I should have known something was up. The photos stopped coming.
At the beginning, she’d send me one from every place she went. Then it dropped to once a week, then every now and then. And then nothing.
I assumed she was just busy.
She had the world at her feet, literally—one of the planet’s hottest men in her bed at night.
How wrong was I?
“I’ve been in London for a couple of months trying to figure out what I’m going to do next.”
I nod, aware that she’s got family there now.
“I’ve just…I’ve got nothing without him.”
I have no idea what to say to that.
“You’ll figure it out. There are so many opportunities here, Frey,” I say, hoping to sound supportive and not condescending.
“I know,” she breathes, looking down at her feet. “I’m heading toward thirty, and I’ve just gone from flying around the world, spending nights in some of the most luxurious hotels and bars, to living back at my parents’. It’s…a lot to process.”
“And you had no idea?” I regret the question as soon as it falls from my lips. She clearly doesn’t want to talk about it.
She shakes her head, her watery eyes meeting mine again.
“I’m such an idiot, Casey.”
“No. No, you’re not. He’s an asshole for not seeing how incredible you are.”
She sucks in a shaky breath before wiping her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m okay. I’ve made some dishes for your dad’s party, and said I’d help today in the hope of a distraction.”
I can’t help but smile at her. “Freya, an entire roster of hockey players is about to descend. There is no better distraction in the world.”
A laugh bubbles out of her before she confesses, “There may have been an ulterior motive. My ego could do with a boost.”
“Girl, you don’t have to worry. My boys will fix you right up with one look at you in a bikini.”
“Here’s hoping,” she says with a weak smile.
“I think it’s time for a mimosa, don’t you?”
Together, we walk into Dad’s kitchen. “Oh wow,” I gasp when I find the island covered in dishes full of food.”
“I may have gotten a little carried away,” Freya confesses. “I didn’t get to cook much when we were travelling, or at all really. It felt so good.”
When I glance over, she has a little twinkle back in her eyes.
She’s going to be okay. It’s just going to take a little time.
We don’t really need to do anything else. Everyone who’s coming today will bring food with them. By the time all the players and their families are here, we’ll have more meat for the grill than we know what to do with, so instead of food, we embark on organising drinks. After having our mimosas, of course.
I love hosting. I have since I was a little girl. Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if I was overcompensating for the fact Mom was no longer here to do it. But I genuinely loved it. And it only got better when Dad would tell his teammates and other staff that I did it all. They’d look at me with awe and pride in their eyes and it would light me up.
I desperately wanted to be accepted by the team—hell, the entire organization. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted to be them.
I smile to myself as I remember how floored I always was when player after player used to walk into our house as relaxed as if it was their own home.
