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How do I explain that he didn’t do anything but exist here in my space without sounding like an asshole? It’s not where the conversation should start anyway. We should start at the start.
“What was it about her?”
We’re stuck in some traffic, either from an accident or maybe there’s an event at the arena which we’ll be passing. Either way, I’m stuck in this vehicle with him for even longer so we may as well make use of the time. No better time than the present to ask the question I always wanted to know the answer to and equally never wanted to.
“It wasn’t her. Not exactly, anyway. She’s not more attractive than you, she doesn’t make me laugh like you,” he says, sounding as if he’s talking more to himself than he is to me. “It was more that she knew the right things to say at just the right time. Trina inserted herself in the role of my everyday supporter, and I was so dependent on that from you, I let her.”
“Her support wasn’t the problem.”
“No. But her support morphed into what became the problem. She was experienced. Both sexually and in her subtle manipulation. I can see it for what it was now. But then? I only saw a knowledgeable, successful woman throwing herself at me by telling me all the things I could be and do. Trina didn’t make me work for anything; she laid it all out in front of me before I even thought about wanting it.”
“Is that what I did wrong? I made you work for it.” Anger works its way in to mask how painful this is to hear him say.
“Fuck, Isla, you didn’t do anything wrong. And yeah, you made me work for you but only ever in ways that made me better. You challenged me to improve myself. I never felt good enough for you. Or for the coach’s daughter. Or for the NHL Hall of Famer’s daughter. I always felt like I had something to prove to you. It wasn’t you who made me feel that way though, after I earned that first date you never asked me to prove myself to you again. Until I was drafted, and I failed spectacularly.”
“You’re saying it was as easy as her showing up with brownies on game day or some shit?”
I meant so little to him that anyone who showed him support could have him forget the commitment he made to me. That may not be what he’s saying exactly, but that’s all I’m hearing.
“No,” he says and sighs. “Nothing was easy, except her. Damn it, Isla. I hate this, I don’t want to have to say this to you and I sure as hell don’t want to admit that I was the cliché shithead teenager who threw everything away for easy companionship. I hated myself for it then, and I do even more now.”
The traffic breaks and the last few minutes of the drive speed by at the same pace as my racing heart. I don’t acknowledge what he’s said until he’s pulled up in front of my building and the silence in this car has become all too deafening.
“I would never have agreed that you weren’t good enough to date me, the NHL Hall of Famer’s daughter. In fact, I would have called you ridiculous for thinking that. But I understand now what it’s like to not feel good enough, or worthy enough for the person you love. You showed me what it meant, and Trina made sure to twist the knife over the years you were together,” I tell him, though that costs me every ounce of strength I have in me. “I’m sorry if I ever did anything to make you feel less than. Because it’s the worst fucking feeling in the world.”
14
CILLIAN
“Nice work today, Wylder.” Nicky, the head strength and conditioning trainer, pats me on the shoulder.
“Thanks to you,” I call back as I make my way to the locker room. Nicholai Popov is a beast of a trainer. In his early fifties, he’s been in the business my whole life. He works us hard, but he knows what he’s doing so we all listen to every suggestion he makes. He’s thoroughly kicked my ass this week in the weight room, but it’s felt good. I’ve missed the hard work and ice time.
The routine of practice and training the past couple of weeks has kept me in check. If not for that and Sadie, I’d probably be spiraling over everything Isla had to say the day I moved into my new house. She doesn’t know, but I heard some of what she and Marney were talking about. I went in to see if she was ready to leave, since I was getting nothing but side-eyes from Coach. Isla said she wanted me to earn a second chance.
Her forgiveness is something I want, as much as I want to forgive her. That thorn still pricks my side, regardless of how far we’ve come since I’ve been back. We’ve been getting along well enough, and she’s now starting to trust me to take Sadie on short outings without her. Some days, it’s enough.
Other days, I want what we used to have with such a vengeance I can barely function through the need to haul her sassy ass back into my world. The desire to be back in her bed, in her, grows with every fucking passing day. Especially when she sends me looks as I’m hanging out with our daughter. I know it affects her, but I don’t want that to be the reason she succumbs.
Seducing her would be easier than gaining her acceptance and forgiveness. I’m sure of it. But where would that lead? To fuck-buddy co-parents? We’re not ready for more, there’s too much to work out.
I don’t see why I can’t get the same benefits as Tyson fucking Murphy, though. Except, that’s a lie. It’s because I let a viper into our house and let her destroy everything, that’s why.
This Trina situation has been weighing heavily on me. She not only fucked with Isla in the most unforgivable ways, but the more I put the pieces together, the more I see how she took advantage of my trust. I’ve spent so many nights racking my brain on how I let it all happen and coming to terms with how blind I was.
“You coming tonight, Wild?” Axel grabs my attention as I start to strip down for a shower.
“Where?”
“Vaughn’s. Caroline is cooking dinner for anyone who wants to come.”
“Who’s Caroline?”
“His wife,” Hugo chimes up.
“I didn’t know Vaughn was married.”
“Has been since he skated in the minors. They’re private though,” Axel says. That’s not unusual, and most guys in the league are married young. Gavin Vaughn just didn’t seem the type, I guess.
