Page 282 of Wild Card 13

A promise made where everyone could see it.

My stomach twisted with something that was not envy exactly. Maybe longing. Maybe fear wearing a prettier dress.

When the meeting ended, Bea lingered after Vivienne stepped into the hall to take a call. “You okay?” Bea asked.

I looked up from the notes I was pretending to organize. “Me?”

“No, Dottie. She seems burdened by the wedding timeline.”

Dottie snored.

“I’m fine,” I sighed.

Bea gave me the look women gave each other when fine was allowed exactly one chance to become more honest. “End of season.”

“Yeah.”

“And other things?”

I capped my pen. “Buzz came by yesterday.”

“The morning after the loss?”

I nodded. “I invited him in for a minute.”

“That’s big.”

“It was one minute.”

Bea smiled like she knew better than to make too much of it. Still, her hand came to her heart for half a second.

I laughed despite myself.

Bea stood carefully, using the arm of the chair. I moved to help, but she waved me off before I got there.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“You’re sure?”

“I am thirty-something weeks pregnant and marrying a man who tried to pre-cut my toast this morning so I wouldn’t have to use a knife. Fine is relative.” At the door, she paused. “For what it’s worth, the quiet after the season can make everything feel louder. Feelings included.”

“I hate when everyone becomes wise at me.”

“It’s one of the benefits of being loved by smart people.”

Then she left me with my notes, my sleeping dog, and that sentence sitting in the room like it had been invited.

By the thirdmorning after the loss, the arena no longer felt stunned. It felt hollowed out.

No skates hitting rubber mats. No tape ripping in sharp strips. No players calling down the hall. No sticks stacked outside meeting rooms. No burst of laughter from the locker room that made every staff member pretend not to listen.

The building had become mostly office noise. Phones. Keyboards. Printers. Rainwater dripping from umbrellas left near the staff entrance. The distant, constant breath of ice-making equipment.

I arrived later than usual because Dottie had decided the wet grass outside my apartment required a full forensic investigation before she could pee. By the time we got to my office, my hair had frizzed around my temples, my shoes were damp, and I had already spilled tea on the cuff of my blouse.

Dottie, however, trotted down the corridor with purpose. She reached my office door, sat, and looked down the hall. Her tail swept the floor. She panted happily.

Footsteps sounded around the corner.