Chapter 31 Regret Us
REGRET US
Holt’s name lights up the screen of my phone and I ignore it. Again.
This is the third call.
I wish he’d just give up already. But he won’t. I know he won’t.
It was supposed to be simple. We’ve been planning our life after high school for forever.
We did everything right. We saved. We worked hard. We talked and dreamed…
We were supposed to move to Vancouver where Holt would play for the WHL in hopes of being drafted to the NHL to play for the Vancouver Vikings.
It all made sense, our plan. He’d been unable to play for the WHL while in high school because our small town simply didn’t have enough talent to form a team of that calibre.
So, Holt planned—and I followed.
Vancouver made sense. The WHL made sense. It’s almost unheard of for someone from HSL to be drafted—right out of high school, no less.
The player would have to be beyond exceptional.
And Holt was. He is.
He’s always been exceptional.
So, of course, he was drafted. But not for Vancouver.
He was drafted for Toronto. He had to pivot, and I agreed to pivot with him.
I’m supposed to join him in Toronto in August. He has a one-bedroom apartment and tells me there’s jobs everywhere. That I’ll love the city. That we’ll explore and live and travel and…
A fat tear rolls down my cheek to splash against the counter. Dad took my shift at the store today because I woke up sick. Again.
Nothing ever goes quite as planned, does it?
Holt’s name lights up my screen.
Two pink lines burn in the back of my retinas.
My breakfast splashes into the toilet in a vibrant rainbow of ground up, undigested cereal.
A text comes through. I don’t have to look to know it’s from Holt.
My knees give out and I connect hard with the floor.
I know what I have to do. I know it’s going to kill me.
I sob harder as my hand caresses the little life inside my belly.
I won’t be the reason Holt’s dreams don’t come true.
I won’t let my baby grow up being the object of resentment.
Because if I tell Holt, he’ll come home.
He’ll choose us.
And he’ll regret it.
Regret us.