The Hockey Star's Regret

Wedding Date

A tall man walked out. Dark skin, low haircut, leather jacket over a simple white shirt, pulling a single suitcase behind him.

Leila made a sound. A high, breathless sound that Nathan had never heard her make. Not for him. Not in five years.

"Oscar!"

Oscar looked up. His face broke into a smile.

Leila ran.

She ran past the barrier, past the crowd, past Nathan standing three feet to her left, and threw herself at Oscar. Her arms went around his neck. Her legs came off the ground. He caught her like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had done it a thousand times before.

"Oh my God, oh my God, you're here!" Leila was laughing and talking at the same time, her face buried in his neck. "I can't believe it. Five years. Five years, Oscar."

"Missed you too, Lei." His voice was deep. Calm. The voice of a man who was not surprised to be missed.

Nathan stood and watched.

People flowed around him. A family pushed past with a luggage cart. A driver called out a name. The arrivals doors opened and closed, opened and closed.

Leila was still hanging on Oscar. She pulled back and grabbed his face in both hands, studying him like he might disappear.

"Let me look at you. You got bigger. Did you get bigger?"

Oscar laughed. "You got smaller."

"Liar."

They were still standing in the same position. Her hands on his face. His hands on her waist. Neither of them are letting go.

Nathan looked at his watch. 5:07 PM.

The dinner was at 7:30 PM.

He walked over.

"Leila."

She turned. Slightly. Her hands were still on Oscar's chest. She looked at Nathan like she had forgotten he was there.

"Oh. Right. Nate, this is Oscar. Oscar, this is Nathan. My... manager."

My manager.

Not my boyfriend. Not my partner. Not the man who proposed to me three times.

My manager.

Oscar looked at Nathan and extended his hand. "Appreciate the ride, man."

Nathan shook it. Oscar's grip was firm. The grip of a man with nothing to prove.

"Let's get out of here," Leila said, grabbing Oscar's suitcase without asking. She was already walking toward the exit, already talking, already filling the space between them with words and laughter and history.

Nathan walked behind them.

He opened the trunk. Leila threw the suitcase in. Oscar got in the back seat. Leila got in the front.

Nathan stood outside the car for three seconds.

Then he got in. Started the engine. Pulled out of the airport.

"Where am I dropping you?" he asked Oscar.

"Lei's place is fine. I'll figure out the rest tomorrow."

"Of course," Nathan said.

Leila turned in her seat to face Oscar. "So tell me everything. How was Madrid? Did you play? Did you get scouted? Why did you come back? Don't leave anything out."

Oscar leaned back and started talking.

Nathan drove.

THE NELSON ESTATE

The Nelson estate sat on twelve acres of land with a huge gate at the entrance. Long driveway lined with oak trees. A statement house.

Nathan pulled up. Two minutes early. His grandmother would approve.

A valet took his car. Another man in a white jacket guided him through the front doors.

He straightened his tie.

His grandmother was already inside. She stood near the entrance of the dining room in a black dress, a glass of champagne in her hand, speaking to a man Nathan recognized from financial news. Marcus Nelson. Broad shoulders. Silver hair. An expensive watch.

Marcus Nelson looked at Nathan and smiled. The kind of smile that had been polished over years of boardrooms and deal dinners.

"Nathan. Good to finally meet you in person. Eleanor has told me a lot about you."

"Only good things, I hope," Nathan said.

"She doesn't waste time on bad things." Marcus shook his hand. Firmly. "Come. Everyone is waiting."

The dining room was long. A table set for twenty. Crystal. Silver. Candles. Nathan counted the faces. Businessmen. Investors. Two politicians he recognized from television. Eleanor's lawyer. Marcus Nelson's accountant.

And at the far end of the table, Samantha Nelson.

She stood when Nathan entered. She was taller than he expected. Dark hair pulled into a low bun. A green dress that was simple but clearly expensive. Her face was composed. The face of a woman who had been trained to sit at the end of long tables.

Nathan walked toward her. His grandma watched from across the room.

"You must be Nathan," Samantha said.

"You must be Samantha."

She smiled smoothly. "I hear we're getting married."

"So I'm told."

"Well then." She extended her hand. "Let's try to make it less strange than it sounds."

He shook her hand. Her grip was light but steady.

Dinner was served in courses.

First, soup. Then salad. Then fish. Then meat. Each plate arrived silently, placed by staff who moved efficiently. Nathan ate slowly. He nodded when people spoke to him. He laughed when Marcus told a joke about the stock market. He answered questions about his work in sports management with the rehearsed tone of a man who had learned to talk about himself without saying anything real.

But his mind was somewhere else.

Leila's hands on Oscar's face. The way she had said his name. "Oh my God, you're here." The way she had introduced him. "My manager."

He thought about the drive back from the airport. Leila had talked the entire time. Facing backward. Leaning into the space between the front seats so she could see Oscar. Asking about Madrid. Asking about his knee. Asking about the teams that had scouted him. Oscar had answered everything in that calm voice, and Leila had hung on every word like each one was a gift.

Nathan had driven in silence. He had not been asked a single question.

"Nathan."

He blinked. Eleanor was staring at him from across the table. Her eyes were sharp.

"The Nelsons were asking about the wedding date. I suggested the twenty-eighth of next month. That gives us four weeks. What do you think?."