Page 5 of Body Checking
Inhaling a deep breath, I walk around my desk and drop to the leather chair that groans under my weight. My eyes move from one picture to another to trophy after trophy that are placed around my large office. MVP awards,photos of a Stanley Cup celebration, action shots of me on the ice. Then there are the photos and accolades I’ve received as a coach. My career has been short, but a great one. The only thing missing is a Cup win with the Havocs.
There’s one picture in particular that stands out amongst them all. It’s a photo of my best friend and his wife sitting on a boat with me and my then wife. It’s not that I love staring at a photo of the woman who divorced me and took a good chunk of my money, but that is the last photo I have of Oscar and I. He died shortly after that picture was taken when a drunk driver slammed head first into his truck when he was on his way home with ice cream for his pregnant wife.
I remember getting the phone call from Sarah, his wife, and I thought my chest was going to collapse. My best friend of twenty years was gone and it kickstarted my destructive phase. I drank too much, partied with the wrong crowd, and eventually cheated on my wife that led to her filing for divorce and moving back to Montana.
I don’t blame her. I was a shitty husband during that time. I’m sure she would’ve stuck by my side if it was just alcohol, but the cheating was the straw that broke her back. I was an idiot and let a wonderful woman go. But she deserved more than I could give at that time and so I didn’t even fight her on anything she asked for inthe divorce. I told my lawyer to agree to everything she wanted and I wished her well.
We don’t really keep in contact anymore. We would send a happy birthday message or Merry Christmas for the first couple of years, but when she remarried, all of that stopped. Which I understand. I’m happy for her and hope that maybe one day I can find happiness again.
Maybe that is the source of all my wrinkles and not these players. Maybe being alone without anyone to come home to after a long road trip is weighing on my shoulders and my heart. Some guys say they want to be forever bachelors, but I’ve never wanted that. I’ve always wanted a wife and kids and a happy retirement with a place out on the lake, where I could take my boys fishing everyday and teach my daughter to be tough and not rely on a man for anything. Now I’m afraid it may be too late for that. No woman in her late thirties or forties has babies on her mind. And certainly not with a grumpy hockey coach, like me.
My thoughts wander to Swiss Miss again. I wonder how old she is, where she lives, and what she imagines for her life. I doubt it’s someone like me, but a man can dream.
MY OFFICE phone rings just as I start to note a color change to the Samuels’ home renovation project. I’m really excited about this project and so grateful the Samuels are taking a chance on me. They hold status in Houston, and just their seal of approval could launch my career as an interior designer slash home renovator extraordinaire to a whole new level.
The phone rings for a fourth time and I answer it.
“Maren Thompson Designs.”
“Get changed and be ready to go in thirty minutes,” is what I get instead of a greeting.
“I’m sorry. Who is this, please?”
I hear mumbling then Sasha says, “Bitch don’t play with me today. I have exciting news and if you’re not going with me, then I’ll find someone else who loves hockey.”
My body freezes and I drop my pen, all ears and attention focused solely on Sasha.
“Can you repeat that? I don’t think I heard you correctly. It sounded like you said you have tickets to tonight’s hockey game.”
“Mhm. I sure did. Now am I taking my sister Ashley, who we both know hates anything cold, or are you going to get that fine ass in your best pair of jeans and be ready to make googly eyes at your man?”
“I’ll be ready in twenty,” I tell her and hang up the phone.
I quickly power down my laptop, put all the papers back into the Samuels file and tuck it into my file cabinet. With a flick of the lights I walk out the door and straight into my bedroom to get ready.
I’m lucky to be able to own my business and be my own boss. Since I’m a one woman show with a limited budget, I chose to work from my home and use money on advertising to gain clients. Until I can afford my own fabulous office with vaulted ceilings, a cozy sitting area with a fireplace and library, and large windows to look out on my expansive property that I plan to buy one day, I meet clients at an upscale coffee shop for meetings.
I flip through my clothes, looking for the perfect outfit and land on a pair of light gray jeans, my Havoc jersey with number thirteen, and a cute pair of chunky, low heeledboots. Rushing into my bathroom, I give my reflection a classic Lucille Ball ew face when I see what a mess I am.
There's no time for curls and glam make-up, so I put my long brown hair into two French braids and give myself winged liner and pink lips. Just enough to look put together but not overly done.
I”m just finishing a final coat of mascara when I hear my front door open.
“Are you ready to go meet your future husband, Swiss Miss?” Sasha’s voice grows louder as she approaches my room.
“I’m ready to watch him in action, but I don’t think it will result in any marriage proposals.” She walks into my bathroom and lets her eyes roam over my body.
“Good choice. I like that you went with the dedicated fan look, and not a desperate woman looking to bag a rich player.”
“Because Iama dedicated fan.” I screw the mascara wand back into the tube and toss it in my make-up drawer. “Are you driving or are we Uber-ing?”
“Let’s Uber. I have a feeling we’re going to want to have a few cocktails tonight.” I tip my head to one side and examine her, trying to figure out if there’s a hidden meaning behind her words.
She just gives me one of her bright girl-next-door smiles and I let it go.
I slip my ID and credit card into my back pocket and my lipstick into my front pocket and tell her, “Ready.”
“Let’s go get your man.”
