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This time I don’t look at him. My eyes stay fixed on a knot in a floorboard, it’s all I can do to keep from sobbing.
Heavy footsteps cross the space to the open hatch on the floor.
“You can pick up your shit from the concierge.”
He’s gone. And I’m gutted.
* * *
My parents are thrilled that I’m officially “alive” and will use the name Bridget Hayes on new documentation. They knew about the proposal, which only gives more weight to the argument that he did it for them. This was the loophole they found. They know something went down between the two of us, based on the way they said he peeled out of here, but nobody has said anything. I don’t have the strength to talk about it, so I’m glad for their understanding. Today should have been a great day, but instead, I’m here. Alone in a guest bedroom, obliterated. Will I ever feel happiness again? The empty pang in my gut multiplies, and I worry it will swallow me whole.I wish it would.My throat is raw from crying, and I have a headache from all the tears, but I stand behind my decision to put him first, even if he doesn’t see it that way.
He was so wrapped up in this that he was willing to throw his future away. Stepping back was the right move. If we are inevitable like he says, I won’t fight it. But I don’t know that. He admitted he wouldn’t have proposed today if my visa waiver wasn’t in jeopardy. And sure, we’d have a few good years, but eventually, after he tired of the sex, he would see there’s nothing more to me than broken pieces. I would end up even more busted than before.
He deserves someone that will fit into his life better. I’ve seen the hockey wives. They are so put together, as if they stepped out of a magazine. They have pressed designer dresses, while the few outfits I own are well-worn. Where their bodies are tall, tight, and lean, mine is short, curvy, and soft. Their lives are organized; mine is a mess.
On top of that, I have been relying on everyone for everything—which is never safe—I have zero control over my life. Now that I can get a job, I’ll be able to take care of myself. I can get my own place, and people can stop feeling like they have to take care of me. I’ll be able to get my bearings and figure out where I stand.
My trust issues aren’t something that can be cured; this ugly part of me is permanent. Eventually, he’ll see that he dodged a bullet. The hard part is moving forward; it’s not like we can just split and go our separate ways. Seeing him when I’m with my family will be like twisting a knife through my heart. There’s no avoiding him. He’s my parents other son. I hate that I hurt him, but I needed to pull back before I destroyed us both.
THIRTY
The Macallan 18 isn’t cutting it. I shouldn’t even be drinking since we have a game tomorrow. But what else is there to do? Jack told me not to fuck this up, but I’d say it’s well within the realm of fucked. I’m tempted to go out and take home the first bunny that looks my way, but none are Bridget. And I know it would only be out of spite, so there’s no way I could follow through once I got her back here.
I don’t know how to get through to her. Nobody has made me as crazy as she has. Maybe I messed this up by proposing so soon, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want her. She probably thinks it’s a favor for her family. An eye for an eye. They saved me, so I save her. That’s bullshit. We belong together.
She calms me and makes me feel cared for. At least she did. Ironically, all I feel now is rejection.Ain’t that some shit.I can’t just move on with my life as if nothing happened. The worst part is I know I’ll see her around. I sure as hell don’t want to see her right now, though. I’ve already packed up her things and dropped them off at the front desk. It was a dick move to drop her stuff with the concierge, but I’m not ready to see her.
Deep down, I’m just hurt and want her to hurt too. She doesn’t seem nearly as affected by this split. I suppose that’s no surprise, considering it was her idea. When she said she would stay with her parents and get another job, it was like getting kicked in the gut. She didn’t even want totryto work through it. When we’re married, I’ll teach her it doesn’t work that way. She can’t cut and run when things get tough. If she wants to fight, then we’re going to fight. I’ll stay up all night arguing if that’s what it takes. And then I’ll fuck her until the sun rises, just to show how much I love her.
I’m not giving up as easily. I’ll wait. I’m a patient man. How can she not see I’m all in? Baggage and scars, I want it all. I’ll take her issues, her trauma, her bad days. Because I know we’ll also have good ones. We’ll have a life full of everything she’s ever dreamed of. There’s a lot of happiness ahead of us, if only she could see it.
This isn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. But right now, I need another drink.
* * *
I’m playing sloppy, which only makes me more angry. Stayed up too late drinking. Rage radiates from me. I’m not one to start fights, but I’m waiting for an excuse to drop gloves or throw one of these assholes from Texas into the boards.
My shitty skating doesn’t keep me from chirping at the other team. I want everyone to be as pissed off as I am. Especially this forward who keeps trying to deke on me.
“Aye, Ehlers, my left nut dangles better than you do.” I throw my shoulder into him.
“I bet it does. You ready to age out yet, bud?”
I get him out of my zone, but before long, he’s back again.
“Age out? That’s big talk for someone who’s been riding the pine for the first two periods.”
“Funny, that pretty brunette of yours was riding my pine last night too.”
There it is.
I drop my gloves, and so does he. I release blow after blow, giving him every bit of my aggression. The second that stupid fishbowl gets knocked off his head, I lose control. The boys are banging their sticks against the boards as I throw my shots. He dodges the first few punches but on the fourth swing, my fist connects with his face, and it’s glorious. He’s gotten in a few jabs, but I’m numb to them. There’s too much adrenaline coursing through my veins to feel anything.
We each have a firm grip on each other’s sweaters, slowly circling as we throw as many balanced punches as we can.
“Come on, hit harder, bud!” I fire at him.
“I’m going to beat your ass, old man.”
