Chapter 23
23
DONNIE
“Absolutely not!”
Eric’s voice is shrill as he storms into my office at the coffee shop.
When Matt came in with Shiloh earlier and realized that Lucky was in full little mode, he called for his boyfriend to come pick him up. From what I understand, the boy is only auditing elective courses this semester to figure out what he really wants to have a degree in. He almost has the credits to graduate, but he isn’t sure if he wants to just yet.
“I won’t allow it!” the crazy man in the sequined tank top exclaims as he flops himself onto the futon. “My kitten is not allowed to leave home,. He is safe with us.”
I flinch as the memories of how I failed to keep Eric safe roll through my head, and he notices. Oh, God, I hate that I was so fucking weak back then.
“I’m sorry,” I try to keep my voice even. “I tried so fucking hard to stop them, Eric. I can’t ever make it right. I know that. I’ll pay for it for the rest of my fucking life.”
Eric’s arms wrap around me from behind, cutting off my millionth apology, and it’s just too much. I let my head fall to my desk and sob. The pain and the fear I felt that night are nothing compared to the guilt and failure I feel every single day. Even if they hadn’t broken my leg and collarbone, ending my hockey career, the community’s response ended my faith in humanity.
“You suffered, too,” Eric whispers in my ear before walking back to the futon. “They destroyed both of us that night, but I’ve decided to stop letting them control me. You need to do the same, Donnie.”
Lifting my head from the desk, I try to look him in the eye but fail. Leaning back in my chair, I stare at the ceiling and contemplate my answer.
“I couldn’t stop them. I have to live with that every day… the sounds, the images, the smells… The things they were saying… The look in your eyes, pleading with them to stop.
“Eric, I see it every fucking night when I sleep and every time someone comes in my shop talking about the team here, I have to leave the counter to my employees. They got a fucking slap on the wrist for being fucking lemmings and I’m the one that the community punishes to this day!”
I glance over at the man on my futon to see tears glistening in his eyes.
“Don’t you fucking cry over me!” I say, jumping up to pace. “I deserve it all for failing to save you. I knew they were planning on drugging you. I knew you’d be helpless…”
“I remember,” Eric mutters, stopping me in my tracks. “I remember you saying you guys were only supposed to drug me and leave me in the room. I remember cursing you all out in my head for being dumbasses to not realize that if you wanted money, I could pay you literally a million times what that bitch Sabrina Carlisle could ever dream up.”
He gets up and grabs me by my shoulders to face him. I’ve got a few inches on his roughly six foot height but the look he levels me with makes me feel like I’m about two inches tall.
“I also remember the sounds of your bones breaking as you tried to fight them off of me… the sounds of your choked gasps for breath when they were strangling you to keep you from calling out. Those were your teammates, your brothers on the ice.
“I know the pain of betrayal when your family turns out to be the last people you can trust. My own father tried to kill me. But you lived. You got help for me. Spencer found me because of you.”
Shaking my head, I step back. “I didn’t get help. I woke up in the hospital.”
Eric uses his thumbs to wipe the moisture from under my eyes as he steps back into my space. “You fell down the stairs, crawling through the house to find someone to help. Spencer saw you and called 911. He said before you lost consciousness, you told him about me in the room. He left you with his future frat brother and ran to find me. Without you, no one would have found out about any of it, and I wouldn’t be here at all today.”
Staring into the face of the main I failed so epically, I can’t accept his words. I don’t remember seeing Spencer at the party at all, let alone telling him about what happened in that room. The only reason I’m not completely writing it off is because Spencer himself told me he remembered seeing me at the party.
Pushing it down to deal with another day, I pull back from Eric and resume my seat at my desk. “So what are you objecting to today?”
Changing the subject will work so much better than facing those feelings.
It takes Eric a moment or two to realize I’ve shut the door on discussions regarding my guilt, and I can see the instant he remembers why he flew in here in such a tizzy in the first place.
“Shiloh is not moving in here,” he proclaims like the royalty he believes himself to be. “my kitten is not equipped for living alone.”