When Em texted, asking for a break, something just snapped. My decision was made even easier when Billie asked if we could just forget it ever happened afterward and just leave the experience behind us. Why yes, Billie. Yes, we can certainly do that. Like passing GO and getting the two hundred dollars, plus a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card, all on the same roll.
And I never texted Em back.
Emily Marshall and I have been together for more than two years. We met at a college party. I was the interloper, as always, not a college student. Already playing in the NHL, but there with a high school friend, sticking to the sidelines. I was watching the fun, as per usual, nursing my beer and saying every wrong thing to every young woman who came up to talk to me.
Emily had just graduated college and moved to Montreal to start her master’s program. She was pretty and petite, and she seemed just as uncomfortable at the party as I was, so we took a walk outside, sat on a deck bench, and started to talk. She didn’t seem bothered by my awkwardness, by the directness of my communication style. I relaxed a little more each time we hung out, and suddenly we were a thing, a couple. We had melted into a routine that had her staying at my place several nights a week.
She’s never been much of a hockey fan, though she would come out periodically to watch me play. Our relationship wasn’t built on what I do for a living or what she studies. For me, it was built on a sense of comfort. I felt comfortable with her.
Lately, I’m not sure what she saw in me. When Evan asked me what I loved about her, I found it hard to find the words to answer.
Still, I don’t feel great about what I just did. I slept with another woman. And I liked it. A lot. I like Billie a lot, to be honest. She has a wild spirit about her that she keeps mostly contained, even though it’s still clearly visible. Like the wild strands of her purple-tipped hair, slipping free of their braid here and there in a kind of defiance. Intriguing…
I chew on this, these new realizations, as I stare at my phone. I should call Emily.
It takes me maybe fifteen minutes to psych myself up to make the call, and when I do, she answers, “Yes, Cal,” as if I’m annoying her.
“Hey, I wanted to call and talk. I got your texts last night.”
She’s quiet on the other end of the line. “This isn’t really a good time.”
“Why?”
“Just…because. I’m researching.”
“Do you miss me at all?” You shouldn’t have to ask her that.
“I just saw you last weekend.”
“That’s not an answer, Em.”
“Look, I’m just really busy. It’s a weird time. School is busy. You’re in another city. It’s hard right now, and that’s why I suggested a break.”
“A breakup you mean.”
“I mean…I guess…it is technically, but you don’t have to classify it like that if you don’t want to. Just…let’s back off. You try to settle into Vegas. Make more of an effort. Stop clinging to me. I can’t help you there, Cal, because I have to attend to my life in Montreal.”
“I’m not clinging.” A rising tide of anxiety fills my head with fuzz. “We’re a couple. We’re in a relationship. You’re supposed to be my partner and I’m far from home. Expecting a little of your attention doesn’t seem like that much to ask.”
“My attention isn’t going to fix this. You want what you had before. You want routine surroundings, routine schedules. My paying attention to you on the phone or whatever isn’t going to make that happen.”
“But you have to put some effort into trying to make it work, Em. I was willing to try because you understand me and that’s hard to find.”
Emily laughs, and it’s a bitter sound. “Well, I imagine it is hard to find a partner who can live with your undiagnosed Asperger’s.”
My stomach sinks. “I don’t have Asperger’s.”
She laughs again. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
A heartbeat passes. Two. I can’t be on this call anymore. “I’m gonna go. Call me if you want to talk later. Maybe. Whenever.”
She doesn’t even bother to reply before the call disconnects.
So, I guess this makes it official. Dumped by Emily Marshall a little over a month in to our new reality.
I stare stupidly at my phone like it might light up with Em calling me back, saying she didn’t mean it, but I know that’s not happening. The situation with her hasn’t been good for a while, if I’m honest…obviously…based on what I was doing last night with Billie, break or no break. It hasn’t felt right because everything was fucked the minute I got traded. Did I do this? Am I to blame for the failure of our relationship? Replaying our conversation—the way Em spoke down to me, her insinuations—makes my skin crawl, so much so, I want to scratch it all off.
This is not good for me.
I need to blow off some steam.
So, I dress quickly and head to the gym at the practice arena. One of the physical trainers, a guy named Dale, is there when I walk in. He’s got a weightlifter’s build and an affable personality, personified by the upbeat welcome I get as I walk in.
“Hey there,” he says as I toss my bag on the floor. “Thought it might just be me and the ghosts in here this morning. You’re up early, big guy.”
I head to the treadmill and start my run as a warmup without saying anything. He wanders over and analyzes my gait for a minute.
“Try to get that knee up a bit on your stride. And pitch forward just a hair. You’ll be able to get more power out of your stride that way.”
“I didn’t ask for your advice,” I growl, yet still trying to do what he advises.
He chuckles. “So, this is a mood-enhancing workout, then?”
“I guess.”
Dale pushes the tempo of the run up a notch and gives some more instruction. I have to admit I do feel better as I run, implementing his slight adjustments to my posture and gait. I run about two miles before he tells me to hop off. I let him lead me through a workout as he talks and gossips the whole time.
“You’re new here, so you probably don’t know all the stories. It’s so crazy. So, Evan Kazmeirowicz was a total ladies’ man a few years back. He was a strong player, no issues there, but not the leader he is today. He met his wife, and there was a non-fraternization policy designed to prevent players and staff from intermingling. But he fell hard for her, and management made an exception, which was good because it really straightened him up. He made all-stars and got team captain. Super solid now, two kids, kick-ass record.”
“He’s a good captain,” I admit as I test out the weight on a deadlift. This is not what I came here for. I don’t care about Evan’s relationship woes. It’s all white noise to me. As long as he’s a skillful captain, that’s okay.
“And Georg?” Dale whistles through his teeth and rolls his eyes. “What a hot-ass mess. Seriously. He was a total drunk, only sober to play. He’d come in here and practically throw up, sweating out last night’s alcohol. Shitty contract. He was not in good shape, but then he met Pam, and it was like he turned into a new man.”
I open my mouth to say I haven’t properly met Georg Kolochev yet. I mean, I’ve seen him at practice, and I know he’s good from seeing him play in the finals, but we haven’t had a real conversation. Dale coaches me through the deadlifts, though, and the thought is forgotten as we switch out the weights for back squats.