My Husband's Entire Hockey Team Knew About His Mistress novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Unwell

At her sister's rink, Lena reads the team's post calling her unwell and decides to walk into Monday's signing with the video.

Harbor Ice was dark except for the light over the office door.

It was past midnight when Lena pushed through the side entrance.

Her older sister Susanna sat at the desk in a flannel shirt with a whistle around her neck, doing the rink's books.

Susanna looked up, and she saw Lena's face, and she stood so fast the chair rolled into the wall.

"He did it," Susanna said.

"He did it."

"Which one of them was it?"

"The owner's daughter. Amber Dunning. She hugged me in the lobby."

Susanna said a word that would have gotten a kid thrown off the ice.

Then she wrapped a rink blanket around Lena's shoulders and sat her in the only good chair.

"Tell me all of it."

Lena told her all of it, flat and quick, because if she slowed down she would fall apart.

Susanna listened with her jaw tight.

When Lena got to the ring in the champagne, Susanna laughed so hard she had to put her head down on the desk.

"That's my girl."

"He closed the accounts, Susanna. Both of them. I've got two hundred and twelve dollars in my own checking."

"You've got a bed in my spare room. You've got a rink with a leaking roof and a hot dog machine. You'll eat."

"I paid his agent for six years. I paid for his camps."

"I know."

"I turned down the contract for him."

Susanna didn't say anything to that.

She only reached over and squeezed Lena's wrist until it hurt.

Lena's phone lit up on the desk.

It was a post from the Wolves' official account, sent four minutes ago.

Congratulations to our newest player, Stanton Telford. His wife Lena is unwell tonight and has asked for privacy. Please respect the family.

Under it, a thousand people had already liked it.

"Unwell," Susanna said.

"They're writing me up as the crazy wife."

"Your own husband wrote that. 'Asked for privacy.' You never asked for anything."

"I didn't."

"So what do you want?" Susanna asked. "Tell me what you want, and we'll do that."

Lena stared at the blanket.

For six years she had wanted what Stanton wanted, and she had never learned to say anything else.

"I want the video played where everyone can see it," she said slowly. "I want it played where he can't take it back."

"Where's that?"

"Monday. The Wolves are holding the signing at ten in the morning. Reporters, cameras, the owner."

"And you walk in."

"I walk in."

Susanna opened the bottom drawer of her desk and took out a worn goalie glove.

It was Lena's. The leather had gone dark at the thumb.

"I kept it," Susanna said. "I didn't want you to find it in a box someday and cry."

Lena took it and turned it over in her hands.

The first time she had put it on, she was nine. Grandma had stood by the boards in a wool coat, shouting at the other team.

"The house," Lena said suddenly. "Grandma's house on Pine Street."

"It's in your name."

"It was. In year three I put Stanton on the deed so the bank would lend us money for his camp. He owns half of it."

Susanna's face changed.

"He can't throw you out of Grandma's house."

"He can say he owns half of it."

"Then we get a lawyer before Monday."

"Susanna, I have two hundred and twelve dollars."

"I have a cousin," Susanna said. "She owes me a rink rental, a bar tab and a favor."

Lena let out a laugh that surprised both of them.

For a moment the office was warm, and her sister's flannel smelled like cold concrete and old coffee, and nothing was fixed.

Her phone buzzed again.

This one was not the team's account.

It was a private message from Amber Dunning, and it had been sent from a number Lena didn't know.

You have until Monday morning to delete that video. If it surfaces anywhere, my father's lawyers will say you stole it from a private room and your husband will testify that you were not well.

Lena read it twice.

Then she took a screenshot and sent it to the cousin who owed her sister a favor.

And she typed back one line to Amber with her thumb.

*See you at ten.*

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