Chapter 22 #2
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded. “I should give them back to Rachel. But I didn’t want to upset her, and…
” He shook his head. “I always kept them in my car when we were both in town during the off season. Since he usually took his bike when we golfed.” He moistened his lips. “Including the last time.”
My stomach somersaulted. “Shit. That’s…” What the hell was I even supposed to say?
Avery cleared his throat and shook himself. “I’m sorry. I’m… I didn’t mean to bring that up.” He sighed. “It’s amazing how everything kind of leads back to it, you know?”
“You two were close,” I said quietly. “I can only imagine how many things remind you of him.”
“It’s a lot. It’s… God, I still don’t know how to do this.”
“Do you think the therapists will help?”
“I do, yeah. They’re assigning me a counselor who specializes in grief.
I’ll have an addiction counselor, too, but the grief counselor—she’s the one I’m really hoping will help.
” Avery sighed again, suddenly looking utterly exhausted.
“I don’t know how much anyone or anything can help, but I hope she will. ”
“I hope so too.”
“At least make me less of a mess,” he muttered. “The team needs me to have my head together.”
“Don’t worry about us. We’re all worried about you.”
Avery winced. Exhaling, he leaned forward, hanging his head so he could rub the back of his neck. “I hate that I’m worrying them. They’ve got enough on their plates, you know? They lost Leif too.”
“They did. But everyone knows you two were closer than anyone.” I paused, then gently added, “They’re all supporting you. I promise.”
“I know. And I appreciate it.” He was quiet for a moment before softly admitting, “I thought they’d be pissed at me. For bailing on them.”
The temptation to reach over and knead his neck for him was almost irresistible, but I folded my hands tightly in my lap. Touching, even platonically, would only complicate everything we’d temporarily shelved.
“They’re not pissed,” I told him. “They’re worried about you. They want to support you any way they can. But they’re not pissed.”
He pressed an elbow into his thigh and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I hate being this much of a mess, though. They should be able to focus on hockey. Not… Not picking up my goddamned slack.”
“Avery. Go easy on yourself. This is no different than if you were out with an injury.”
He lifted his gaze to meet mine.
“Would you feel like a failure if you were out because you’d torn your ACL or got a concussion or something?” I asked. “Because it happens to all of us.”
Chewing his lip, he sat back against the sofa. “I usually do feel like I’m letting everybody down when I’m hurt. That year I broke my collarbone in U16…” He frowned and shook his head.
I studied him. “Okay, but if someone else went down, would you be upset at them?”
“Not if they got hurt,” he said.
“What if they needed help with some mental health?” I pressed. “Didn’t Conway take half a season off for his mental health?”
Avery opened his mouth like he was going to insist that was different, but he stopped himself. Staring down at his wringing hands, he quietly admitted, “Yeah. He had some real bad depression.” He pushed out a breath. “God, we were worried sick about him the whole time he was gone.”
“Okay. Well. That’s where the team’s at right now. They’re not mad at you. They’re not freaking out, thinking they’re going to fall apart without you. They’re just worried about you.” I paused, then quietly added, “We all are.”
He wiped a hand over his face. “I was trying so hard to carry the whole team. Then I just…” He sat back, dropping his hand to his thigh. “Now I’m leaving them in a lurch.”
“You’re not,” I whispered. He turned skeptical eyes on me, so I went on, “This is a team sport, Avery. That means if somebody’s out for some reason, we all step up.
If a team falls apart because they lose one player, or they’re upset at that player for being out and letting them all down?
” I scoffed. “Then they’re just slacking off and expecting that person to carry them. A team like that deserves to lose.”
He blinked.
“We’re going to keep moving forward,” I said, “same as we would if you’d broken your leg or went down with a concussion. And yes, it is the same thing.”
He stared at me, mouth still open with what was probably a protest.
“Mental health is important too,” I went on softly. “We’re all really good at ignoring it, but it’s important. And I can’t imagine anyone thinking less of you because yours took a dive after you lost your best friend.”
Avery pressed his lips together and stared down at his hands again. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded hollow: “It’s been a lot harder than I thought it would be.”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever prepared for something like that.”
He shook his head slowly, eyes distant. He was quiet for a moment, then ran a hand through his hair and pushed out a breath.
“Thank you, by the way.” He looked at me with tired eyes, and he managed a small smile.
“I’m sorry you ended up with so much of this on your shoulders.
I have no idea how to make it up to you, but… ”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re taking care of yourself.”
“I’d like to tell you that was inevitable,” he said softly. “Maybe it was. But you shoving a mirror in my face got me to get help before things got out of hand. So… thanks for that. And I’m sorry I put you in a position to need to do it, but I’m still grateful you did.”
My voice threatened to get thick as relief and too many awful memories piled on. Too much guilt—what if I’d done something for Richards? I couldn’t change that now, though. I could just be glad I’d stuck to my guns this time.
“You’re my teammate,” I said softly. “And my friend.”
Avery flinched. “Teammate, yeah. I, um… I don’t think I’ve been that great of a friend, though.”
“You had a lot on your plate. I don’t—”
“No.” He shook his head sharply. “I was an asshole to you. Plain and simple. I’m just incredibly lucky that you’re the kind of person who doesn’t throw up his hands and say, ‘You know what? Fuck you.’ So… thanks for that.” He swallowed hard. “And I’m sorry again. For all of it.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I never doubted that.”
He studied me for a moment, some unspoken thought pulling his eyebrows together. Then he tilted his head back against the cushion and sighed. “Losing Leif—that was hard. Still is. But this? It’s fucking hard as hell too.”
“Going to therapy and rehab?”
He nodded slowly, as if the movement took all the energy he had left. “My first session with a counselor is tomorrow. I’m, uh… I’m not looking forward to it.”
“You haven’t talked to anyone yet?”
“I have.” He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “But that was just an intake evaluation. Figuring out what I need, how much if a mess I am…” He wiped his hand over his face again. “Tomorrow, we start digging into the hard stuff.”
I watch him, not quite sure what to say. Finally, I went with, “Do you want me to come by tomorrow?”
He met my gaze, surprise registering in his expression. “You don’t have to.”
“I know. But maybe it would help to see someone who’s just going to chirp and tell you the latest locker room gossip.”
The laugh that tumbled out of him was soft, but it gave me a rush I couldn’t quite explain. As if it was a good sign, and also because it was a glimpse of that smile that always made me dizzy.
“Locker room gossip and chirping are always good,” he said, still chuckling. “If, um… If you want to. I don’t know what kind of headspace I’ll be in, but I won’t say no to the company.”
“All right.” I nodded sharply. “I’ll text you after practice is over. See where you’re at.”
“Okay.” He swallowed. “I think my appointments and crap are over at like four. There’s…” He groaned and rolled his eyes. “There’s a lot tomorrow. They said the schedule will be lighter going forward, but it starts out with a lot.”
“I bet.”
Silence hung between us. I was still treading cautiously here, trying to figure out where to step. After a moment, I asked, “Are you coming to the game tonight?”
Chewing his lip, Avery shook his head. “Not… Not yet.”
“The guys would love to see you,” I whispered.
“I know.” He didn’t look at me. “And… tell them I said thanks for the support. Because it really means a lot. But it’s…” His jaw worked for a few long seconds before he finally said, “I’m not ready to face them.”
I wanted to tell him he had nothing to worry about. If anything, the guys would hug him until he couldn’t breathe.
But in his shoes, maybe I wouldn’t want to face the team, the fans, or—God forbid—the cameras. Maybe he still needed some time to get his head around things.
I reached across the space between us and touched his arm. “No one’s going to pressure you, okay? But when you’re ready, everyone will be happy to see you.”
He looked at me through his lashes, and he let a tiny smile come to life. “Thanks. It… That really means a lot. Just, um… Tell them I appreciate the support? And that I’ll come to a game soon?”
“I will. I promise.”