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One
Brit
My teammate’s first game back after his life-changing injury was a huge success.
But the impromptu wedding at center ice meant that the game hadn’t started on time.
Which meant that it hadn’t ended on time either.
And I still had to do my post-game routine—making sure I keep up with my conditioning, my strength training.
My rehab.
And, honestly, I don’t mind getting home late.
Roxie will already be asleep, so I won’t miss out on time with my daughter.
It also means less time in an empty bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out how I’d managed to so thoroughly fuck up my life.
Well, not all my life.
My daughter is awesome. The team is doing great. It’s just?—
Stefan—my husband—has been distant lately.
Cold and unreachable.
Well, honestly…
That distance has been around much longer than lately.
Empty beds. Not coming to the team’s home games. Missing meals.
Just…distant.
And every time I try to talk to him about it, we end up in a fight. Me frustrated because he’s not talking to me. Him frustrated because I’m pushing.
Sighing, I hit the button to close the garage door, waiting until it shuts completely before I unlock the door into the house and step inside.
Then pause as I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
No under-cabinet lights left on for me in the kitchen, their soft glow illuminating my walk down the hall, making sure I don’t trip over a stray toy or shoe or jacket or mini hockey stick or ballet tutu or karate belt from my tiny crazy, wants-to-do-every-activity little human.
I don’t have that now.
I may not ever have it again.
I sigh, hang up my coat, then toe off my shoes and shove them into the rack before padding into the kitchen.
Dark.
Quiet.
I need water, a snack, and then to sleep so I’ll be rested enough to get up with my rambunctious kiddo.
Which will likely happen far too early tomorrow—er—this morning.
Stretching a hand across the wall, I hit the switch to turn on those under-cabinet lights.
