Chapter 11 Colt
Colt
The cool air of the rink helps to clear my head. I didn’t expect to run into Stella this morning; I actually expected her to leave for the break, although it makes sense why she didn’t.
I’m glad we spent the day together, though, because I desperately didn’t want to spend the anniversary of my dad’s death alone.
I woke up this morning feeling like I had slept with an anvil on my chest. It’s officially been two years since I received the worst phone call of my life.
Beau had called me shortly after I woke up, asking if I wanted him to come back for the day and distract me, but I told him no. He missed his family, and he’s already coming back earlier than he’s required to for me.
I know he was trying to be a good friend, but, honestly, his phone call made me feel worse. It’s as if he doesn’t think I can get through the day on my own. It made me feel pitied, fragile, like I’m not strong enough to cope alone.
I visited the cemetery, bringing flowers to both my father’s and my mother’s graves.
Talking to their headstones has always been hard for me.
They both had such infectious laughs, and my dad always gave the soundest advice.
Speaking to the silence of the grave always brings withering, rotting shadows crawling into my rib cage, squeezing around my heart in a crushing reminder that I’ll never hear their voices again
Afterward, instead of getting lost in my head, I decided to go for a run. And then I went for coffee, just to stay out of the house, and happened upon my saving grace.
I haven’t told Stella about my parents for two reasons.
One, because I don’t want her to pity me. In her eyes, I’m the hot, cocky hockey player who’s living on cloud nine. I don’t want her opinion of me to change. It’s the same reason I haven’t told any of my other teammates. And bringing up the antidepressants would just make it worse.
The second reason I haven’t brought it up to her is that I need to keep myself from using her as an emotional crutch.
I agreed to a fling, sex only. I can’t start pouring all my emotional trauma on her.
I know her well enough at this point to know that she would offer anything to make me feel better.
She would do it out of the goodness of her heart, which would only make me fall for her that much harder.
Maybe I was stupid for agreeing to hook up with her, but, come on, I’m still a guy. And I would take sex with Stella over anyone else any day of the week.
It would be so easy to let myself fall for her. She’s comforting, kind, driven. She deserves to be happy, but for some reason, she doesn’t think love could make her happy. And as someone who knows what it’s like to lose both love and happiness, I feel confident in saying that they go hand in hand.
I don’t think I’ve been truly happy since my dad passed.
Sure, I have fun. I can put on a face and have a couple of drinks.
I can sleep around, and I can play hockey with my friends.
These things make me feel better, make me feel less empty inside, but they don’t fill the hole.
My heart craves a meaningful relationship with someone.
Deep down, I crave the kind of love my parents had for one another.
I was close with my parents, and I was even closer with my dad after my mom died. I feel no shame in admitting that he was my best friend. We endured her loss together, and he did everything he could to make sure I had everything I needed. He didn’t deserve to go the way he did: all alone.
I skate back to the bench for a water break and look at the clock, shocked to see that it’s already nine p.m. Lost in thought, I’ve been running drills by myself for five hours.
Tuesday morning, I have a therapy appointment scheduled.
My sessions with the doctor have been cut down to once every three months, so that we can continue to communicate about my medication.
I took a lot of time processing my grief, and the version of me walking into this building today would be completely unrecognizable to the me of two years ago.
The appointment is over fairly quickly, and the Doc thinks I may be able to come off my antidepressants.
He’s been sending in prescriptions for gradually reduced dosages for months now.
Today, he thinks it’s safe to stop taking them completely and gives me instructions to let him know if I experience any side effects.
Beau calls as I’m driving home.
“What’s up, B?” I greet.
“I’m heading back into town. Wanna grab some lunch?”
“You were only at your parents’ house for, like, two days.” Beau’s parents are some of the best people I’ve ever met, and I know he adores them. I would’ve thought he’d have stayed to visit a lot longer than this.
“Yeah, well, I’ll tell you about it while we eat. Pizza?”
“Sure, sounds good, man.”
“So, what? You’re saying the FBI wants to close Gracie’s case? Give up?” I ask disbelievingly.
“They called a meeting with my parents yesterday, saying it’s been too long without a lead.
My dad pulled all the strings he could to keep the case open a couple of years ago, but after five years, they can’t justify the time and resources they’re using with no real leads to go on.
” Beau is simmering with unchecked rage.
I lock eyes with him sympathetically, but he looks away, glancing out the window as he continues.
“Mom wants to hire a PI to pick up where the feds left off, but Dad…Dad just had this hopeless look in his eyes, like he’d given up on the idea of finding her altogether.
I don’t know what they decided about the Private Investigator.
I sort of just left when he acted like not hiring one was even a possibility. ”
The waitress brings over the large pepperoni pizza we ordered, but neither Beau nor I makes a move to grab a slice. My mind is reeling at the thought that the Warrens would give up on looking for their daughter. Gracie was like a little sister to me, so I can’t imagine how Beau must feel.
“Look, man, I’m sure they’re just processing everything right now. Your dad wouldn’t give up that easily. They’re gonna keep looking,” I reply reassuringly.
“You’re probably right. I just get so…I can’t talk about her like she’s not still out there. I can’t make myself believe she’s dead. In my mind, she needs our help. She needs us to keep looking.”
The weight of guilt and grief Beau carries around every day astounds me.
While my parents both died of natural, medical causes, Beau carries the blame for his sister’s disappearance.
And, on top of blaming himself, he feels guilty for the fact that, if she’s never found, he will inherit his entire family’s fortune.
He’s told me before that he doesn’t want the money, that he’d rather live under a bridge than take Gracie’s portion.
“Anyway, I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he remarks, finally grabbing a slice of pizza. “What’ve you been up to this week?”
Even though I know he shouldn’t keep what he’s feeling all bottled up, I decide to entertain his change of topic. “Not much, honestly. Gym, runs, ice time.”
“Come on, C, it’s fall break. You don’t have to train twenty-four/seven.”
I shrug, taking a bite of my food to postpone responding for a minute.
I’ve used exercise as a way to cope for a long time, and Beau knows that.
I don’t want him to confuse my answer with the thought that something’s wrong.
Because, truthfully, I haven’t felt this good in years.
Being around Stella causes a feeling of freedom to blossom in my chest, one I haven’t felt in ages.
“What about that girl, Stella? You left Booker’s house for her the other night.” Beau asks, much more perceptive of me dodging his questions than I gave him credit for, as usual.
“Yeah, uh, I met up with Stella that night,” I answer vaguely.
“Well, yeah, that much I gathered. What about after?” He takes another bite of pizza, waiting for me to elaborate.
“We aren’t together. We’re just…hanging out.
” I don’t know why I’m so hesitant to talk about her with him.
I know he’s the last person who would judge me for a casual hook-up.
I think the problem is that I don’t want him to judge her that way.
She’s not just any other girl, but she doesn’t want a relationship, so I don’t know what to call her.
He nods his head in acknowledgment. “You like her?” he asks pointedly.
“Yeah…Yeah, I like her. But it’s not like that.”
“You aren’t going to ask her out?” he frowns, continuing his line of questioning.
“I did. She turned me down. Said she didn’t do relationships.” I shoot him a knowing look, daring him to comment, because Beau has never had a girlfriend in his life.
My hard stare gives him pause. Finally, he relents. “Just be careful,” is all he decides to say on the subject.
Our conversation moved to easier topics, and eventually we make our way to the rink to run some drills and burn off some steam.