AMELIA #2
Hydrangeas, he told me one night when my leg was draped over his. Because I know they’re your favorite.
Weeds are the only thing there right now, and I’ll never have the chance to see what the flowers will look like in the spring.
The door opens before I have the chance to open it myself.
Grant stands in front of me with pale skin and puffy eyes.
Dark facial hair lines his jaw, and his sweatshirt is on inside out.
I haven’t seen him since the men’s gold medal game six days ago, and the despair in his gaze makes me wish I never had to see him again.
“Baby,” he whispers.
I close the distance between us and reach for him on instinct, the years I’ve been in love with him culminating in my ability to wrap my arms around his neck.
To feel the lines of his muscles and count the breaths he’s taking.
I can listen to his heart, the rhythmic beat thumping in time with my own.
I’m sorry, mine says. For what I’m about to do and how I’m about to break you. I hope one day you can forgive me.
For one more second, I can have this though. The dream of a life together. Unbridled happiness that never runs dry. Him, every morning and every night. It’s never hard, never bad. The worst days are still good because it’s him and it’s me, and we’ll make it work.
But that’s a fairytale. Unbelievable, too perfect. Warm summer nights, not brutal winter mornings. I don’t let myself linger in his hold, afraid that if I do, I’ll compromise. I’ll be weak and give in, when I have to be strong.
“Let’s go inside.” I slip out of his embrace and wipe my eyes. “So we can talk.”
Grant holds the door open, and I step into the foyer.
My eyes trace over every corner that we’ve made ours: shoes in a neat line against the wall.
The picture of the sun setting over the Chesapeake Bay that’s tilting too far to the left.
A vase of dead flowers we forgot to throw out before we left for Italy.
It’s all going to go up in flames.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he continues. “I’m still working on finding out how our photos got leaked. My agent is attempting to kill the story, but he says the Right to Publicity law doesn’t come into effect because the images aren’t promoting a commercial product. I’m not giving up hope, but I—”
“I had a meeting with Darcy and some men from the league,” I say. “It didn’t go well.”
“It didn’t?” His face twists. “What happened?”
“I’m suspended for eight games, and if I have any additional contact with you, the league will terminate my contract. I’ll be fired.”
Grant stares at me. There’s pain in the deep frown lines that bracket his mouth. Hurt in the tears he blinks away.
“Shit,” he whispers.
“I know. I don’t… I don’t see a way forward for us. We can’t… there’s no room for us to have a relationship. To even have a friendship. If the league finds out, that’ll be it for me. And I’m too tired to try to fight them.”
“I’ll retire tomorrow,” he says.
“Absolutely not. Hockey is your life. What if you resent me in four years because of it?” My bottom lip trembles. I’m so close to cracking in two. I feel the fissure in my heart, all the way down in my soul when a tear rolls down his cheek. “I’d never forgive myself.”
“Women give up their dreams all the time to be with a man. I’d be happy to do the same.”
“I know you would, but I wouldn’t be okay with that.
I don’t want you to ruin your career—you’re entire fucking life—for me.
” I sniff, so close to breaking. “I should’ve fought harder for us.
I should’ve told the league to go fuck themselves.
I wish I wasn’t so selfish. I hate that I put myself—my career—above you and how much I love you.
Because I do love you, Grant. I love you so much. ”
“Don’t do that.” His voice is as weak as I feel. “You’re not selfish. You have to… you’re doing the thing you love, and that’s great. That’s wonderful, and you shouldn’t apologize for it. You fought so hard.”
“Maybe… maybe in ten years when you retire for real, you can track me down. Maybe the timing will be right a second time, and maybe we’ll be able to make it work then.
” I bite my lip, struggling to find the words.
“Maybe this isn’t a goodbye, but a see you later.
The door isn’t fully closed. Just… almost closed. And we’ll open it again one day.”
“I’m never going to close it,” he says. “Never. And wherever you are in ten years, I’m going to find you, Lia.
And when I do, I’m going to love you so fucking loudly.
We’re going to do this right, and it’ll be okay.
” Grant takes my hands and kisses my knuckles.
“I’m going to love you every minute until then, baby. ”
That makes me sob all over again, and Grant holds me.
I know I should leave, but I let myself linger just a minute longer.
I indulge in the heavy weight of his palm and his warm mouth when he kisses my forehead.
I catalog every favorite feature of him—his eyes, his smile, his beautiful cheekbones—and when I finally pull away, it feels like my soul has separated from my body.
I’m a shell of a woman, and I can’t look at him anymore
“I love you,” I whisper. “The day—the second you retire—I hope you’ll come and find me.”
“I will,” he murmurs, giving me one more kiss. This one is soft, right on my mouth. Our last goodbye. “I promise I will.”
“I’m going to… I’m going to leave. I don’t want to, but I have to.”
“I know, baby.”
I step back, keeping my eyes on the floor. I make it to the door before his voice echoes down the hall.
“Hey, Lia?” Grant calls out, and my hand shakes on the doorknob.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“I’m counting down the seconds until I can see you again,” he says, and when I close the door behind me, I feel like I descend into hell.