Page 75 of The Puck Bunny

“After I made my arrangements to return home too late, almost wishing I could delay going home now because it would be a different, foreign place without my dad. It would never be the same and I knew it would take a chunk of my soul to see my family, to confront the sadness, the judgment, and guilt.

So, I wandered Paris alone, shoring up my defenses and emotional numbness before I went home for Dad’s funeral.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears reached inside me.

She gives me strength rather than drains me, so I continue even though I haven’t allowed myself to think of any of this, let alone talk about it all these months.

“My brother barely talked to me, but his accusation came across loud and clear all the same. Lenny stood by me, but there wasn’t much talking, mostly drinking and ignoring the mammoth elephant in the room. After less than a week, and after a brief apology to my mother for not being there when I should have—which included telling her the story about Anica—she was more forgiving than she should have been. Than I am for my own mistakes. She’d said she’d already known about the princess when she saw photos a friend from church had shown her.” I exhale because the guilt lingers. Anica’s damn lies are emblematic of my entire lifestyle for the past ten years.

“No amount of willful blindness can shield me from the enormity of my mistakes, from the stark reality and infallible indictment against the stupidity and shallowness of my life in L.A.”

“It can’t be that bad.” Her voice rises in my defense as if she’s my lawyer pleading to the jury of my conscience, not a battle she can win.

My head buzzes from the emotional toll and sudden tiredness, but I need to finish, to purge it all. Especially this next part because I’m not sure I’ll take it and I’m tied up in knots with no easy answers.

“Mom gave me an edict and I have no choice but to pay attention, because she’s always been my rock, the one who’s always understood me best.” I pause, my gut churning because Mom’s words had been like a real pronouncement of guilt, knocking me to the ground, to the lowest point I’ve been in my life.

“What did she say?” Sara whispers. It’s hard. I’m having trouble working up the courage to bare this last vulnerable underbelly of my soul.”

I take one more deep breath and plunge forward, feeling like I’m taking a knife to my chest. “Mom said my life was a wasteland of meaningless relationships and mirages, unreal and, ultimately, destructive.” I snort.

Sara sucks in a breath and squeezes my hands.

“I knew this deep down, but hearing it, especially from Mom, cut deep, and shame bled out, almost taking me out at the knees. I honestly don’t know how I kept standing. The implication that Dad knew and thought the same thing about me before he died still twists the knife in my gut.”

“Oh my God—”

I put a hand up because I need to finish this. If I don’t, I’ll never be able to get over it..

“She said I need to settle down and find the right girl. No more starlets and princesses, no more arm candy. She told me to bring home someone real, someone right for me—for Thanksgiving.”

Sara claps her hands against her mouth, but I go on, forcing every ugly ridiculous detail out.

“She implied that I shouldn’t bother coming home otherwise.” I shake my head. “My brother had been less subtle with his dissatisfaction and anger, and, therefore, easier to dismiss.

“I gave her a nod that she took as agreement. It wasn’t, but it took all I had to withstand her judgment and all the guilt and overwhelming sadness of losing my dad, of not being there for them the past years and especially in the end.

“As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were wrong. That I had no business making a promise like that to my mother, that she’s bound to be disappointed in me yet again. Even if I don’t need the distraction when I’m starting with a new team and trying to make a run for The Stanley Cup, my head is too unsettled for me to be legitimate relationship material.”

The tightening in my chest threatens to asphyxiate me, so I give her a quick hug and leave without saying another thing to anyone. All kinds of festering wounds remain open, but I take all the baggage with me, the heavy dark guilt of unsettled shit burdening me with every step, right or wrong.

But one thing was always clear in the hurricane of my emotional state. I needed a change from my L.A. lifestyle. I needed to try to get back on track and focus on the most important things—my family and hockey.

As I tell her about my epiphany, I re-live it, feeling the churn of emotions down to the sensation of my ass hitting the gutter, and knowing I have to pick myself up.

“When I gathered my strength, thinking she was finished, she added one last edict. She said wouldn’t it be the perfect Christmas gift if I were engaged by then.”

“How could she make such a demand?”

Outrage on my behalf infuses Sara’s voice and I find an unexpected smile make its way through my tension.

“She has a right. In the end, I promised her no more arm candy. That was all I could do. I convinced her that I need to concentrate on hockey and couldn’t promise I’d find the right girl by Thanksgiving in the middle of hockey season. She asked me to at least promise her I’d try. That it was for my own good.” Remembering her softened words cut through me, stabbing all my vital organs with the slash of guilt.

“Oh no,” she says. “That’s worse than being unreasonable and crazy.”

I snort and shake my head. “How do you get me when you don’t even know me?”

“It’s my superpower. I feel people, feel what they feel, understand all too well the deep, emotional pain.”