I Hate New York

Chapter 1 (18+!!)

triggers: infidelity, curse words, smut (18+!!! MINORS DNI), hockey injuries (nothing too brutal), the NHL playoffs (i think it's a valid warning).
words: 7.4k

This was something you never wanted to do. Something you vowed you wouldn't do. Vowing nearly five years ago to the date that you would never cheat on your spouse. It was something that people frowned upon, despised. Once you take the vow it is never to be broken. But damn...it had to be another hockey player, didn't it? Well. Let's start from the beginning.

"Sid...you just don't understand." you sighed, sitting across from him at the kitchen table. He was picking away at the dinner you had made just for him. "I understand that you can't spend every waking second with me. Frankly if you did I'd be sick of you," Sidney looked up at you from across the wooden table with dark eyes and an annoyed expression on his face.

"What's your point, Y/N?" Sidney asked before taking a bite of now lukewarm fettuccine alfredo in his mouth. Drawing shapes on the dark wood of the table with his fingers, you tried your best not to boil over.

"You don't pay attention to me, Sidney. I understand hockey, I knew that when I was getting into a relationship with you but shit, it's like the only time you talk to me is when we're eating dinner." Sidney listened to you speak, and tuned out a majority of your words. He'd been feeling drained, not just because of hockey and what the demanding season had to offer, but because of what life was doing to him.

His bones were aching, his joints were tightening. His thirty three, almost thirty four year old body had been letting him know that the hour glass was almost out of sand. He was reminded of his age every time that he looked in the mirror. He saw specks of gray on his head and in his beard.

"Do you understand what I'm saying Sidney?" he nodded his head, even though he didn't listen to a word you said. He stood up and took his bowl to the kitchen, scooping his food back into the still warm pot you had made it in. He started to pick the kitchen up a little, placing some things in the dishwasher as he turned the TV on to the NHL network. Feeling ignored you sighed, going to put your food in a tupperware container and setting it in the fridge.

Trekking upstairs with heavy feet you start to pack your bags for your work trip over the weekend. Your job called you to spend a third of your time in New York, which when you first started your job you didn't like it. That was when it was still good with Sid. When he was still excited to come home and give his sweet wife a kiss, spend time with her and ask her about her day.

Now you look forward to them. You have something to do, a reason to get out of the house. A reason that isn't to "get away from your husband". When you used to dread the nearly eight hour drive you now enjoy it. Sidney tried to convince you not to work, telling you that you didn't need to. But you wanted to work. Being cooped up at the house isn't something you wanted to do, it wasn't fun. You needed interaction with other adults your age. There was only so much hockey you could take. So, you decided to put your degree to work.

Working for a company out of New York that helps with communications across the tristate area in assisting with first responders calls, you enjoyed it. It gave you something to put your effort into, it gave your brain a little exercise. It also enlightened you as to how many first responders calls there are in just an hour in New York City alone. Although it was a pretty scary realization, it opened your eyes to see that it wasn't just you who lived in the world. Being a trophy wife can do that to a person.

Folding your clothes into the suitcase you set out an outfit to wear for the drive up in the morning. You heard the heavy footsteps of your husband come into the bathroom and into the closet. He used to come up behind you to give you a kiss and a hug, whisper something provocative in your ear and you'd end up making love on the sink.