CHAPTER 19
SASHA
FUCK!” I threw everything but my phone against the wall. I had never been so angry in my entire life. I wanted to tear down the place and set it on fire.
“Sarge?” Colton banged on my door. “Open up!” Another voice sounded behind him.
“Go the fuck away!” I screamed.
“No, no man. Open up. We saw the photo. We a saw it, come on open up.”
“Leave me alone, you don't know what's going on!” I barked.
“But we want to know so we can help!” Someone yelled back.
I took a deep breath. Lucy wasn't talking to me and I felt alone in a dark despair I couldn't see a way out of.
I loved her, she loved me and the one thing she was afraid of happened.
Her privacy. That was all she asked for to be with me and I couldn't even guarantee it.
I was a failure who couldn't protect her.
But I felt myself spiraling down, darker than I had ever been before and I didn't see a way out.
So, I walked to the door and opened it up.
There was my line, standing at the door with mixed bag of emotions on their face. Reeds, Colton, Jonesy and Murph. They filed in all together. Reeds started picking up shit, Jonesy sat on the bed, Murph put his arm around me.
But then he pulled me into a hug and I cried. Not a blubbering cry, but wet tears streamed uncontrollably down my face in silence and he hugged me so tightly I couldn't breathe.
“Whatever it is, it will be OK.” He whispered.
“I thought you would be happy about a baby.” Jonesy seemed so confused, even for a kid.
“She's not pregnant.” I exhaled.
All the boys sat down on my bed with concerned looks. Confused. Colton brought me a glass of water and rubbed me on the shoulder as I drank it.
“She's not pregnant. I would be fucking ecstatic if she was pregnant.” I didn't realize I had the thought until the words were out of my mouth.
“Then what is it?” Murph hung his head, I'm sure expecting me to say cancer.
“She has these things in her, fibroids, and she went to the doctor today and they told her she needed surgery and the paparazzi took the picture and made that story and all she asked for was her privacy for us to be together and I couldn't give it to her.
And I couldn't stop anyone from taking it from her.” I grabbed my chest, the tears pouring out again,
“Fuck. Is that like cancer?” Reeds asked.
Murph's head shot up and we made eye contact.
“Not typically. But they won't know until they take them out.
And I won't be there because we'll be in Minnesota and she told me not to miss the game and now this happened and she doesn't want to talk to me about it and she is at her sisters and I'm freaking out.
I'm on the other side of the country and I can't even HOLD her!” I flipped out again and kicked the desk chair across the room where it smashed into the TV and broke it to pieces.
“OK, OK.” They all jumped up and grabbed a hold of me in one giant huddle. Someone had my arms. Another wrapped their arms around my shoulder and they all pressed in so no space remained.
“She seems really strong telling you to keep playing.”
“She's going to be fine, listen to what the doctors say.”
“She is at her sister's so she's not alone.”
“She loves you buddy and there was nothing you could have done.”
We stood together for a long while. The crush of their bodies calming me down a bit. I started to breathe slowly and after a while my heart slowed down, even if it was still broken. I was a little broken.
I couldn't protect her. It was the only thing I was good at and I failed.
“You should make a statement.” Colton finally spoke.
“What do you mean?” I couldn't think.
“Condemning the massive invasion of privacy. They had no right to stalk the girl outside her doctor's office. I can't get that fucking picture of her out of my head, it was so raw. Nina said some shit about HIPAA. Like people have privacy rights when it comes to their medical shit.”
“Yeah. I can do that.”
“We'll all repost it.” Jonesy laid his head on my shoulder.
That was when I realized the kid was the first to jump on me. He went right for the middle. I could have taken his head off and he wrapped his body around me to prevent me from doing anything else.
“Thanks kid.” I let my head fall against his.
“Let's clean this room up. But you're sleeping with me tonight.” Murph started to pick up the shards of TV on the floor.
“No, I'm OK.” I lied.
“Well, I'm not.” Murph looked me dead in the eye. This brought up feelings for him none of us would ever know.
I nodded my head and packed my stuff to go to his room.
◆◆◆
I couldn't sleep. Murph snored even after five beers and an entire pizza we got delivered. And he slept with the TV on. Nickelodeon showed Friends this late at night and I couldn't tolerate the happiness so I endlessly flicked through the channels.
Lucy still didn't text me back.
Me: I'm so sorry this happened.
Me: As soon as the games are over on Thursday, I'm flying private home. I need to see you.
Me: I love you and I wish I was holding you right now.
Tears started to streamed down my face again and I felt like an idiot.
Me: I'm sorry I'm texting so late. I just can't sleep knowing your hurting.
Me: But I'm glad you have your family with you.
Me: I'm glad you are having the surgery so soon, that means your recovery will be sooner as well.
“Go to bed. She's not texting you back. She's probably asleep.” Murph mumbled.
“Sorry.” I laid back down and rolled over.
Me: I never meant for anything like this to happen.
I placed the phone on the nightstand and tried to close my eyes. They were puffy and I had a headache, and a heart ache. But none of it compared to what I thought she was feeling right now.
My phone lit up and I scrambled to reach it, knocking it to the floor. I threw the covers off and crawled in the darkness.
“Are you kidding me?” Murph turned on the light and sat up. “Why are you on the floor? Do I have to really worry and call the doctor?”
“No, I think she texted me and I knocked the phone off and I can't find it.”
“Check under the bed. Then go the fuck to sleep.” He laid back down and threw the covers over his head.
It was under the bed.
Lucy: It isn't your fault. I'm sorry I freaked out. I just need some time to think about things. We'll talk when you get home. Get your head in the game.
Me: I could give a fuck about the game right now.
Lucifer: Well, I need you to so I don't feel like my situation is fucking with your mental health. I couldn't take knowing that.
Her situation was fucking with my mental health because her problems were my problems. But now that I knew she was worrying about the game I couldn't tell her that. I wanted to let her know that I could at least handle myself. To take one less burden off her shoulders.
Me: I can compartmentalize, so don't worry about the game.
Lucifer: OK
Me: I'm going to make a statement on my socials condemning the violation of your privacy and I'm going to tell people you're not pregnant so they don't keep following you.
Lucifer: Thank you. Goodnight, Sasha.
Me: Goodnight, Lucy.
◆◆◆
I was wrong. I couldn't compartmentalize.
But it only had a positive effect on the game, though a negative for whoever got in my way.
I was angry, slamming people left and right for the littlest infractions.
I got thrown in the penalty box more than I had ever before.
I broke my stick against the boards. I was sore and hateful and I hated myself for it.
But not speaking to Lucy for two days was worse than it all.
I had spent too much money on a private jet to take me back to New York so I wouldn't have to spend another night in Nevada and the thought of seeing her turned my stomach into knots. I just wanted to see that she was OK, that we would work it all out.
My statement sent shock waves through the internet, the entire team reposted it and it trended for twenty-four hours. People were in an uproar, some cheering my statement, others condoning it, saying that is what you get when you are famous.
Famous? I wasn't famous, I was a fucking hockey player.
I knew she was in the apartment because I called the front desk to take her up as I was getting home so late. It was nearly midnight when I opened the door and found her sleeping on the couch. She was curled up in my little blanket, all the lights on, and it smelled like she cooked.
I placed my hand on her arm and rubbed it, smelling her hair and breathing in the Shea butter soap she uses.
“Hey.” She woke groggy and sat up.
“Hey.” I didn't know if she wanted to be hugged. Something felt stiff in her body language.
“I made you pork chops and potatoes, but I think your mom brought over salad.” She stood from the couch and headed to the kitchen.
“Wait.” I couldn't stand the sight of her walking away.
I grabbed her wrist and held her still. I expected her to turn around and kiss me. I expected something, anything. But she just stood still. Like a little broken statue, so hard and yet crumbling.
I slowly slid my arms around her waist and pulled her body into mine.
“We need to talk.” She was cold.
“No.” I didn't want to hear it.
She was going to dump me, throw me to the curb because of what hockey took from her. I just couldn't bare the thought of it.
“Yes.” She whispered and walked into the kitchen without me.
Lucy took out the food she made and put it on a plate, then placed it into the microwave. She took my mother's salad out and put in to a bowl and set in front of where I was now sitting.
“Eat.” She said and she turned her back to me and watched the pork chops turn in the microwave.
“I'm not eating until you say something.” I pushed the bowl away like a child.
When she turned back, she had tears in her eyes and it broke me. I rushed to her and gathered her up in my arms.
“I'm just going to say what I have to, even though I don't want to.”
My heart iced over with the sadness in her voice. It was drippy and cold and not at all like the Lucifer I wanted swearing at me.
“I think we need to pause whatever this is right now.
I need my privacy. I'm going to be going through some shit for six weeks and you can't be there for me.
And I don't want you worrying about me when you should be on the ice.
You need to be thinking of the game and only the game, I don't want you getting hurt.”
“It's only a game. I can compartmentalize.”
She pushed away from me. “Bullshit, Sasha. I watched you yesterday. That's not hockey, that was anger. You can't compartmentalize. I could see it all over your face.” She took the pork chops out of the microwave and practically threw them on the table. “Eat the fucking food I made you.”
“I don't want to.”
“They're delicious.” She huffed.
The room went silent. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what would make things better. She was right. I couldn't get her out of my head on the ice and I hated myself for it.
So I ate the pork chops. They were delicious.
Lucy stood there, faced away from me, her chest heaving until I was done eating. Then she took the plate from me and started washing the dish.
“This is what I need right now. I need to take care of myself and you need to take care of yourself. We can't do both.”
“We can't do both?” I huffed.
“No!” She snapped and I liked that better.
I would rather see her pissed than sad. “You can't keep your head in the game and I know myself.
I would lie to you and tell you I was OK even if I wasn't, I would push through with a smile so it wouldn't affect your game.
That isn't fair to me and it isn't fair to you. I don't want to lie to you.”
If the expression on her face told me anything, it was that she had already decided. It was settled.
“And after six weeks?” I took the dish from her and started drying. “What about then. I need to know what happens then, now that you seem to have everything figured out and I have no say in the matter.”
The words came out of my mouth much angrier than I intended.
But I was pissed. Pissed at the situation, never at her.
In fact, I was proud of her. Lucy was doing that one thing that was the hardest of all, she was putting herself first, not hockey.
And I was proud of her, even if that meant shutting me out of her life.
“Then we can talk.”
◆◆◆
Me: Good luck today, Lucy. You're going to do great.
Lucifer: Good luck at the game.