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The free agency date hangs there in the air, and a knot forms in my stomach as I worry about whether I should tell him that I don’t think McCabe even knows about our perfectly good offer. Ultimately, I decide that this is something for him and Jameson to handle as part of the contract negotiation, which I’m no longer involved in.

“Not disclosing this relationship makes it seem like we have something to hide,” I say.

“No, not disclosing it is doing what’s best for the team. The playoffs will be over in a few weeks. Please don’t tell me that you can’t put off announcing your relationship until then.”

It’s not a question. He’s not asking, he’s telling me that this is what we’re going to do. And even though the whole thing makes me uneasy...maybe he’s right? Maybe this is just a small sacrifice for the greater good, because I certainly don’t want to be the cause of any divisions within the team. And I’m pretty sure McCabe wouldn’t want that, either.

“Of course I can,” I say, because Frank just came up with the only thing that could convince me we should keep hiding this. Not because it’s wrong, but because it could be a distraction for the team, and the last thing a GM or a team captain would want right now isanythingthat has the potential to distract the team from winning.

Chapter Thirty-Three

AJ

“Istill don’t think you should go,” Nicholas reiterates as he stands from his seat at my small kitchen table and clears our plates.

“She’s heard your argument and made her decision,” Nicole says, looking up at him with a sympathetic smile. She’s still in her scrubs from her shift in the NICU, and her blonde hair is pulled back into a sleek bun.

Nicholas looks down at her fondly, presses his lips together, and nods before looking over at me. “This is one of those situations where you aren’t looking for any more input, huh?”

“Yes, and it’s not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be.”

“But Chet’s going to be there,” he says, exasperation ringing out in his tone. “And you haven’t seen him since the divorce.”

The last conversation I had with Chet was almost seven years ago, when we were in the middle of divorce proceedings and I was still the assistant GM in St. Louis. I called him into my office, along with the GM, Joey Connelly, to let him know that our AHL affiliate needed a new head coach, and we were “promoting” him.

No one in the room believed that going from the NHL to the AHL was a promotion, even if it was for a more impressive title. And Chet showed his true colors, yelling and berating me, saying that this was all revenge for him cheating on me and because he’d forced my hand in trading McCabe.

Joey hadn’t known about the cheating before that meeting. But after Chet acted like a goddamn toddler and talked to me like I wasn’t his boss, Joey dismissed him, then looked at me and said, “You’re too good at your job to be here.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I’d asked, worried that he was firing me.

“Even with Chet leaving, there’s too much emotional baggage for you ever to reach your full potential here.” Joey had laid out reasonable arguments for me to consider looking for other opportunities: he was nowhere near retirement, which meant there was no room for me to grow professionally in St. Louis; my years with the organization would always be colored by the fact that Chet had gotten me my first job there; McCabe’s trade had been a mess; and my marriage had disintegrated through it all.

He wasn’t wrong. He also wasn’t pushing me out. He was encouraging me to spread my wings, which I appreciated. So I’d used the rest of that season to put out feelers with other teams, and ultimately I’d ended up coming to Boston.

And I haven’t seen or talked directly to Chet since then.

“I’m not worried about seeing him, Nicholas.”

I get why he thinks it’s better that I avoid my parents’ annual fundraiser as I have every year since Chet and I split. But now, if I’m in St. Louis and I don’t go, it feels like I’m hiding. And I’m done doing that.

He and Nicole both narrow their eyes at me, then glance at each other.

“Someone’s bringing new energy,” my brother says, raising his eyebrow before he turns and sets the dishes the sink.

“I like it,” Nicole adds.

I’ve always done everything in my power to avoid running into Chet, including not going to family functions since my parents had kepthimin the divorce, instead of me. I guess our family’s social connection with his family ultimately meant more to them than their relationship with me.

That realization should have been shocking, but it wasn’t—not even back then. And for the past six years since Nicholas and I moved away, we’d done our best to maintain our distance.

I hadn’t had to worry about running into Chet during the season because he’d stayed in the AHL—until this year. For reasons I am obviously not privy to, Joey brought him back up to coach for St. Louis midway through the season. If we play them in the finals, I’ll be seeing Chet anyway.

“Is there something you want to tell us?” Nicole asks, her voice taking on a singsong quality, like she’s trying to cajole me into divulging secrets. Behind her, Nicholas is rummaging through a drawer for the right sized container for our leftovers.

“Besides the fact that I’m over my ex-husband?” I ask, while I mentally debate what—if anything—to tell them about McCabe and me. He said he didn’t want to hide this, but Nicholas currently works for him, and I don’t want to make anything awkward between them.

But it’s not just how things have developed between us that is making me feel more resilient. It’s my friendship with Lauren, and how she’s brought me into her close-knit friend group with her sister, Jameson’s sisters, and Morgan. It’s the way I’m at ease now with the team, no longer feeling like I have something to prove. It’s the way I’m letting go of my need to control every aspect of my public image. I’m actually looking forward to being able to be open about my relationship with McCabe, once the playoffs are over.

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