Page 159 of The Home Grown
“Yeah, she’s with Kelly,” I say.
I try not to look, because there’s a time and place, and right now, I need to run through my warm-up routine or bad things will happen. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I fire one puck towards the empty net, circling around to repeat the shot a second and a third time before stopping on the blueline, dropping to the ice and positioning my stick out in front of me so I can stretch my groin.
I’ve set my routine in stone: lower body, upper body, then fire at the net a few more times. I thrive on the predictability of a very unpredictable game.
“Don’t suppose you’ve asked about the golfing trip yet, have you?” Danny says.
I stare blankly at him. “Golfing trip?”
“Yeah. After the playoffs and before we go to Romania with Team GB … assuming we get formally selected. Come on, mate. It’s the same thing every year.” He rolls his eyes.
Honestly, the last thing on my mind has been golfing. Between ex’s, marriages, Team GB stuff, and Ellie, I’ve had little time to think about excursions.
“Well, I’ve been busy … but why would I need to ask about it?”
“You have awifenow,” he says, emphasising the word ‘wife’ with an air of envy in his tone. “You’ll need to get permission.”
I stop dead, mid-stretch, like a cat busy cleaning themselves, leg in the air, only to hear a mouse twenty feet away.
“Permission?” I say, tightening my jaw. “I don’t think I need permission … do I? We don’t even live together.”
Danny shrugs. “Well, you don’t see Johnny going anywhere without asking Kelly, do you? And they don’t officially live together either.”
“Nah, he tells her out of courtesy, there’s a difference.”
“Whatever you say. But maybe it doesn’t matter now, anyway. Are you guys … serious or?”
That’s the question I’ve been dreading, and it clearly shows on my face. Danny gets to his skates and glides away, perfectly content with the knowledge he’s put me on edge.
Do I need to ask for permission? Surely not … but I wouldn’t want to upset her or whatever. The only thing I’ve really got to go off is whatever Rochelle and I were because that was a head-fuck, and I had to ask permission to take a piss.
I spot Vicky at the bench, lingering behind her camera set up on a tripod, peering at the screen of her phone.
Maybe a female perspective would be useful.
Without hesitating, I skate towards her and come to a stop at the boards, leaning over to grab a water bottle as a ruse.
“How’s it going, Vic?” I ask, noticing her frown.
“Yeah, fine.” She keeps her eyes on her phone, brows knit together.
“Busy? Or…”
“I’m just looking at Ellie’s sister’s social media—you know, just to see …” She flashes her phone in my direction, and I laugh.
“That’s not her sister,” I say.
“Uh, yes, it is.”
I look at the photo again. “Nah, it can’t be.”
Vicky narrows her eyes as she looks up at me. “Yes, it is. Kathryn Kitchener … owner of House of Kathryn. Ellie and I had an entire conversation about this very profile today. Ellie’s in this photo with her and?—”
I tuck my right glove under my arm and grab Vicky’s phone right out of her hands.
The image filling Vicky’s screen is someone I recognise, sure, but only because this was the woman connected to Rick Langdon’s face in the lobby of the hotel weeks ago.
