I relax most of the day, doing stretches and ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. And when I’m slipping my suit jacket on, my phone pings to let me know everything is set for tonight.

I grab my cashmere jacket and beanie for later and make my way to the rink. The camera crews are set up since it’s a Saturday game. Walking into the room, I see I’m one of the first ones here, and I take off my jacket and grab my phone with my AirPods so I can ignore the noise from everyone else. After undressing and putting on my track suit, I go into the kitchen and grab my pre-game shake and then go walk on the treadmill while the music plays in my ears. After I walk on the treadmill for thirty minutes, I go back to the kitchen and make myself a peanut butter sandwich, the same thing I do for every single game, then walk back into the now crowded locker room. Grabbing my glove and a tennis ball, I walk to my quiet wall in the garage that no one really knows about.

It’s off to the side on the second floor, and no one parks there, so I walk out the door and see some of the wives arriving. Then I spot Vivienne getting out of the car, and I watch her smile to one of the girls walking in. She must feel me watching her because she turns, and when she sees me, it’s a different smile altogether. Her eyes light up, and her smile fills her face so her eyes crinkle at the sides. She stops walking, and she doesn’t know if she should come to me or not. I know I shouldn’t, but I motion with my head for her to follow me. She turns around and says something, and I watch her walk to me. She is wearing black pants with white lines that look like squares and a black cashmere jacket with the collar closed so it looks like a turtleneck, and she has it tied at the waist. Her black heels click on the concrete, and she finally reaches my side. “Hello there,” she says and doesn’t try to kiss me, so I lean in, putting one hand on her waist, and I put my cheek against hers, kissing her softly.

“Hey,” I say to her and then turn to walk to my secret place.

“Where are you going?” she asks. She looks around as we get farther away from the noise, and I lead her to the iron stairs that lead upstairs. “This feels like those movies when the killer is just waiting in the empty parking lot, and just when you think you’re imagining it …” She laughs. “Boom, you’re dead.”