“Slade.” Her voice is gentle. “You’re asking me to abandon my business. My boutique, my staff, my clients—it’s not something I can just pack up and take to Denver. You’re asking me to leave the whole life I’ve just started building in Marble Falls.”
Shit, when she puts it that way, I realize how selfish I’m being.
“I know. I know it’s not simple.” I exhale. “We could do long distance. You stay here, I’m in Denver, we figure it out as we go.”
“What does long distance look like with your schedule?” she asks. “Realistically.”
Fuck, I don’t want to tell her. Because it doesn’t look good.
Hockey season means road trips every week. Different cities. Home for a few days and then gone again. The odd FaceTime in a hotel room at midnight. Flying her out when I can, which won’t be nearly often enough.
“It’s complicated,” I admit.
“And after Denver?” she says. “What’s the plan?”
I don’t answer immediately.
“Slade. After Denver, what happens?”
“Another team, probably,” I say. “That’s how I’ve always done it. Free agency, trades. You go where the contract is.”
“So another city,” she says. “And then another after that. For how long?”
“Until I retire.”
“Why a different team every season?” She asks it gently. Like she knows there’s not an easy answer to that.
I can’t give her the pat answer I give in press conferences: that a new team keeps my skills fresh. Can’t even give her the answer I give my family, which is only a half-truth: that I don’t like to be locked into anything.
Lila is my wife. She deserves the deepest truth.
“I don’t like to get attached,” I admit.
Even though I can’t see her expression in the deep velvety dark, I can picture the thoughtful look on her face. “Why?”
“Attachment is the root of all suffering.”
Her hand just strokes my hair and I relax into hertouch.
“I learned that on a meditation retreat in Nepal,” I explain. “I know I probably got a lot of it wrong. I mean, I’m the furthest fucking thing from a philosopher or theologian or whatever. But when the monk said that, it made so much sense to me.” I stroke her shoulder with my fingertips. “My mom had just died and I was in a dark place. Didn’t know how I got there or how to get out of it. And then I heard that. Attachment is the root of all suffering. And it all clicked.”
“You were very attached to her,” Lila says quietly.
“Mom was the only one who really got me. Who loved me and didn’t ask me to be different and liked me anyway. And when she got sick…”
I take a deep, steadying breath. “I was there when she passed. Dad got called away on an emergency. Walker was on tour. Tanner and Josie were at school. It was just me.”
My throat feels tight and the urge to shut down, to retreat inward, is almost too powerful to resist. I’ve never shared this memory with anyone before.
“I’d been reading to her,” I tell Lila. “She liked when I read to her toward the end. She couldn’t always follow the story but she liked the sound of a voice. I was mid-sentence when she stopped breathing.”
I have to work to keep my voice steady now. “I just sat by her side in shock. Mom was always moving, always talking, so filled with life. And seeing her completely still, feeling her hand go cold in mine...” I swallow hard. “I thought I knew what pain was. I realized I didn’t know a damn thing until then.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lila says softly.
Her soft hand cups my cheek and I lean into it, nuzzling her palm. I continue, thickly, “But I did know I never wanted to feel hurt like that again. And that meant never letting myself love anyone or anything ever again.”
“So no commitments,” Lila says, moving her hand to holdmine beneath the blanket. “No team. No letting your house be a home. No pets or close friends or serious girlfriends or any real attachments.”
