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The only thing I’m sure of is that when my own orgasm rips through me, I know I’ve got some serious soul-searching to do if I want to keep this going.
“Jesus,” I gasp as I collapse on top of Tillie. Her chest heaves against mine, our bodies slick with sweat.
Her fingers play in my hair as I drag my lips across her shoulder. She shivers, and I lift my head to look down at her.
I brace myself to see something bad, but she smiles.
“Feel better?” she asks.
She’s not talking about the phenomenal sex we just had but about my unburdening on her.
“I feel lighter,” I admit.
“Can I ask you something about hockey?”
“Sure.”
“This whole thing with Kyle and your inability to talk to him before the crash… that’s why you walked away?”
I have to think about it. How much is the crash itself, and how much is the betrayal? “The crash was jarring. It knocked me and everyone off-balance. But the thing with Kyle is what caused me to spiral. The feeling that I was undeserving of being part of that team was so intense, I couldn’t see anything else. I was afraid I would hurt my other teammates. In fact, I was certain of it. I was convinced I was a horrible person, and I just wanted to remove myself from it all.”
“The arrest in New York and the attack on that ref?”
I nod. “I was so angry at everything, most of all myself. I wanted to hurt other people so they would hurt as much as I did.”
“Didn’t anyone try to help you?” she asks, censure in her tone.
My laugh is brittle as I consider her question. “Everyone tried to fucking help me. The team’s owner, the general manager, my teammates. Especially my teammates. Every time they would reach out a hand, I’d smack it away. I didn’t deserve such unfettered loyalty from them when I wasn’t able to give it in return.”
“Not true,” Tillie exclaims. “You can’t think that one mistake changes your entire being. You can’t take twenty-six years of living and expect fifteen minutes of a bad choice to erase your inherent nature. You’ve got to cut yourself some slack, Coen.”
I roll us to our sides as I consider that. “Maybe what I need to do is tell my teammates what I did. Maybe if they would forgive me, then—”
“Stop,” Tillie hisses, and I jerk back to look at her. She’s clearly pissed. “They can’t forgive you because you didn’t do anything to them. Your actions involved Kyle and Kyle alone. Your inability to apologize to him doesn’t shift that burden to anyone else. Not to me and most certainly not to your teammates.”
“So I shouldn’t tell them?”
“What’s the point, Coen?” she asks. “How can that possibly help you? I think you’re just looking for punishment. I’m not giving it to you, so maybe you’ll seek it elsewhere?”
“But I feel like I have to do something,” I grumble in frustration. Because although I feel unburdened to some extent, the guilt is still there. I’m having a hard time understanding what to do with it.
“You do have to do something,” Tillie says, going up on one elbow and looking down at me. “You have to forgive yourself. That’s it. That’s the only thing left you need to do, and then you need to claim your life again.”
My eyes drop to a wavy lock of hair over her shoulder. I reach up and rub it between my fingers.
Forgive myself?
Reclaim my life?
Is that even possible?
Do I want that, or could I be content staying here?
Yesterday, I knew what the answers were to all those questions.
Today, I can’t answer a single one of them.
“I’ve got to go to Pittsburgh. Want to come?”
