Page 51 of Sure Shot
She beckons to me, and I follow her out of the kitchen area and into an alcove that has nothing in it except for some empty bookshelves hung on the brick walls.
“This building is killer,” I say, trying not to sound jealous.
“Isn’t it? Leo and I rent our place. But we love it here. Our apartment isn’t this big, though.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Listen, I’m sorry to ask. But I’m getting a few questions from the media, and I wanted to check in with you.”
“Questions about… My shitty performance against Philly? Or my divorce?”
She flinches. “That second thing. And it’s only a couple more bloggers asking the same questions that Miranda did. We’d never comment on your marriage, unless you asked me to handle something. But I just wanted to ask you if there’s anything I should know.”
“So you want to know if any of the rumors are true?” It comes out sounding belligerent, which isn’t really fair. Unlike some of the other people prying into my life, it’s actually Georgia’s job to ask if I’m going to create drama for the team.
She studies me with kind eyes. “I’m sorry to even ask, Mark. But if you had anything to tell me, I would hold it in the strictest of confidences.”
“It’s true that I punched my teammate. But there won’t be any bombshells with regard to my divorce. It will be final soon, anyway. Before Halloween.”
“Thank you for telling me,” she says quietly. “That’s pretty fast. Isn’t it?” She winces. “I’m sorry. I don’t know much about divorce.”
“Me neither. But, yeah, I guess it is. My agent made me get a prenup all those years ago. So there’s nothing to haggle over.”
“And you don’t have kids,” she adds.
“Right,” I say a little too quickly. “We don’t even have a fucking dog.”
“Okay. I’m sorry to pry,” she says.
“No, I get it,” I grumble. “Who’s trying to kick up a story, anyway? And why now?”
“It’s, uh, some Dallas blog. Nobody important.”
I pull out my phone anyway. “Lone Star Hockey?”
“Tank.” She puts a hand over the screen of my phone. “Don’t read it.”
“Why not? What could they possibly say about me?”
“It’s notyouthey’re writing about,” she says quietly.
Wait. What?It takes a second until I understand. “They wrote something about Jordanna? Why?”
“It’s nothing. There’s photos of her dancing with someone at a team benefit.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “Really? At a hockey event?” I’d assumed she’d be happy to be free of the team. Then again, she’s on the board of a children’s charity that does an annual event with the team in September. “Whatever,” I grumble. “She went with a date to some party. It isn’t another player, right?”
Georgia shakes her head sadly. “Just some dude in a suit. They were speculating on who it was, and why she didn’t follow you to New York.”
I run my hands through my hair and sigh. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for telling me.”
“You need anything, you come and find me, okay?” she says.
“Thanks.” I stay in the alcove after she leaves. And I pull out my phone and head for that goddamn blog.
Sure enough, there’s Jordanna dancing with some guy in a bow tie. He’s looking at my ex-wife like he has big plans for her. But Jordanna looks mildly uncomfortable, if I’m honest. Like she can’t quite fake it, and she’s not sure she cares.
I squint for a few moments at a great photo of my ex-wife—her hand is on that guy’s shoulder, and she looks pretty in a violet-colored dress—and I feel…nothing. It’s as if every emotion I had for her got used up or dried out, until there was nothing left but dust.
And I’ll bet she’d say the same about me. If our marriage had a tombstone, it would read,We tried. And if Jordanna has the energy to put on a ball gown and dance with some guy, there’s really no reason why she shouldn’t.
I leave the alcove to hunt down another slice of pizza.
