This is what dating him means, I realize. Public interest. Speculation. Every interaction potentially observed and analyzed. It’s one thing for me to navigate that, but the kids...
My phone buzzes with a text from Elliot, letting me know she’ll be joining us for the second period. The break is ending, so I head back to my seat, pushing aside my concerns for now. Today is about the kids having fun, experiencing something new. I can worry about the rest later.
The second period is more of the same—great hockey, excited children, and me trying to look like I belong while simultaneously wondering if I do. If we do.
During a commercial break, a young woman in a team polo approaches our seats, camera in hand.
“Hi there!” she says brightly. “I’m with team social. Just wanted to get a few family shots for our game day content. Is that okay?”
Before I can respond, Blythe is already posing, throwing peace signs and grinning widely. “I’M READY FOR MY CLOSE-UP!” she announces.
“Hold on,” I interject, alarm bells ringing. “What exactly are you using these photos for?”
“Just our social media feeds,” the woman explains. “Game day content, fan features. Nothing major.”
“I’d rather not,” I say firmly, ignoring Blythe’s dramatic groan of disappointment. “We’re just here to enjoy the game.”
The woman looks briefly confused but nods. “No problem. Sorry to bother you.”
As she moves on to the next family, Blythe tugs at my sleeve. “But MOM! I wanted to be FAMOUS!”
“Trust me, fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I tell her, relief washing over me that I caught this potential issue before it became a problem.
The game continues, Seattle pulling ahead 3-2 by the middle of the second period. Dex is having a great game, scoring once and assisting on another goal. Each time he’s on the ice, Tyson watches with rapt attention, absorbing every movement, every play.
When my phone buzzes again, I expect it to be Elliot with an update on her arrival. Instead, my blood runs cold when I see Evan’s name on the screen.
I open the message, and my heart nearly stops.
It’s a screenshot from the team’s Instagram story. In the photo, Tyson, Blythe and I are standing at the glass during warmups, all clearly wearing Dex’s jerseys with his name. Dex is on the other side of the glass, tapping it with his stick, smiling at us. The caption reads: “The Malone fan club is out in full force today! #FamilyDay #GameDay”
Beneath the screenshot, Evan’s message.
This ends now. My lawyer will be calling yours tomorrow. Judge Willis will be very interested in how quickly you’ve integrated MY children into your boyfriend’s public life.
The room suddenly feels too hot, too crowded. I can’t breathe properly, my chest tight with panic. When did they take this photo? I specifically declined the social media request. How did they post it without asking? And how quickly did Evan find it?
“Mom? Are you okay?” Tyson asks, his perceptive eyes catching my distress. “You look really pale.”
“I’m fine,” I manage, forcing a smile that feels like a grimace. “Just a little warm in here.”
My phone buzzes again. More texts from Evan, each more threatening than the last.
Did you even consider how this affects the kids?
Using MY children to play happy family with your hockey player?
This is exactly what I warned about. Unstable. Impulsive. Putting your social life ahead of their welfare.
I want to scream that none of that is true. That the kids are happy, thriving. That Dex has been nothing but positive in their lives. That I specifically refused permission for social media.
But the evidence is right there on my screen—our private moment captured and broadcast to Evan without my knowledge or consent.
“Excuse me,” I say to Kimmy, who’s watching me with concern. “Could you keep an eye on the kids for a minute? I need to make a call.”
“Of course,” she agrees immediately. “Take your time.”
I escape to the private bathroom, locking the door behind me with shaking hands. Then I lean against the wall, trying to control my breathing as panic threatens to overwhelm me.
