Chapter 36 #2
I flex my knuckles, staring at my hands.
Sparks is right.
I should have talked things out with Tori. Said something — anything.
“You failed to communicate. And then what happened?”
I flash back to the rest of the night in the hotel room, the great spiral.
“I tried to keep things under control. But I didn’t. I got drunk in my hotel room. Woke up hungover. Played like shit. And she saw. Saw me miss the goal, get the penalty.” I hang my head, body burning.
Tori still came to the game. Even after I iced her out. That should have meant something.
Hell, it did mean something.
And I blew it.
“So once you were alone, you lost control.”
I nod, unable to admit that out loud.
“What were you trying to shut off when you got back to your hotel room?”
God, I don’t want to answer this.
“Rejection, I guess.”
“Whose rejection?”
I pick at a sharp edge on my thumbnail, flicking it back and forth. Finally, I answer.
“Tori’s.”
“Because what would it say about you if Tori rejected you?”
A swell of heat bubbles up from my gut and to my horror, tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
I cannot fucking cry right now. Like a damn baby.
I shove off the couch, channeling the awful feeling into movement. Hand on the cool doorknob, I twist.
“You can leave if you need to. Before you go, take one deep breath with me.”
I freeze, my eyes locked on the white of the wood door panel.
Inhale.
Exhale.
One more time.
“You came in here today. Part of you wants this.” Her voice brings me back to the present and I calm down enough to pause. Remember Callum’s words in the locker room.
Some things are worth fighting for.
I sit back down on the sofa, knee bouncing. “What was the question?”
“If Tori rejected you, what would that mean?”
I close my eyes and answer in a whisper.
“I’m not worth it.”
Dr. Sparks doesn’t say anything, just lets the horrible admission sit there between us.
Finally, she says, “That’s a heavy belief to carry.”
A shaky feeling rakes through me and I press my lips into a thin, tight line, trying to hold it together.
“Yeah.”
“That’s the belief that shows up when you’re alone.”
Again, I nod.
“Feeling not worth it doesn’t mean you are not worth it.” She searches for my eyes and holds my gaze. “Who taught you that?”
I huff out a breath, knee still bouncing. “My dad, I guess. After our mom died, all he cared about was hockey. If you didn’t score, you didn’t matter.”
“You learned love is conditional. And in that moment, your old belief bubbled up. The distance between you and Tori felt bigger — more like confirmation.”
I nod, my chest tight and heavy.
“Bennett, what did you need from her that night?”
“I needed her to pick me. That’s all. One touch, something.”
Dr. Sparks nods. “You wanted a signal from her that you mattered.”
I swallow over the lump in my throat. “Yeah.”
“What would that have looked like to you?”
“Nothing big. A hand on my arm. A glance. Anything that told people I meant something. I’m not just some dumb hockey player she’s managing.”
“It’s okay to want that. It’s also okay she may not have understood what you needed in that moment.”
I sit with that for a second. “I never told her that.”
“Right. And people aren’t mind readers. What do you want to ask her for now?”
I bite the inside of my cheek again, close my eyes for a second before answering.
“I’m not sure there is a ‘now’.”
“What do you mean?” Dr. Sparks tips her head.
“I texted her last night.”
“What did you say?”
I crack my knuckles, staring at the bold red numbers on the clock. “I’m sorry.”I suck in another breath. “Because after everything—all the time we spent together, her careful coaching—I still spiraled. I was reckless. Out of control.”
Dr. Sparks folds her hands together, locking her gaze on mine. “You reacted. Then apologized. What did she say?”
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. “Nothing. She didn’t respond.”
We sit in silence for a long minute.
Finally, Dr. Sparks speaks. “You apologized to earn love. She didn’t respond. And your brain turned that into proof you’re unworthy.”
“Maybe...”
“I’m sorry isn’t ‘I need you.’ Or ‘I miss you.’ Or ‘please talk to me.’”
I swipe my palms on my shorts again, shift on the sofa.
“And no response doesn’t automatically mean rejection. It could also mean I’m sleeping. Busy with work. Not sure what to say.”
I kick at the rug, thinking.
Could Tori have missed the message?
Doubtful. She’s on her phone 24-7.
Would she not know what to say?
Maybe.
But still feels like a stretch.
Tori always knows what to say.
More likely, I hurt her when I shut her out.
“I don’t want you to spiral again, Bennett. Tonight, I’d like you to reach out to someone. Weston, Callum. Go for a walk, play Call of Duty.”
I nod. I can do that.
“Once you’re calm, if you still want to reach out to Tori, tell her the truth. Not ‘I’m sorry.’ But what actually happened for you that night.”
I swallow hard.
“Explain why you shut down. What you were afraid of. Then let her decide what she wants to do with that.”
I’m not sure I can do that. Lay everything out there.
Raw.
Real.
But if anyone’s worth the risk, it’s Tori.
I’m not apologizing this time.
This time, I’m telling her the truth.