Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
KNOX
I open the door to the trailer I once lived in that holds my deepest demons sealed within its thin walls. The smell of stale cigarettes and booze hits my nostrils, causing a wave of nausea to rear its ugly head as memories rise to the surface.
“Are you sure you want to come in? It won’t take long.” I turn back to Savi, who insisted on coming with me.
She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it tight, her blue eyes filled with determination.
“I’m coming in. You don’t have to face this alone. Not anymore.”
Sighing, I open the door wider and step inside, knowing there is no use fighting her. Deep down, I’m thankful she’s here with me. The place seems less powerful over me with her by my side.
A small gasp leaves her body as she takes in the small shithole.
“I told you it was bad.”
“You lived here?”
I look around at the faded carpet and the peeling paint on the walls. Boxes of takeout food sit on the counter, and empty bottles litter the stained couch and recliner. Other than the trailer being older with a little wear and tear, the place hasn’t changed much since I lived here.
“We lost our home by the time I turned thirteen, so yeah,” I shrug. “This was home sweet home for five years before I could graduate and get the hell out of here.”
“Did Miles know?”
“No, I never brought him here. I knew he would insist I come live with him, and I was too guilt-ridden to leave. I felt I deserved this. I was too wrapped up in my own personal hell to admit that I could be wrong,” I sigh.
“You’re the first person I’ve let see this dump.
” I glance at the wall that still has the hole in it from his fist that I dodged.
“Once I left and started to get a paycheck from playing hockey, I sent him money each month to ease the guilt of him living like this because I still felt responsible. I even tried to get him to move out and offered to pay for rehab, but the stubborn ass refused to get help.”
“He was an alcoholic, Knox. You went beyond what most people would do after what he put you through. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want it.”
“I know, but I felt like I owed it to my mom to try,” I say quietly before taking a deep breath and focusing on what needs to be done, so we can leave.
I hate being here.
“Let’s see what we can find, so we can get the hell out of here.” I walk to his bedroom, and it’s not any better in here. It’s a wonder this place didn’t get condemned.
“What are we looking for?” She moves to the dresser and opens the top drawer.
“Anything from my mom. I have a couple of pictures I took when I left, but I was in too much of a hurry to fight him over anything. My only thought was getting as far away as possible from here,” I say, opening his nightstand drawer and rummaging through the junk.
“Anything of his that you want?”
“No,” I quickly say, my face turning hard as stone. “Once I leave here, the whole place can burn for all I care. I’ll see what the property is worth and donate the money and anything left in his bank accounts to my charity. This is a tie to my past, and I want it closed.”
“I think I found something,” she says, pulling out a box from under the bed with my name written on it.
Walking over to her, I lift the box and set it on the mattress, opening the lid.
Confusion hits me as I stare at newspaper articles about me. Frowning, I sift through them and see my whole life staring back at me. Every interview I’ve ever had, every game I’ve ever played, leading up to now, is here.
“There’s another one,” she whispers, pulling out another box from under the bed. Lifting the lid, I see my early childhood memories that my mom must have kept. Old trophies and awards, pictures of me and her with the team and at practices—everything tucked away in scrapbooks and photo albums.
I trace the picture of my mom’s face with my finger. This was taken right before she died, and her smile is still the brightest I’ve ever seen as she hugs me in a photo after our winning game.
“You look just like her. She’s beautiful,” Savi says softly, looking at the picture in my hand.
“She is,” I whisper. “I don’t understand.” I shake my head and put the picture back in the box. “Why did he keep these? He kept all these memories going after Mom died. This one here,” I say, picking up one of the newspaper articles on top, “was from the game last week. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to get inside the head of an addict.
Maybe under all that pain, he was numbing with alcohol, and he felt guilt for how he treated you after she died.
He knew your mom would have kept these, so he did it for her.
Under all that hate and resentment toward you, there was a part of him that loved you and was proud. ”
“Cutting up newspaper articles doesn’t begin to make up for what he put me through. It’s not enough to forgive him.” I throw the article back in the box and shut the lid.
“There’s no excuse for the abuse he gave you, but forgiving someone isn’t about excusing them for what they did. It’s about you and not giving them the power anymore to hurt you. I finally had to forgive Todd,” she says quietly, and I whip my eyes to her. Even the name sends rage through my body.
“Not to excuse his actions,” she says quickly, “but to let go of the resentment toward him. I was letting the anger of what he did eat away at me. I forgave him so that I could move on. His actions that night were choices he made, not me. I wasn’t about to live the rest of my life being angry at something that someone else chose to do. ”
“Did it work?” I ask quietly.
Wrapping her arms around my waist, I automatically do the same, bringing her in close.
“It doesn’t happen overnight, but once I decided to forgive him, the anger eventually went away, and I felt more at peace. The pain and fear took a little bit longer, but I’m happy now. Very, very happy,” she smiles, and her infectious joy has me smiling back.
“Maybe I’ll try this whole forgiving thing at some point. Don’t hold your breath with Todd, though. That anger got me through a lot of fights in hockey, and feeling rage toward him is something I don’t think will ever go away.”
“We’ll do baby steps with that one,” she chuckles softly. “With your dad, though, I’ll be here when you are ready.”
“I know.” Kissing her soft lips briefly before burying my face in her hair, I breathe her in deep like my own personal haven. “I am happy. I want you to know that. You make me happy.”
“I know.” I hear the smile in her voice and love that I make her happy, too.
“Let’s get what we need so we can get out of here,” I say, pulling back. “This place is like a creepy horror movie that I don’t want to be part of anymore.”
“Agreed,” she laughs. “Where’s your bedroom? Should we look in there?”
“You already saw it. That nasty ass couch pulls out into a glorified bed,” I snort.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Her eyes turn to slits, and I chuckle at the fire that rises in her eyes to defend me.
“Wish I were. I spent all my time anyway at the rink after school, so all I did was sleep here.”
“I’m surprised your dad paid for your hockey lessons and games,” she huffs while throwing his clothes aside in the closet and making sure nothing in there is worth keeping.
Maybe we both need to forgive my dad, I muse as her anger burns brighter the more she sees of my past.
“He didn’t. Before my mom died, she talked to the league about her situation, and they helped her get a few scholarships for me, and the rest she saved up herself.
She made sure I had a place in the league until graduation.
From there, I was lucky enough to skip the junior league and get picked up by the ECHL, which led me to the Devils shortly after. ”
Her eyes soften at the mention of my mom. “I love your mom more and more. I wish I had been able to meet her.”
“She would have loved you,” I say, feeling the truth deep in my bones.
“How could I not love her. She gave me you,” she smiles softly before moving to another shelf.
Part of me wonders to this day if all the prayers I did after she died, of wanting to feel loved, were answered, and she sent me Savi. I like to think she had a hand in bringing us together. Deep down, something tells me that I’m right.
We spend the next hour packing up what little items we find of my mom and any childhood memories I had worth keeping before I shut the trunk of my car.
Opening the door for Savi, she slides in, and I walk to the driver’s side, stopping to look one more time at the trailer.
Usually, the sight of it drags out the anger and guilt, wrapping around my neck like chains until I can’t breathe, but today they hang loose.
It’s the same quiet release I felt a few nights ago when I threw my dad’s ashes out into the white-capped waves.
He had pushed every single person in his life away, so there was no point in having a service, but when it came down to leaving his remains or picking them up, it wasn’t an easy decision for me to make.
A huge part of me just wanted to let the funeral home dispose of him, let him become someone else’s problem, or shoving him in a closet to rot didn’t sound so bad either.
In the end, I chose the ocean.
I waited until the next storm and stood on the shore while the wind tried to knock me down. Waves clawed at the sand as I opened the urn and gave him to the raging waters.
No prayer.
No goodbye.
Just releasing my monster into the hands of something far more powerful to decide his fate.
My mom deserved the beautiful side of the ocean.
My father deserved its hell.
Pulling my eyes away and not giving this place another thought, I open the door and slide in next to my future, shutting the door on my past and leaving it behind as I drive away.