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Lily
It’s been a couple of weeks since Ash revealed his future career plans. As always, and like everything with Ash, it was genius, and he already has contractors in place to start building the new rink in the next few months.
His dream of becoming a private coach is moving fast, and I couldn’t be happier for him.
Following Ash’s resignation, an announcement was made and the outpouring of love Ash received from fans, fellow hockey players, and coaches alike was overwhelming. He’s had several NHL job offers, but Ash has never wavered. He said he was ready for the change. The huge sums of money he’s been offered didn’t entice him to return, either.
He will always be a die-hard Eagles fan, player and coach.
And we were both willing to give up control to give us our second chance.
It all begins with a fresh start. We will be moving into our new house in a few weeks. Ash is currently back at the big house, placing sticky notes on the furniture we are taking with us. He’s already started freaking out about the moving company and how carefully they will handle his arcade games collection. To be honest, I am more concerned with my vinyl collection, which has grown substantially since we moved into that house. I must have at least five thousand records now. I need to tell Ash to inform the moving company to stack them upright to prevent them from warping.
Almost midday, Ash and I spent the morning having breakfast together at Casper’s. The best restaurant in the city, in my opinion. They serve amazing food all day, but breakfast is by far my favorite. Their bacon, eggs and pancakes are delicious and that’s why Ash always has two portions.
I pull my chair in behind my desk to check my emails for the first time today; something I limit myself to twice a day instead of every hour, which is what I did before. It was difficult at first, but Janice has everything under control in operations, allowing me to focus on finance and marketing. I don’t know why I held on to the reins so tightly for so long.
Since I promoted her, my inbox has reduced by more than half, which I am delighted about.
Life has become so much easier. More relaxed, more everything.
I never stay late; I don’t start early.
I did, however, make the decision to work exclusively with one client every couple of months. Ash laughed at me when I told him. But he understood it was a way for me to keep my toes dipped in the water.
Since our trip to New York, Ash and I have had four sessions with Lorna. I’m also seeing a reflexologist and acupuncturist who specializes in fertility. After every session, I feel blissed out, but the next day I have so much bounce in my step that I could run a marathon. Not that I would want to do that. I've discovered yoga is the upper limit of the exercise ceiling for me. While Ash is strong and toned, and yummy, I’m still curvy and soft in all the right places, according to Ash.
I have no idea if any of what we are doing is working, but I feel better. I feel more balanced and harmonious. And Zen. Super Zen.
My eyes fall on an email with a red flag symbol next to it, signifying its importance. I check the time. It dropped into my inbox a minute ago.
Confused by the subject line, I click it open.
In a heartbeat, my Zen goes out the window.
Subject: URGENT: By the end of today
Dear Perfect Lily,
Pay attention.
I’m going to share the attached photo and video with the press if you do not electronically transfer $200,000 to the account number, which I will text you the details of by midnight tonight.
I have lost everything since I was fired from the Eagles, and I will never forgive your husband for what he did to me. He will pay me back for the things I have lost, including my home.
Transfer the money, I will delete the files, and you will never hear from me again.
This is non-negotiable.
The clock is ticking.
Nerves flutter in my belly and not in a good way as shock gnaws down my spine.
“Britney, you stupid girl,” I mutter under my breath and click open the video file.
On screen, the video automatically plays, showing Britney prancing about our home in my silk dressing gown. She waves in the bedroom mirror, moving over to framed pictures of us on our wedding day and one of Ash in his hockey kit and me in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, wearing his shirt from his player days.
I cover my mouth. Shit. She’s trying to make out she’s his mistress, and he’s invited her back to our home.
