mittened hands together every time he revealed his face.
I missed those days. I sniffed and blinked back the hot tears that were forming in my eyes.
That used to be me. The happy guy with the wife and kids on the other side of the screen. But I blew it. And the worst part is, I didn’t know I was blowing it, and when I figured it out, it was too late to save it.
Back when Isla and Amelie were little, Viki and Lauren, our goalie’s wife, would bring them to home games. We’d video chat for good luck before the game, and I’d skate over to them during warmups and make them laugh.
They were here with Sofi tonight, who was flying home to Quebec City in the morning. I was going to miss her, and I knew the girls would, too. It was hard enough for them to be away from their mom.
I’d been hoping for a trade all season, and with the trade deadline approaching, moves were happening. Our team was good again this year, and I was a big part of that, which meanta trade for me was unlikely. But I wasn’t giving up hope. My contract was up at the end of the season, and like I told management, I was either going to Montreal or retiring. I loved the game, but I loved my girls more. And they needed both me and their mom in their lives.
Viki and I might not be in love—we hadn’t been in a long time—but I’d always thought love was a choice. After the initial attraction and excitement wore off, staying together was something you chose to do because you loved and respected your chosen one and wanted to build a life and grow old together.
We’d been teenagers when we met and started dating. Her mother had been a prima ballerina. Viki loved to dance and had dreams of following in her mother’s toe shoes. She went to college and studied dance but gave it up to come with me to Colorado. She promised me her dream had changed, but after the girls were born, she became distant. I attributed it to the fractured pelvis and emergency C-section and the resulting pain and therapy afterward. But our connection wasn’t the same after that. I hired a nanny, slept in the guest room, and took care of the girls when I was home so she could rest. I built her a ballet studio in the basement of the cabin, but she preferred to stay in the city, near the Wags.
I couldn’t blame her, but I didn’t know what else to do. And I had no idea our marriage was in danger. I thought it was a rough patch we’d work through. When the girls were three, she told me she didn’t love me anymore and wanted to separate. I suggested counseling. We attended sessions for months, together and separately, but it didn’t go anywhere.
Viki was done with me and this life, and I wasn’t.
She stayed in the Denver apartment with the girls, and I trekked up and down the mountain.
Then, after our Stanley Cup loss last summer, she decided she’d had enough of Colorado, too, and took the girls back to Montreal.
Way to kick a guy when he was already down.
I’d put in for a trade immediately, but since we’d made it to game seven of the Stanley Cup final and I was still under contract, I was staying.
Not having my girls close by was more painful than any check to the boards, concussion, broken bone, or torn muscle. It hurt deep, and the pain surfaced in ways that went against my character and personality. It sucked the positivity right out of me, and I didn’t like who I became the last six months, easily agitated on the ice, looking for fights and participating in every opportune scrum.
Turns out our rivals didn’t, either. The media were already talking about ways the Seattle guys might return the love I gave them at our October meeting.
“Let’s go, boys!” Dean Hathaway, aka Cappy, our captain, banged his stick above Xavier’s head, causing him to jump and drop his phone.
I picked it up and waggled my eyebrows at Penny and Melody. “Uh-oh, Mel! Your daddy’s in trouble!”
“You too, Marshy!” Dean swatted me in the shin with his stick. “And if it was you that duct-taped pink lace to Ridgie’s jersey and shorts, nice work!”
“Busted.” Xavier smirked at me and took his phone back. “Bye, Punkin! Bye, Pen!”
“See you at warmies!” Penny blew a kiss, and Xavier hurried to put his phone away.
