Ten Years for a Hockey Star’s Whim

Moments after leading his team to win the Cup, my superstar hockey boyfriend, Grayson, announced an indefinite leave of absence on live TV.

Twitter exploded instantly. The team's group chat was in absolute chaos.

The captain sent a dozen furious voice memos, chewing Grayson out for treating the team's blood, sweat, and tears like a cheap joke just for some girl.

Yet, in stark contrast to his teammates' blinding rage, Grayson's private PR team chat was celebrating.

"Let's see how Blair, his glorified babysitter, cleans up this mess."

"She spent ten years busting her ass for his career, and Grayson just drops it all for Cici. True devotion."

A new junior assistant chimed in quietly:

"But if he quits, don't we lose our jobs? I heard the captain just smashed a locker in rage..."

Grayson's childhood friend and personal trainer sent a smirking emoji:

"You're new. Blair is a top agent who's willingly played our nanny for a decade. No matter what Grayson does, she bails him out. She'll just go groveling to the sponsors and vets as usual."

"Cici pouted about female fans staring at him, so Grayson announced his leave on the spot to keep his girl happy."

"Bet Blair is smashing her phone in a rage right now, hahaha."

Amidst the rapid-fire texts, a voice memo suddenly popped up.

It was Grayson's lazy, breathless voice. There was the sound of a party in the background.

"Shut up, all of you. I'm busy. You guys are too loud."

The group got even more riled up and started to egg Grayson on.

"Cici adores you. Just kick Blair and her controlling vibe to the curb. Time to treat Cici like your number one."

"While that nagging babysitter does your damage control, just dump her. She'll be too panicked to even process it."

"She's thirty now anyway. Probably going deaf and blind in her old age."

The chat erupted in laughter.

I stared blankly at the screen. I logged directly into the agency's official Twitter account, typed up a statement, and hit send.

"Our agency respects Grayson's decision to take an indefinite leave of absence. Effective immediately, all his professional games and brand deals are suspended."

"To compensate our brand partners, we are opening a dedicated refund portal today. We will unconditionally refund all prepaid endorsement and cancellation fees incurred during his leave."

...

I posted the link to the company's official refund portal and attached a legal statement:

"Regarding the penalty fees arising from Grayson's unilateral breach of contract, our agency has initiated formal legal proceedings and will not bear any financial responsibility."

"All brand partners may use the portal provided by our legal department to file lawsuits and claims directly against Grayson's personal accounts."

If he wanted to take a break and mess around, I would gladly give him exactly what he wanted.

After posting the statement, I exited the page. I booked myself a first-class ticket on an early morning flight to a tropical island.

In the ten years I had been with Grayson, I worked day and night to help him secure a massive contract in the league. I had never taken a single day off.

Over the years, the highly toxic boys' club culture in the hockey world was managed entirely by me.

If I hadn't gone out of my way to help him build good relationships with the vets, paid out of pocket to buy gifts for the team, and covered up his missed practices, he would have been kicked out long ago for his bad attitude.

I put everything on the line to make him a superstar. I even made sure his freeloading entourage got six-figure salaries.

But what I got in return was not gratitude. Instead, I was called a "control freak" behind my back.

To help him land top-tier endorsements, I drank with brand executives until I ended up in the ER with a bleeding ulcer. I endured being groped at dinner parties.

To them, it was just brushed off as "having a few drinks."

And now, they were falling over themselves to hype up Cici, the internet influencer he was fooling around with.

I had said countless times that I hated being called a "control freak," but no one listened. Instead, they mocked me even more.

I had brought it up to Grayson countless times. I told him I hated his utter lack of boundaries with Cici.

Every time, he would just laugh, tap my nose, and tease me for being a thirty-year-old woman acting like a jealous teenager.

While I was packing my suitcase, my phone rang.

It was the custom ringtone he had recorded specifically for me when he got his first weekly paycheck.

"Blair, this is my personal victory song. Set it as your ringtone, so whenever it rings, you'll think of me."

Back then, the boy's blonde hair was soaked in sweat. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled in a way that was bright and innocent.

I had used that ringtone for many years.

I picked up the phone. The man on the other end was breathing heavily, his tone impatient.

I thought he had seen the Twitter posts about the sponsors dropping him and was calling to demand answers.

Or perhaps he realized he had accidentally sent that voice memo to the work chat, and was preparing to make up an excuse.

But instead, the first thing he said was:

"Blair, go buy a limited-edition Birkin bag and deliver it to my hotel. Make sure it's pink."

"She's young and cares about romance and grand gestures. She won't come to my victory party tomorrow night without a new bag."