“Sounds good. Message if you need anything.”

“I will. I love you, Ry.”

“I love you, too, momster.” I end the call and stare at the blank screen for a few long seconds, hoping she really is okay, and that our family isn’t making this divorce more difficult for her instead of less.Thirty-seven minutes later my teammate and best friend, Bishop Winslow, and I push through the front doors of the arena, ready for the first team meeting of the season. I inhale the familiar scent of cleaning products, rubberized mats, ice, and—no matter how much they bleach—the slightly stale smell of hockey equipment.

“What are the chances that Waters won’t throw a preseason team party this year?” Bishop asks.

“Slim to none, I’m thinking.” I’m not opposed to the preseason party. It’s a good way to get to know the new players and catch up with the ones I haven’t seen in the off-season in a less formal environment. “It boosts team morale, and the new guys feel more comfortable with the team.”

“Why must you always be so damn positive about every fucking thing, King?” Bishop gripes. Bishop is a bit of a pessimist and not much of a people person.

“Because you’re negative about everything, and we all need balance in life.”

“It’s a fucking miracle that I have friends and a wife, isn’t it?” He gives me a wry smile.

I clap him on the shoulder and grin. “Not at all. I consider myself one of the lucky few who actually know what’s under the surly exterior.”

He rolls his eyes and knocks my hand away, but he’s still smiling too.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I slip it out, checking to see who it is. My family text has twenty-five missed messages—which is not unexpected, since I was driving and everyone is chatty first thing in the morning. There are also three from Jessica.

Bishop glances at the phone and then at me. “Everything okay?”

“Should be. Probably the usual ‘Have a good day’ stuff.” At least, the family group messages should be like that. Every morning at nine my mom—it still freaks me out to think of her as my grandmother—posts her quote of the day, usually taken from her daily “words of inspiration” calendar. My dad—uh, granddad—chimes in with a funny meme, and then we all see if we can post something funnier or mess with Mom’s quote.

The messages from Jessica I leave for now, because once I respond there’s a chance she’ll call. Since I’m going into a team meeting, I won’t be able to manage the situation in a sensitive manner should it be necessary. There have been a few occasions in which she’s called and then ended up in tears. It can take a while to talk her down, and I don’t currently have the kind of time I may need to explain, gently, why our relationship wasn’t working for either of us and that getting back together is a bad idea.

“Jessica’s still texting you? Is that a regular thing?” Bishop asks, glancing at my phone screen.

I shrug. “She’s having trouble letting go.”

Bishop blows out a breath. “Dude, if my ex was still messaging me, Stevie would shit a brick.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend or a wife, though, so I don’t have to worry about anyone else’s feelings getting hurt.”

“Not right now, but you’ll have a new girlfriend eventually. How do you think Jessica’s going to react when that happens?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping I won’t have to deal with that scenario.”

Bishop’s brow creases. It’s not an unusual expression for him to wear. “Are you planning to get back together with her or something?”

“No. Definitely not.” Jessica was under the very misguided impression that once we got married I would quit playing professional hockey. When I explained that I would continue with my NHL career for as long as they kept renewing my contract, she got upset, accusing me of putting my career before her.

And in some ways she was right. I had put my career before her. But she hadn’t proven to be very supportive over the years, always talking about our life together after hockey.

At thirty I have some solid years left in the game. Goalies can have long careers, and I signed on with Seattle for seven years. I won’t even be in my midthirties by the time my contract is up for renewal, and as long as I stay in good shape and keep my stats up, I’m hoping for more years after that. I didn’t want to continue in a relationship that felt like it was on hold until I was done with hockey, since realistically I can’t imagine ever being finished with it. I realized that no matter how much history we had, she was never going to be able to handle my career, so I broke it off.