I start for the stairs and call out, “You better get going. You don’t want to be late for your first game. Good luck today.”
“Thanks,” he reluctantly replies.
The crowd roars to life with electrifying energy after Carson scores a goal. McKenna screams before hugging her mom, the two of them jumping up and down in excitement.
“Scoring his first NHL career goal for your Minnesota Wolverines, number twenty-two, Carsonnnn Wilderrrr!” the announcer’s voice booms through the sound system.
McKenna turns to give me a high five, and I don’t bother to hide my smile as the crowd cheers, and fans chant his name.
Just as I finish giving myself a mental pat on the back for being right about the fans making Carson feel plenty special, my phone rings with an incoming FaceTime request.
I dig it out of my purse and see Aaron’s name light up my phone. Knowing I can’t let him hear the crowd, I reject the FaceTime request. My phone vibrates with an alert for the missed FaceTime, and that’s when I notice the four missed call notifications and seven unopened text messages from him.
Shoot. How on earth did I miss these? Knowing I need to get out of here as quickly as possible, I go up to McKenna.
“Hey, something came up. Are you okay if I head out a few minutes early?” I found out today that there are three twenty-minute periods in professional hockey. There are only five minutes left in the third period now, so hopefully, my leaving now doesn’t upset her. I really need this job.
“Of course, don’t worry about it. Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Yes, I’m sure everything is fine. My husband is likely just worried about me being home in time for our dinner plans tonight,” I assure her.
With the excitement of the game, I completely forgot that my brother is flying into town today for his game tomorrow. I wanted to get dinner with just Brody, hoping Aaron would go into the firm and work late like he does most Saturdays since one of the partners announced his upcoming retirement plans.
Ever since then, he has been working around the clock, practically living out of his office at the firm. I have had no complaints about his new work schedule. It means fewer interactions between us and less tiptoeing around his mood swings.
“Alright, I will see you on Monday. Have fun at your brother’s game tomorrow!” she calls as I grab my purse and head out the door of the suite where we watched the game.
Right as I start my vehicle, my phone rings again. I swipe to answer. “Hey, Aaron.”
“Jesus, Dakota. Where are you? I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes straight.”
“Sorry, I’m just heading home now. I was babysitting. Did you see my note?”
“Do you honestly think a fucking note left on the kitchen counter is the smartest way to communicate with your husband in the twenty-first century?” he shouts his question through the phone.
So, he did get my note.
“I didn’t want to disturb you at work.” Truthfully, I didn’t want him to figure out that I would be gone while he was at work and demand I come home.
“Don’t be stupid, it’s Saturday. We’ve been over this already, you can text me at work on the weekend. I can’t have you just leaving the house without telling me where you’re going. What if something happened to you? You know I’d be a mess without you, Belle.”
I cringe at the name of endearment he coined for me when we started dating. Back then, he claimed he nicknamed me that because of my Southern roots, and it was also fitting because of my love of reading like Belle fromBeauty and the Beast.
Lately, our life together has become one of Grimm’s fairy tales instead of the Disney retellings. And instead of thinking it’s cute when my head is stuck in a book, he chastises me for reading fantasies and romance instead of “something more worthwhile like nonfiction.”
What I don’t tell him is that I need the fictitious escapes—another world I can get lost in that will drown out the sorrow I feel from my current reality.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll be at the house in fifteen minutes,” I tell him.
“You should have been home when your brother arrived twenty minutes ago. I was left looking like a fumbling fool, not knowing where my wife was,” he scolds.
“You’re right. I lost track of time. Tell Brody I will be there as soon as I can.”
“Too late. I sent him back to his hotel. I didn’t know where you were, so I said you must have forgotten.”
I’m barely able to hold back my sigh of frustration. “I’m going to hang up and give him a call.”
“Did I give you the impression our conversation was done? If so, you are mistaken.”
