41. On My Knees
41
ON MY KNEES
SETH
“I’ll miss you,” Kylie whisper’s in my ear while she wraps her arms around my neck, causing me to tighten my grip around her.
I can’t seem to let her go. The day I’ve been dreading has arrived, and she’s about to get on a plane and fly away with no return date. Why couldn’t I just ask her to stay? It’s one word. Possibly two if I add ‘please’ on to it. While I’m on my knees.
“I’ll miss you,” I murmur back, like the coward that I am.
I want her to choose to stay of her own free will. I want her to choose me. I want her to choose us. But I can’t ask her to do that. To give up everything she knows.
People surround us, but neither of us acknowledges them, our focus entirely on one another. On how hard this goodbye is.
“You are enough, Seth. You will always be enough.” Her words, whispered while we were making love on that awful night, echo in my mind.
Why can’t I bring myself to believe her? To believe that I can make her happy ?
“Seth! Wake up!” I jolt awake when Linc shakes my shoulder.
Blinking, I try to bring myself back to reality. Every time I’ve fallen asleep in the past month, I’m right back at that painful moment. To go from speaking to someone daily to exchanging a few texts a week… I’ve felt empty, waking up clutching a pillow like my unconscious mind was trying to conjure her up in my bed.
We’d agreed to give each other space, to work out where we both stood. But I’m over space now. If I wasn’t locked into a multimillion dollar contract with teammates and fans that depended on me, I’d have been on a plane to Australia weeks ago, just for the chance to wrap my arms around her one more time.
“I’m awake,” I grumble, looking around the plane, which appears to have landed and is almost completely empty.
“I was calling your name for like two minutes. Since when do you sleep so solidly?” Linc looks annoyed, but I can see the concern behind his eyes.
“Since I’ve been sleeping about four hours a night at most.” I rub my face, trying to scrub away the dream.
“This isn’t healthy, dude. I’ve kept my mouth shut, but you need to talk to Kylie. You’re fucking miserable without her, and it’s affecting everything else in your life.” He hands me my backpack from the overhead locker.
“No need to sugarcoat it, thanks man,” I reply, shaking my head.
“You know me, brutal honesty is my preferred method of communication.”
I follow him off the plane, the rest of the team already heading towards the arrivals area in the Toronto airport. It must have taken Linc a lot longer than a few minutes to wake me.
I know he’s right, that I need to talk to Kylie and finally just ask her the question she wanted me to ask. But now that she’s back in Australia with her friends and family, would she even think about it? Her life is there. The idea of saying the words and having her let me down gently is something I can’t even bear to consider. No, I just need to get on with the rest of the season and hopefully the memory of her will fade with time.
Not likely, you stubborn idiot. Why didn’t you just ask her when she wanted you to?
Once we’ve collected our gear, we get on the bus and head to our hotel. While the rest of the team is discussing tonight’s activities ahead of tomorrow’s game, I press my head against the window and try to get some more sleep.
Linc is right, I need to do something about how badly I’ve been sleeping, cause it’s affecting my game, amongst other aspects of my life.
Ten minutes into the first period, and it’s obvious that Toronto has brought their hunger to the game. We always tend to have rivalries amongst the Canadian teams, but Toronto is usually one of the more friendly ones.
Not today, though.
We’re already up by a goal, but that felt like a fluke with how tired we all seem to be. I’m beginning to wonder if my mood is affecting the rest of the team, making them all sluggish. As the captain, it’s my responsibility to lead them, and I know I’ve been failing in that department.
At the next line change, I hop over the boards alongside Linc and streak towards Boris Petrova, one of Toronto’s centres, who currently has the puck and is making a beeline for our goal. I reach him, delivering a check that knocks him to the ice, while Linc steals the puck and heads back towards our end.
Pushing off Petrova, I follow Linc, coming alongside him so he can pass me the puck. Just as it hits my stick, one of Toronto’s defencemen, Dylan Miller, slams me hard against the boards, pinning me against the glass while Petrova digs out the puck. My shoulder screams in protest, and I throw my elbow in Dylan’s side to get him off me.
“You’re playing like shit, Davidson. Missing your dumpy little girlfriend? I don’t know why. You could do so much better,” he chirps in my ear, and I turn to glare at him, finally shoving him off.
“Watch your fucking mouth.” I take a swing, seeing red.
“Oh, I’ve hit a nerve. Guess there really is a way to get under your skin after all,” he says with a smirk.
Everything else around us falls out of focus and all I can think about is punching the smug look off his face. Without thinking, I throw my gloves off and grab the front of his jersey, punching him hard.
Distantly, I hear the crowd going wild, as Miller’s fist connects with the side of my helmet, causing my head to snap back.
A whistle blows, and I keep my hold on his jersey, even as the refs surround us, telling us to break it up but keeping their distance. Pulling my arm back, I punch him in the face, ignoring the way it cuts into my knuckles when my fist connects with his face shield.
Arms wrap around me from behind, while one of Miller’s teammates grabs him.
“Calm the fuck down,” Linc says, yanking me away from Miller.
“Yeah, listen to your little buddy,” Miller taunts.
Linc tightens his grip on me when I try to push him off and launch myself at the asshole again. “Seriously, get your shit together,” Linc demands.
I finally manage to push him off, skating away from Miller while trying to keep his words out of my head.
The refs give us each five minutes for fighting, and I head towards the penalty box with my head down. Once inside, Linc hands me my stick and gloves, glaring at me before heading back to the bench.
At least we’re not shorthanded, but Miller is smiling smugly, knowing his team will be happy to see me off the ice.
I’m kicking myself for letting him get in my head. I’ve always avoided fighting, and rarely get penalties called on me, so I know that once I’m back on the bench, Coach is going to have a few harsh words for me. The feeling gets worse when Toronto ties the game just seconds before I am allowed back on the ice.
The moment between Miller and I flips a switch in the game.
Tensions ramp up over the second period with physical play taking over any attempts to score and leading to all out mayhem at the beginning of the third. I take another hard hit from Miller and slowly skate into the bench, but Linc has had enough and challenges Miller himself.
This triggers a chain reaction through everyone else on the ice, and gloves come off left, right and centre. Even Dean and the Toronto goalie decide to get in on the action, meeting at centre ice for a rather awkward fight. Not the easiest thing to do when wearing goalie gear.
Watching from the bench, I survey the mess, knowing that we’ve abandoned our game plan and are all going to cop it back in the dressing room.
After the chaos of the brawl, with five players kicked out from each team, it’s a miracle any more goals are scored. But Toronto manages one more to eke out a 2-1 victory.
Defeated, we make our way back to the locker room with our heads down. Once Coach steps inside, everyone goes deathly quiet, waiting for the storm to break.
Looking up, I find Coach’s eyes on me, his fury barely contained.
“What.” His voice is barely louder than a whisper. “The. Fuck. Was. That?”
No one has an answer, and we sit with our heads bowed while Coach lets us know, in no uncertain terms, just how angry he is.
“This is not the sort of team that does that shit. Whatever the fuck is going on with you all, sort it the fuck out.” He slams the locker room door as he leaves, and we stare after him.
No one says a word while we all shower and gather our belongings. I know I’m responsible for what happened and I have no words to offer anyone, so I remain silent, retreating to my thoughts and wishing I knew how to get out of this funk I’ve sunk into over the past month.
But I have no answers, except one. Try and work out how to get on with life without Kylie, or beg her to come back.
Neither option sounds great.