I pull into our driveway, and I just sit there a moment. It’s not that I need time to find the right words, but I need to remind myself this is a legitimate job request that’s been made of me. There have been countless times over my entire career I’ve not been able to be a husband or a father because there are instances where the job must come first.
I remember once a few years ago when Lucy came down with the flu and I was away on an extended road trip. Ordinarily, that would have been something Ella would have handled, but she got sick with it, too. They were both pretty bad off.
Luckily, some of the hockey wives stepped in and helped them both. They were taken to the doctor, and poor Ella had to have a saline infusion because she was so dehydrated. It fucking killed me when I talked to her on the phone, and she piteously begged me to come back.
I couldn’t, of course.
And Ella didn’t mean that as she had admitted later when I returned, and she’d gotten better. She had been delirious with fever and dehydration, and she didn’t even remember the conversation. She laughed it off, even telling me she would have kicked my ass if I’d have flown back for something that was completely handled.
I thought Ella knew that sometimes the job did come first, and we handled it the best way we knew how.
Will I get that from her now?
Will she understand? Will she be excited at the opportunity for me to move to the first line?
Is what I’ve given her the last several weeks enough to show my commitment to making her happy?
With a sigh, I get out of my car and trudge to the door. It takes a bit after ringing it for Ella to answer, and I see why. She’s fresh out of a shower with wet hair and a robe wrapped tight.
She stares in surprise, but then gives me a welcoming smile. “What are you doing here so early?”
Her smile falls, and her expression becomes alarmed. “Oh, God… what happened? Did someone die?”
Well, if I wondered what vibe I was projecting, I have my answer.
Shaking my head, I say, “No one died, but I have some bad news. Can I come in?”
“Of course,” she replies, sympathy heavy in her voice. She has no clue what’s occurred or to whom something had befallen, but she’s ready to be supportive. It makes me that much more leery of telling her the truth.
I have no choice, though.
After I enter and shut the door, I waste no time beating around the bush. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel our trip to the Ritz.”
Ella’s face slackens as her eyes go flat. Her tone is detached, and I can feel her pulling back in spirit. “And why is that?”
“Dax injured his shoulder and is out. I’m moving to the first line, and I have to go in and meet with the other guys. Coach wants us on the ice to practice.”
“But you practice with these guys all the time,” she counters. And I expected this. Ella knows everything about professional hockey, inside and out. I do indeed practice with the first line frequently for just such reasons.
I scrub my hand through my hair in frustration, knowing nothing I say will make it better. “We’ve got an important game coming up against the Cold Fury. Coach wants us to put in extra ice time.”
Ella’s head hangs low, and she rubs at her temple with her fingers. I want to pull her into my arms. By how stiff her spine is, I can tell she wouldn’t come willingly.
When she glances back up, there’s anger in her eyes. It’s obvious she doesn’t accept this at all. “I should have expected this was coming. That things were just a little too good to be true. Or permanent for that matter.”
“That’s not fair, Ella,” I chastise softly, hoping I can maybe get her out of her pique with some gentle words.
“Why not?” she exclaims, throwing her arms out wide. “It’s just another example of how your team is more important than me.”
This isn’t fair of her to say, but I don’t call her out again. Instead, I say, “That’s not true. You’re more important than anything else.”
There’s a gleam in her eye as she challenges me. “So then call your coach and tell him you have other plans.”