I Hate New York

Chapter 3

triggers: infidelity, married couple fighting, some verbal degradation, emotional conversations. no smut in this chapter or the following.
words: 4k

This is it. You were caught in the biggest lie of your life. Your husband just walked out of your apartment you had in New York, and now the guy you've cheated on him with has caught you in the thick of it.

You didn't respond, instead you just took a couple of steps backwards and sat on the arm of the couch with your head hung low. The silence was loud and awkward. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. Although the AC was on full blast you felt hot, like the material you were wearing was suddenly made of the thickest sheep wool and that you were going to pass out any moment.

"You heard me, why did he just call you his wife?" Mat spits at you, taking a couple steps closer. You knew he was mad, and he has every right to be mad at you.

Taking in a sharp breath you look up at him and it immediately makes you want to throw up. The rage on his face is unmatched, his lips are pursed and his eyes are dark. He's clenching his phone so hard in his hand that you're afraid he's going to break it.

"Because he's my husband, and he has been for about eight years now." Mat scoffs in disbelief. Turning around and slapping the wall behind him. He's having the hardest time processing all of this. Mat thought he was coming over to celebrate the big win, but now he's rethinking his entire life. Rethinking the past three weeks of his life. "Listen i am-"

"No you don't get to talk. What the fuck, Y/N? Or should I call you Mrs. Crosby from now on?" His words hit you harder than they should have. Was this an insult? Had he finally found your weak spot and was now stabbing it with the sharpest knife in the drawer?

"Do you know how embarrassing this is for both of us? Me, fucking the wife of the man i looked up to since i was twelve, and now you fucking the guy who he is competing against for the biggest championship in our sport. You must feel pretty special," Mat paces around the living room floor. He had tossed his phone on the couch mid rant, running his hands through his thick hair to calm himself down.

"Mat believe me this is....not how i wanted to spend this summer either. This is completely my fault and for that I am sorry, for everything I have caused." You took the blame like an adult and stood up to meet his gaze. But he wasn't done just yet. He was a man, and men always somehow need to have a say in an argument even when they've already done their damage. He truly was no different than the other hockey players you've met over the years. Cocky, arrogant, stubborn, attractive and has a heart of steel.

"Sorry? That's all you have? Sorry isn't enough, Mrs. Crosby. Do you not realize what you've done here? Not only to me, but to yourself and to your marriage. You're married to a pretty decent guy and you go do this bullshit?! Fuck that." Mat picks up his phone and goes to walk out of your apartment and head back to his own. But he stops himself, needing to get the last bit of anger out of his system.

"You know, I thought you were different. I really did. You were genuine, you were real. But you're nothing but a puck bunny."

Mat leaves the apartment, leaving you feeling like a plastic bag that had been scrunched up and thrown into a cabinet. Torn. Wrinkled. Used. Even though you were the one who had done the using. Mat slams the door on his way out and it was his final stab to you.

Not knowing what to do, who to call or where to go, you packed up your things and headed out of the apartment. All you had on you was just a few mundane things on you but it was all that was needed. Texting your boss that you had an emergency back home and that you won't be able to be in the office this week, you head to the parking garage and start your route back to Pittsburgh.