Chapter 20 Always on My Mind Hailey

Chapter 20

Always on My Mind

Hailey

“Oh my God! She was cheating on him! Really?”

Jenny’s shriek of outrage makes me wince. We’re in my room. She was sprawled on my bed before I dropped my Kara bomb. Now she’s sitting upright, eyes wide and mouth gaping open.

Jenny doesn’t come over often, but she’s here this evening to do my hair and makeup. I’ve got to be at the hotel in an hour, and normally I wouldn’t make such a big fuss about my appearance, but I’m getting an award tonight. It’s a big deal. And I want to look like a big deal.

We haven’t quite made it to the getting-ready part though. The discovery I made earlier this week has been weighing on my mind, and I finally caved and told Jenny about it, since I can’t very well tell Matt. But even though I just laid out the facts and Jenny came to the same conclusion as I did, I can’t help but play devil’s advocate.

“Not necessarily,” I answer. “Maybe she was meeting this guy for a weekly friend lunch.”

Jenny arches one eyebrow. “But aren’t they together now, the ex and the dentist?”

I nod.

“Um, then they’re not friends now and they sure as booger sugar weren’t friends back then.” She flops back against my pillows and crosses her arms over her chest.

“They might’ve been,” I say weakly.

“Bullshit. Even if they weren’t hooking up, they were still having an affair—an emotional affair. I mean, come on, Hailey. A married woman doesn’t meet the same man for lunch for six months if she doesn’t have feelings for him.”

I agree, but I hate the idea that Kara was actually doing that to Matt. For some dumb reason, I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, even when she can’t give me the same courtesy. From the second we met, Kara assumed I was a one-night stand or a casual hookup. Even after months of me dating Matt, the woman continues to turn her nose up at me whenever she sees me. So yeah, Kara is a bitch. But if she was seeing some dentist behind Matt’s back during their marriage, that’s beyond bitch. That’s cruel.

“Are you going to tell him?”

Jenny voices the question that’s been hounding me for days. I spoke to Matt a few times this week but didn’t once mention that I think his ex-wife was a Cheating McCheaterson. There’s no good way to bring that up. Yeah, I miss you too, can’t wait to strip you naked. By the way, your ex cheated on you. Good game tonight!

“I don’t know,” I admit. “A part of me is like, Hell yes, he deserves to know . But another part wonders if I’ll just be needlessly hurting him. They’re already divorced, so obviously the marriage wasn’t working. What will knowing do besides hurt him?”

Jenny flashes an evil grin. “It’ll make him hate the bitch.”

“ Exactly. But she’s the mother of his kids,” I say softly. “Is it right of me to create a rift between them?”

Her jaw drops. “You’re not rifting them. She did!”

“Yeah…” Then something occurs to me. “Maybe he knows, Jenny. It’s embarrassing, right? Maybe he knows, and he didn’t tell me. It’s sort of private.”

Jenny flops onto the bed. “I dunno. You say he blames himself for their breakup. Would he do that if he knew?”

She makes a good point. I know he blames himself, thanks to the offhand comments he’s made about being a shitty husband and a failure. But he didn’t cheat on Kara. And if she truly went behind his back with another man, then maybe all the reasons she gave him when she asked for a divorce were just a way to excuse her own awful actions.

“Or…she wanted to leave him but didn’t want to look like the bad guy,” Jenny tries, drawing the suspicions out of my head and giving them voice. “So she blamed his schedule and his hockey career and whatever else and made it seem like that’s what destroyed their marriage. That way, she wouldn’t have to take responsibility for being a cheater.”

“ Maybe . But again, is it any of my business?” I counter.

“ It’s literally your business, Hailey! She used your business to cheat.”

I falter, one hand rising to rub my cheek. Yikes. She’s right. Kara utilized Fetch’s services to make those lunch appointments with her dentist lover. If Matt is the kind of man to check credit card receipts, he would’ve just seen Fetch on all those statements rather than the name of the restaurant where she was meeting Dentist Dan.

“Oh boy.” I raise my other hand and start massaging both my temples. “I just thought of something.”

Jenny eyes me warily. “What?”

“Are we cheater facilitators?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then she bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Fetch is a cheater’s paradise,” I explain with an unhappy moan. “You want to buy sexy lingerie for your mistress? Use Fetch, and then your wife doesn’t see sexylingerie-dot-com on the credit card statements. We also give clients the option to remain completely anonymous. Are we aiding the immoral?”

Jenny rolls her eyes. “Okay, we are not getting into a morality debate right now. These are grown-ups. If they want to use a delivery service so they can get their secret gollyjollies, let them. Besides, there are lots of ways to conceal shady credit card charges.” Another laugh pops out. “We’re not cheater facilitators, weirdo.”

I drop my hands and wipe them against the front of my yoga pants. My palms feel clammy for some reason.

“Anyway, back to Matt,” Jenny says. “You guys are dating. Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

“Yes. No. God, I don’t know. I just don’t want to hurt him. And even though he’s over Kara, I know this will still hurt him.” A groan slips out. This is why I don’t like it when people tell me their secrets. I can’t take on these kinds of burdens.

And yet I don’t think I can keep this from Matt.

I’m falling for him. All week, I’ve thought of nothing but him. The sexy texts and hurried phone calls we exchanged haven’t come close to satisfying my Matt cravings. Fortunately, tonight I’m going to be on his arm. He’ll be wearing his sexy tux, smiling at me from the audience as I get up to accept my award. We’ll feed each other hors d’oeuvres and slow dance and, if I’m lucky, maybe sneak off and hook up somewhere in the hotel. Jess told me that coat closets are all the rage. That could be fun, a covert quickie in a coatroom…

“Um, please don’t tell me you’re thinking sexy thoughts about the ex. Are you batting for the other team now?”

Startled, I lift my head. “What?”

Jenny snickers. “You got all blushy, which means you’re thinking about sex. But we were talking about the cheating ex, so…”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Um, no. My brain decided I don’t need to be thinking about that horrible topic anymore.” I pause, feeling heat creep into my cheeks. “I can’t wait to see Matt tonight.”

She’s quiet for a moment, a slow smile playing on her lips. “Wow. You’re really into him, huh?”

My cheeks get hotter. “So much.”

“Curling iron’s ready!” she chirps. “Sit.” She drags me to the chair she set up in front of the wall mirror in my bedroom. “And elaborate while I make you extra gorgeous.”

“There’s nothing to elaborate on.” I shrug. “I like him.”

Jenny grabs a handful of hair clips from the dresser and begins sectioning off my hair. Then she takes one small chunk and twists it around the hot iron. Steam rises up for a moment, and I say a quick prayer that she doesn’t burn my hair off. I’ve actually never seen Jenny do anyone’s hair before, come to think of it. But her long locks are always perfectly curled, so I’m hopeful that she knows what she’s doing.

“You like him,” she echoes. “What else?”

“I don’t understand the question.” Our eyes meet in the mirror, and we both start laughing.

“You’re the worst gal pal ever,” she declares. “I want details , Hailey. Like, is the sex still awesome after three months? Has the marriage word come up?”

“Marriage?” I squawk. “He hasn’t even referred to me as his girlfriend yet!”

“Really?” A frown mars her lips. She slides the curling iron down, and a perfect spiral of dark hair bounces on my shoulder. As she unclips the next chunk, her frown deepens. “Do you think maybe this is just a fling for him?”

“I don’t think so,” I admit. “But don’t ask me what it is, because I’m still not sure.” A sigh heaves out. “All I know is that I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“Passion,” I say frankly.

Jenny giggles and tackles another section of hair. My reflection in the mirror shows loose, bouncy curls that, paired with my bangs, give me a flapper-girl vibe. I like it.

“Seriously,” I insist. “I honestly didn’t get it before. I thought that what Jax and I had was normal—pleasant missionary sex a couple times a week, I-love-yous instead of dear-God-I-want-to-fuck-yous, no orgasms more often than not…” I shrug. “It’s different with Matt. I swear, I want him all the time . I wish I could carry him around in my pocket and take him out whenever I’m lusting for him.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “Um, we all wish that. But you’d never get any work done if you had a Pocket Matt.”

“Work’s overrated.”

As Jenny finishes my hair and moves on to my makeup, we chat some more about the sheer hotness of Matt Eriksson. Anticipation burns hot in my blood. I cannot wait to see him tonight.

“Oh wow!” Jenny exclaims thirty minutes later when I exit the bathroom in my dress.

“It’s not too racy?” Biting my lip, I step up to the mirror and examine the deep V neckline of the long, silky gown. It’s black and has a high back to cover my tattoos—I don’t usually try to hide them, but I’m not sure who’ll be at the event tonight and how open-minded they are. The TWBA has been around forever, and some of the women who sit on the board are…old.

Oh brother. Am I being ageist right now?

“It’s a perfect combo of classy and racy,” Jenny assures me. “The future Mr. Hailey will drop dead when he sees you.” She bites her lip. “Wait, that’s not a good thing. You want him to be alive for your wedding.” She thinks it over for a second, then beams at me. “The future Mr. Hailey will come in his pants when he sees you.”

I sure hope so.

***

The gala is being held at the Fairmont Royal York, a luxury hotel near Toronto’s Harbourfront. It’s insanely fancy-pants, and I can’t believe I’m actually being honored here tonight. I walk into the lobby alone, marveling at the impossibly high ceiling, the shiny floors, and the old-timey clock that stands between two spiral staircases. Near the check-in counter is a small area with two long tables and a sign for the Toronto Women’s Business Association. I make a beeline for it, greeting the woman at the table with a nervous smile.

“Hailey Taylor Emery,” I say, gesturing to the name cards lined up on the tables.

She checks her clipboard, scribbles something down, and then finds my name among the thick card stock nameplates.

“One of our honorees!” she crows. “Congratulations!”

I feel myself blushing. “Thank you. I’m a bit nervous.”

“Don’t be. Everyone here is thrilled for you. We’re lucky to have you as a member.”

I fight the urge to twirl around happily. “Thank you,” I say again. “I’m proud to be one.”

“You’re at table three,” she tells me before referring to the clipboard again. “It says here you have a plus-one.”

“Yes, he’ll be here shortly.” I haven’t spoken to Matt since this morning, but he confirmed earlier that he’d meet me at the Fairmont. His flight time had changed from 3 p.m. to 5. But we’d anticipated this. In order to make sure there wouldn’t be any snafus, Matt left his tux in the car at the airport just in case there wasn’t time to go home beforehand. And it’s only a ninety-minute flight from New York, with clear skies tonight.

“I’ll just wait in the lobby until he arrives,” I tell the hostess.

“Of course.” She sets down the clipboard and smiles. “You still look nervous.”

“I still am,” I answer with a weak giggle. “I’ve never received an award before.”

She winks at me. “Don’t worry. It’s not as nerve-racking as you think. The speeches take up hardly any time. Our chairwoman, Barbara Dubois, will give her intro speech at eight, the awards are handed out at eight thirty, and by nine, everyone’ll be on the dance floor.”

That relaxes me a bit. I wrote a short speech, but I’m afraid it’s not good enough. Or that it doesn’t sound grateful enough. I am though. Growing up with a mother who was impossible to please, I tend to overcompensate when it comes to my job. I work my ass off, and sometimes I wonder who I’m doing it for. If I’m chasing success for me or if because I’m still subconsciously trying to silence that critical voice that told me I’d never amount to anything.

Those thoughts are too damn dark to delve into right now though. All I know is that I’m proud of myself. Which, I guess, answers those deep questions. I’m doing this for me . Because building this little business from the ground up has brought me a shit ton of joy.

My other source of joy, however, is nowhere to be found. I stare at the front doors, willing Matt to walk through them. He’s ten minutes late, but we’ve got time. The ceremony starts at eight, and the lobby clock says it’s only seven forty.

Plenty of time , I assure myself.

Several more people stream into the hotel. Matt isn’t one of them.

I fish my phone out of my black satin clutch, but there’s no message waiting for me. I take a calming breath. Hopefully he’s parking his car and will be here any second.

I wander over to the lobby doors and watch the night traffic zoom by on Front Street. Three different cars stop at the valet stand in front of the hotel. Matt doesn’t get out of any of them. I check my phone again. It’s seven fifty. He’s twenty minutes late. Damn, I hope he didn’t get held up in customs at the airport.

“Ms. Emery?”

I turn to find the woman from the check-in desk standing behind me.

“Everyone is being urged to take their seats,” she says softly.

“Oh. Right.” Torn, I glance at the huge windows again. Crap. I need to get inside that banquet hall. But Matt’s still not here.

The woman follows my gaze. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you leave me your guest’s name? When he arrives, I’ll personally escort him to your table.”

It’s a compromise I’m not thrilled about, but I don’t have much of a choice. I can’t stand out in the lobby forever. The idea of walking in right in the middle of Barbara Dubois’s speech and causing a scene as I tiptoe to my table turns my insides to knots. That would be mortifying.

“All right. My boyfriend’s name is Matt Eriksson.”

Her expression doesn’t change, which tells me she’s not a hockey fan. Probably for the better. That means she won’t fawn all over him when he shows up.

I follow the signs toward the banquet-hall doors while quickly keying a text message into my phone.

Hailey: Had to take my seat. Lady out front will bring you to table 3.

I wait for the typing bubbles to appear, but the screen stays silent. No response.

Hailey: Where are you??

The banquet hall is packed. I walk in, and all I see are sparkling chandeliers, round tables with elaborate centerpieces, and a sea of well-dressed women. Several of them smile at me as I shuffle to my table. I smile back, and excitement builds again. Holy shit . I recognize a few faces belonging to prominent female newscasters and television personalities. There is a lot of high-powered estrogen in this room. The women outnumber the men two to one, and it looks like many of them didn’t even bring dates. There’s something seriously awesome about that—ladies doing it for themselves and all that jazz.

I find table number three and awkwardly sit in one of the two empty chairs. I introduce myself to everyone and discover that this table is reserved for all the award recipients and their dates. Unlike the solo women I saw at the other tables, this bunch all brought dates. I’m the only one without a plus-one.

He’ll be here.

Of course he will. There’s no reason for him not to be. I checked the forecast only an hour ago and didn’t see any storms or weather events that would delay his plane. He didn’t have any mandatory press events in New York. Maybe traffic over at the airport is worse than usual?

“So. Hailey. What do you do?” the woman to my right asks politely. She’s in her mid- to late forties and introduced herself as Maryann Winston, but she didn’t say what kind of award she was receiving.

“I own a business called Fetch,” I answer, feeling oddly shy.

Maryann’s husband leans across her to flash me a big smile. “Well, what do you know! I use your services all the time!”

Maryann raises her thin, blond eyebrows at her husband. “You do?” she says in surprise.

He nudges her slender arm. “Sweetheart, I’ve had flowers delivered to our house at precisely six twenty-nine a.m. on your birthday for the last three years. How did you think I managed that?” He chuckles. “I certainly wasn’t roaming the streets early in the morning, banging on flower shop doors and begging them to open.”

“Six twenty-nine a.m.?” I ask, fighting a smile.

Maryann blushes and glances at me. “That’s when I was born.”

I melt a little. Oh wow. This man loves his wife so much that he arranges for flowers to be delivered at her exact time of birth? That’s so damn sweet.

Maryann reaches out and lightly pats my upper arm. “I’m glad businesses like yours exist, Hailey. If only to prove that true romance still exists.”

And to facilitate cheaters…

I shove the thought aside. This is a happy night. I can’t think about Kara. Though I’d be a lot happier if Matt would get here already.

We schmooze for a few more minutes while we wait for the ceremony to begin. I check my phone every other second until Maryann finally calls me on it, her expression awash with sympathy.

“Your husband is late?” she says.

“Boyfriend,” I reply, giving a worried nod. I really hope everything is okay. It’s not like Matt to not text or call if he’s running late. Out loud, I say, “He’ll be here soon.”

“Of course.” She turns to her husband, but not before I catch a glimpse of the pity in her eyes.

Oh my God. She doesn’t believe me. She thinks I’ve been stood up.

But I haven’t been stood up. He’ll be here. Matt will absolutely, totally be here.

I haven’t been stood up.

***

I’ve been stood up.

Matt never showed. This might not be so soul-crushing if he called. Or texted. Or anything .

It’s nine o’clock, and the ceremony is long over. I’m leaning against a column, the dregs of my drink in my glass, feeling awful. The strap of the tiny little purse I brought tonight (because hello, fancy dress!) is gouging a trough in my shoulder. My award is sticking out of the top. It’s a trophy of a seated woman with a thoughtful expression, her quill pen poised over a ledger book. She looks lonely. And she’s surprisingly heavy.

I feel low. And to make it worse, they’re playing “Always on My Mind” for the couples on the dance floor. That’s my sad song—the one I listen to when I need a good mope. The Elvis version.

When my award was announced, everyone clapped as I stood to walk to the podium. I felt shaky as I quickly gave the brief acceptance speech I’d rehearsed. This was supposed to be a big moment for me. I thought I’d feel…settled. Successful business. Sexy boyfriend. Happy night.

God, I’m so lonely instead. After the ceremony, I made some small talk with the other members of TWBA. But there’s nobody in this room who really knows me. I’m turning thirty this summer, and all I have to show for my life is a business that my ex wants me to leave and a man who doesn’t call when he’s late.

Okay, that’s probably not fair. It’s not like Matt to blow me off so completely. But if I’m not pissed off at him, the alternative is worry . What the hell happened to him that he couldn’t send a text? Even if his phone died, he’s on a plane with two dozen buddies.

Maybe the jet’s Wi-Fi died. Unless he was in a car accident! Shit!

You were always on my mind…

I have to get out of here before I lose my ever-loving mind.

In the lobby, it takes me only a moment to retrieve my coat. Then I’m hailing a cab and jumping in the back, even though public transportation would be cheaper. Screw it.

My phone rings, startling me.

Matt?

I scramble, but the darned trophy is in the way. I set her on the seat of the cab and grab the phone. And it’s him!

“Matt?” I answer breathlessly. “Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is a scrape. “We were delayed. I’m in a cab heading downtown.”

“You didn’t call! And I…” Assumed the worst. Okay, it’s probably a bad idea to describe the bloody accident I conjured with my worried brain.

“I missed your speech,” he mumbles. “Really wanted to hear it too.”

“That’s okay,” I say automatically. But no, maybe it isn’t okay. “Actually, I wanted you to hear it too. I was really looking forward to tonight. And, well, it was…” I choose my words carefully, trying to process my own flood of emotions. “A disappointment.”

His sigh is weighty. “Can you come over so I can try to make it up to you?”

“I didn’t pack a bag,” I admit. “The morning walk of shame in this dress would be brutal. Can you come to my place?”

“Sure,” he says, his voice gruff. “On my way.”

My cab ride takes too long. They’re doing some late-night utility work on Yonge Street. But eventually we pull up in front of my building. And by the time I pay the driver, a black sedan pulls up too. As my taxi slides away, Matt’s handsome form unfolds from the back seat of the car. He’s wearing his suit pants and a white shirt—not the tux I thought I’d see tonight. His face is tired, and he’s thrown an old zippered sweatshirt over his clothes. In other words, he’s a mess.

And he’s still the best-looking man I’ve ever seen.

Something softens in my soul when our eyes meet. “Hi, babe,” I say, a smile beginning to form.

But his mouth looks tight. He gives me a head-to-toe sweep of his gaze and then reaches up to rub his face. “Shit,” he says from behind his hands. “You look amazing. But I was supposed to say that about four hours ago.”

“Well…” Sadness—and about ten feet of pavement—separates us. I pull my wrap a little tighter against the chill. “I wish you’d called so I didn’t watch the door all night.”

“I fell asleep.” His eyes close tightly as if he’s in pain and then open again. “I crashed out when the jet was on the tarmac in New York. We sat there for more than two hours, but I didn’t wake up until we touched down.”

“Oh,” I say slowly. That explains why he didn’t warn me. “Just come inside, okay? Let’s put it behind us.”

He doesn’t step away from the car though. In fact, he keeps a hand on the open door. “I shouldn’t, Hailey.”

“What?” He came all the way over here. How ridiculous to change his mind now. “You have an early skate?”

Sadly, he shakes his head. “No. But it’s always going to happen like this. I show up for everything just after it’s too late. This is how it goes with me.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, suddenly afraid. “Well, I mind a little,” I babble, trying to get a handle on the situation. “But I’m allowed to be frustrated once in a while, right? It doesn’t mean I don’t lo…” Whoops. The L-word almost slipped out. Now is not the time. “Nobody’s life runs smoothly all the time, Matt. I don’t blame you.”

“Right.” He looks at his shoes. “You will though. Maybe not tonight or next week. But it builds up quick. And maybe that’s just the way it is. You deserve a guy who can show up when it matters.”

“Matt,” I say firmly. “Let’s get some sleep, okay? Things won’t look so grim in the morning.”

“No, baby. I can’t do this again.” He lifts his chin, and his eyes are pained. “Don’t want to be that guy who makes promises he can’t keep. I’ve been that guy. There’s not enough of me to go around. And you’ll only end up hating me.”

His words are starting to sink in. It’s dawning on me that he’s serious about saying goodbye. I become unstuck from my spot on the walkway to my building and hurry to where he’s standing. “Matt. It’s not that bad.” I take his hand in mine and give it a squeeze. “Come inside with me.”

He takes a step toward me and lifts a hand to my cheek. Yes! Then soft lips graze mine. I close my eyes and wait for the rest of the kiss.

But it doesn’t come. Cool air meets my face instead. He drops my hand and moves back. When I open my eyes, he’s heading toward the car.

“Don’t do this,” I say quickly. “It’s just been a shitty night. You didn’t call, and it freaked me out. So I said I was disappointed, but…”

“I’m sorry, Hailey,” he says, cutting me off. “You’re great. But I can’t do this again.”

Then the car door shuts.

And the car slides away.

The taillights disappear as I wonder what the hell just happened. I’m standing on the sidewalk like an idiot in the cold, and Matt is gone . The winter chill gets me moving at least. Numb, I shuffle up to my door and let myself into the small front lobby, then ride the elevator upstairs to my apartment. Dropping my purse on the coffee table, I survey my lonely little apartment. In the bedroom, makeup is still strewn around from Jenny’s ministrations.

The conversation I had with her a few hours ago feels like another lifetime.

My phone is ringing in my purse, and I kick off my heels and run for it. I desperately need it to be Matt. That was stupid of me , he’ll say. I’ve snapped out of it, and I’m standing outside your door right now.

The number isn’t one I recognize. But hope springs eternal, so I answer the phone.

“Hailey?” a female voice asks.

“Yes?”

“This is Katie Hewitt. From the WAGs?”

Of course I know who Katie Hewitt is. “Hi, Katie! Um, this is…” a really bad time .

“Oh, honey. Did he miss it?”

“Miss what?” I say, swallowing hard.

“Your awards ceremony! They had that awful delay with the jet in New York. At poker night in Philly, Matt said tonight was important to you, so I’ve been worrying about you all evening.”

“You”— gulp —“were?”

“Oh yeah. Always. We WAGs have to look out for each other. I’m sorry you didn’t have a date tonight.”

“Well, I probably could have gotten over that disappointment if Matt didn’t just dump me .”

“What?”

“He said”—I sniffle—“he couldn’t do this again. That I’ll end up hating him.” Now I’m pouring out my heart to a stranger who’s known him longer than I have.

“Oh, Matt,” Katie tsks. “You idiot. Taxi!” There’s the sound of brakes screeching to a halt. “Yeah, take me to Twenty-three hundred Yonge Street.”

“Katie?” I say, confused. “That’s my address.”

“I know, sweetums. I’m coming to see you.”

“You are?”

“Of course! I told you WAGs have to stick together. Now go into the kitchen, and tell me if you have any wine. Daiquiri mix is my usual go-to, but I realize this is an emergency.”

“Um…” I wander into my kitchen and open the freezer. “There’s, uh, two of those cans of frozen margarita mix. My friend Jenny left them here a while back.”

“Perfect. So I’ll get Estrella to bring a bottle of tequila.”

“Uh…”

“Be there in ten.” Click.

I spend the next eleven minutes panic cleaning—stacking mail and hiding my laundry pile. But at least there’s no time to think about Matt. I don’t know whether I want to stab him with a pencil or throw myself at his feet, weeping.

When the doorbell rings, I open it to find Katie and Estrella on the other side.

“Omigod!” Katie shrieks. “You look amazing!”

I look down, realizing I’m still wearing a fancy dress. “Thank you. I do need to change.”

“First we want to see this award!” Estrella says, gliding into the room. “So exciting. I’ve never won an award.”

“Well, it’s nothing. It’s just…” I look down at the coffee table where my purse is. No statue. “Oh shit.”

“What’s the matter, honey?”

“I…” My award was on the seat of the cab. I forgot to pick it up again when I got out. “I lost it.” And for some reason, that’s the last straw.

I burst into tears.

“Oh!” Katie cries, running over to hug me. “Rough night, sweetie. They happen. Quick, Estrella! Margaritas!”

The other woman goes running into my kitchen.

“Rough…night,” I echo, shaking. “The roughest I’ve had in a while.”

“You’ll be okay.” She rocks me against her generous, sparkly bosom. “Next week, we’ll all be celebrating in the WAGs box again. This too shall pass.”

I pull away. “ I won’t be. He was pretty clear about that.” And I realize something awful. “Katie, you guys should be at home tonight. You haven’t seen your husband in eight days! Aren’t you missing out on some sexy times?”

She gives me a sweet smile. “Ben was so tired when he stumbled through the door that I just pointed at the sofa and brought him a pillow. After a three-game road trip, sometimes he needs to sleep it off before he can get me off.”

“Preach, sister,” Estrella says from my kitchen. “Luko staggered in the door as grumpy as an ogre. They landed at the wrong airport, you know.”

“What?”

“There was a signaling problem at Pearson, and the jet was diverted to Billy Bishop. Luckily our car wasn’t parked at Pearson.”

“Matt’s was,” I say slowly. “With his tux in it.”

“I wondered that,” Estrella answers, carrying two margaritas into my living room. She found my martini glasses. “Drink this. It’s medicinal. Scares off the dementors.”

“I thought that was chocolate,” I say, taking a glass.

“Pfft,” Estrella replies, handing one to Katie. “You can’t tell me those grown-up witches and wizards weren’t hitting the hard stuff after a rough day with Voldemort.”

I smile for the first time since my fake smiles at the podium tonight. These women are awesome. I really am going to miss them.

There is a burst of rapid knocking on my door, and my heart lifts. But then the voice I hear from the other side is female. “Girls! My hands are full here!”

I lunge for the door, opening it to find Jess Canning on the other side. Her arms are full—there’s a bakery box in one hand and a bunch of roses in the other. “I come bearing cheesecake!” she announces. “And these are for you. Congratulations!”

“You didn’t have to…”

“The WAGs stick together,” Estrella says, trading Jess a margarita for the cheesecake.

“But I’m not a WAG,” I argue. “Though I really appreciate you guys tonight.”

“You are though,” Katie says. “The way Matt looks at you? There is no chance it’s over.” She leaves the room, returning a moment later with my cake server. Which is a miracle, because I couldn’t have told you where that thing was. It’s been ages since I served a piece of cake to anyone.

“I’ll get the plates,” Jess offers, sipping her drink.

I open my mouth to argue and then shut it again. With the WAGs, I’ve learned you have to just roll with it.

“Everyone sit,” Estrella orders. “Wait—Hailey, go change. I’m cutting the cake.”

There’s no point in resisting. So I go into my room and take off the dress. I toss it onto a chair without another glance. No point in moping over tonight anymore. I’m going to eat cheesecake and get a little drunk with the WAGs. One last time.

Back in the living room, I drag a floor pillow toward the coffee table and take a seat there, leaving the couch and a chair for my guests. Jess takes the chair and eases into it with a sigh. Then she takes a sip of the drink Estrella made her.

Katie narrows her eyes. “Took you a few extra minutes to get here.”

“Traffic,” Jess says, reaching for her cake plate.

“Your hair is messy,” Estrella says. “Don’t tell me Blake rallied while the rest of our men fell apart tonight.”

Jess chews her lip, looking guilty. “Apparently they all took naps on the plane.” She clears her throat. “The Blake Snake was feeling quite perky when he came through the door.”

Katie drops her fork. “You bitch.”

Jess grins. “It’s not like I was bragging. You brought it up. We had a welcome home quickie. So sue me. He’s probably passed out in the massage chair now, drooling on his chin.”

“Where did this quickie take place?” Estrella pries. “I know you two rarely make it to the bed.”

“Things were extra urgent tonight,” Jess says, cutting a bite of cheesecake with her fork. “I ran to kiss him in the front hall, and we ended up doing it on the welcome mat. It’s not the first time. The downside, though, is that Puddles watched the whole time, because he felt slighted. When Blake rolled off me, the dog licked his face.”

I choke on a sip of my margarita and then sputter-laugh while the other women howl.

“Blake’s dog is a perv,” Katie giggles. “How fitting.”

“No surprise, really.” Jess takes a bite. “This is damn good cheesecake. I can say that because I didn’t make it myself.”

“You could say that even if you did make it yourself,” I argue.

“True story,” Katie agrees. “We have to give ourselves some credit, right? Starting with you, Hailey. Tomorrow morning, you need to storm the gates. Tell that man he’s an idiot for saying he’d leave you.”

“Yeah.” She’s right of course. Matt might leave me anyway, but I can’t slink off into the shadows like a kicked puppy. He matters to me. If I don’t stand up for us, what does that say about me?

“You look better, Hailey girl,” Estrella observes. “I can see your wheels turning.”

“Oh, they are. I think his ex did a number on his self-confidence.”

“But he can’t say it out loud, because he’s a macho man.” Jess rolls her eyes. “They like to suffer in silence.”

“She convinced him he wasn’t enough,” I say, and it sounds ridiculous out loud. “But I don’t think she was entirely honest about her feelings.”

“Even if she was!” Katie argues, slapping her knee. “She’s wrong . I mean, we all have shitty nights when the men are on the road. They happen. There’s no getting around it.”

“Amy had a C-section during the playoffs,” Estrella says, shaking her head. “Sully was a thousand miles away trying to punish Tampa when their son was born. Important stuff gets missed. But on the other hand, the highs are pretty high.”

“They are!” Katie agrees, lifting her drink for emphasis. “The best guys in the world. The best sport in the world. And we have front row seats. The highs are like jet-stream high! And if we’re honest, the lows aren’t so damn low. I mean, if Amy was married to a guy who had to work three jobs to support their new baby, he could have missed the birth pouring coffee at Tim Hortons on a double shift.”

“And let’s not forget that we live like queens,” Estrella points out. “Mi abuelo dug ditches to pay the rent. I know what struggle looks like. It would be some seriously bad juju to complain about your man’s hours when you’re crying in your thousand-thread-count pillowcases.”

“Like Kara did,” Katie adds, giving voice to the thoughts in my mind.

“When things get rough, we do this.” Jess waves at the cheesecake and the margaritas. “Then we remember that life is good.”

Her comment resonates with me for the rest of the night. I can do that. I can weather any storm, face any low that comes our way. I’ll do it for Matt.

If he lets me.