Chapter 20 #2
Her words prick at the layers and layers of complicated mess that is my emotions.
I narrow my gaze at her. “No wonder you’re a counsellor. You’re too good at spinning messy life situations into a teaching moment.”
She grins. “God-given talent, I suppose.” Hannah sets down her mug, wrapping her hands around it. “Have you been watching?” she asks carefully. “You haven’t been to a game since before the wedding. How are you holding up?”
It hasn’t been easy to watch Axel gliding around on the ice, in the position Declan is supposed to be in. In a way it feels like a cruel joke. But on the other hand, I haven’t stopped praying about how to deal with this.
“One thing I know for certain is that I won’t be able to get through this without God’s guidance,” I say honestly. “I haven’t followed His advice for so long, but now, I can’t afford not to listen anymore.”
Somehow I’ve made it through this week without losing it. I’ve been calm, like God is steadying my heart.
Hannah gives me an encouraging smile. “My mom always tells me that the Holy Spirit is a gentleman. He’ll nudge you, remind you, give you wisdom but He never forces you. He never leaves you with guilt or shame, or manipulates you. He loves you, and He wants what’s best for you.”
For almost a year, I’ve allowed myself to forget that God is the only One who can settle my heart. Scripture says that the enemy deceives. And the cruelest part of it is you don’t even know you’re being deceived. Thanks to God’s grace, He opened my eyes.
“I know that,” I say with a sigh. “You know pride is a ugly thing.”
“Axel hurt you,” Hannah says softly. “Choosing to put all of that behind you, choosing to forgive and move on…it doesn’t make you weak, Avah. It makes you strong. It shows that you have the strength of Christ in you. And that’s everything.”
Tomorrow is Declan’s game. I’ll also have to face Axel again.
I’m done with pride, guilt, shame and unforgiveness. One way or another, I’m moving forward.
My heart reaches toward my Savior, ‘Please guide me, Father. Help me to give all of this to You.’
* * *
I’ve been finishing up the last of my documents for immigration while sitting at our dining room table. Finishing my peppermint tea, I set down the cup, staring at the names on the forms in front of me.
Declan Dawson Murphy.
Avah Linnea Murphy.
The front door opens, and I glance up just in time to catch Declan walking in. Before I can help it, a small smile tugs at my lips.
“Do you feel better?” I ask as he sets down his duffle bag, moving in a way that shows he’s carrying something heavy after a long day. His dark hair is wet from his shower, the ends curling near his face. His Rangers sweatshirt and pants remind me why we’re doing this in the first place.
He’s not allowed to practice with the team due to his suspension, but he needs ice-time as much as the next hockey player. He’s allowed to use the facilities at Tarrytown, just as long as it’s not with the team and he’s been doing that for the past week.
“I do,” he says, picking up the remotes to the television and dropping down on the couch. He looks to where I’m sitting, patting the couch next to him. “Come sit with me.”
I close my laptop and push back from the table, making my way over to him, just like I’ve done every day since we’ve been here.
After he gets back from his work-out, he settles in to watch game tapes for an hour or two.
I’ve been at his side every night this week, after which we prepare dinner together and then go off to our separate rooms. We’ve fallen into this comfortable little routine and it’ll change again once he can start playing again.
“So was it just EJ and Lindgren you saw today?” I ask, settling in right next to him. The couch is big enough for three hockey players to fit in between us…but as the week has progressed, the distance between us has quietly disappeared.
“Are you asking me if I saw your ex?” he asks simply.
I blink, caught. We haven’t really spoken about Axel being here, or what it means for either of us.
I haven’t gone down to the practice facility, which is new for me.
I haven’t even watched any of EJ’s games since I married Declan.
Usually I wouldn’t miss it. I’d be right there, wearing his jersey and supporting him.
“I guess I am.” I look at him, wondering how he feels about this whole situation.
This past week I’ve been calm…surprisingly so. I didn’t feel like avoidance or hiding. Instead it feels like I’m waiting. I’ve been praying and I trust that God will put me in front of Axel when the time is right and in that moment, He’ll be right there with me.
He turns on the television, switching to the game before looking at me. “I didn’t see him,” he says, his voice tense, his dark eyes sparking with anger. “If I did, you’d know about it.”
“Declan…”
“He hurt you,” he says simply, as if that explains everything. “He doesn’t deserve to come off scot-free.”
As much as I like the idea of Declan standing up for me, the thought of him getting into more trouble overrides that in spades.
“You can’t touch him, Declan.”
His jaw tightens. “Why not? He deserves more than what EJ gave him.”
“I know,” I say softly. “And I appreciate that. But your suspension ends tomorrow. You can’t throw away your spot on the team for this. He’s not worth it.”
He sighs, running his hand over his face. “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth.
Quiet settles between us, his knee bouncing as the commentators on the screen start talking about the latest line switches and the newest player acquired by the Habs. Then, Declan lifts his arm, a quiet invitation to lean into him.
There’s no denying the pull I feel toward Declan.
He’s made it clear that he feels it too.
We’ve slipped into a comfortable place where we’re allowed to be honest without fear of judgement.
A space where I can lean on him, and he can hold me without either of us expecting more than the other can give.
A quiet agreement to be what the other needs.
I lean into him, his arm settling around me. His warmth seeps into me, his breathing slow and steady.
“You’re going to watch me play tomorrow?” he asks after a long moment, his lips brushing against my hair, and I can feel a smile on his mouth. “Never thought I’d see the day Avah Johansson would show up for me at a game.”
“Someone has to watch, otherwise who’s going to keep track of all your turnovers?” I ask, tilting my head up at him.
His laugh is low, warm and it vibrates through me. “I don’t make turnovers,” he says.
“Oh yes, you do,” I correct him. “Last year there was one against the Leafs, and it cost you the game. And it’s Avah Murphy now, remember?”
I’m not sure why I corrected him. Being Avah Murphy on paper is definitely different than being Avah Murphy in real life. One is for the purpose of getting my green card…the other is being his wife in every sense of the word. I’m not sure either of us is ready for that.
When he looks down at me, his expression softens.
“I don’t expect you to come if you’re going to be uncomfortable, Snowflake.”
I sigh with relief. Hearing him say that, somehow lifts an invisible weight off my chest…and it makes me want to go even more.
“I want to be there,” I answer honestly. “I guess I have to face Axel at some point. I’ve spent an entire year running from him and our past. It’s time to move forward.”
Declan presses a light kiss into my hair, humming in agreement before turning back to the game.
We haven’t kissed since our wedding day. And I can’t say I haven’t wanted to.
It hasn’t been necessary with our media appearances, although we’ve been close during those. I guess that's why it feels normal to sit next to him, pressed into his side, and have it feel like this is where I belong.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. He takes it out, glances at the screen before turning the phone to show me.
Aunt Kat: You’ve been married for a week now, Sweetheart. I’m patiently waiting for a photo…and maybe a visit. I’m praying that tomorrow’s game goes smoothly.
I can’t help but smile. “Who’s Aunt Kat?” I ask, immediately curious. If she’s a woman who prays for Declan, I want to get to know her.
“My dad’s sister,” he says simply. “She stepped in when neither of my parents could muster up enough responsibility between the two of them.”
He lifts the phone to take a selfie of the two of us.
“Serious?” I ask, leaning into him even more, smiling. “My hair is a mess.”
He turns to look at me, his gaze sliding over me in a way that makes me still. “You’re beautiful,” he says softly. “Now smile, and let’s show Aunt Kat we’re really married.”
Leaning into him, I smile at the camera. The photo looks normal and perfect. Both of us wearing sweats, his hair still wet, mine tied in a messy bun on top of my head.
“When can I meet her?” I ask, as he sends the photo off to her.
He looks at me, his gaze narrowing slightly. “You want to meet my family?”
Realizing what I just said, I wait for a moment, letting his question settle. Meeting his family would make this more than it is. But on the other hand, it feels like this has always been more.
“Yes, I want to meet your family,” I say quietly. “Well, I guess I already met Brady. I wasn’t too impressed, which means we can only go up from here,” I say teasingly.
He smiles, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance and my stomach dips. “Yeah, it takes a while to warm up to him,” he says. “But you’ll like Maddie, my sister. And I’m sure Aunt Kat would love it if we met up with her in Boston. We should go when we play the Bruins.”
I don’t miss the fact that he didn’t include either his mom or dad in his list of family members to meet.
The moment lingers, but before I can ask, the crowd on the TV roars.
The Tampa Bay Lighting scores against the Habs, the replay flashing on the screen.
Declan’s eyes flicks toward it, narrowing before he looks at me again.
“Wait,” he says slowly. “Does this mean you want me to meet your parents too?”
“That would be the ideal, yes.” I wince. “I’m afraid my mother kind of insisted on it already.”
He smiles, unbothered. “I can charm your mother.”
“Oh, I have no doubt,” I say, shoving my elbow into his ribs. “Dawson. Or wait, was he the whiny one? Should I call you Pacey instead?”
He tosses his head back with a groan. “Noo, I thought I told you to never call me that.”
I can’t help but laugh, warmth bubbling up in my chest. “So it’s true? You really did get your name from Dawson’s Creek?”
He shoots me a look from the side, both annoyed and amused.
“No wonder you’re so charming,” I tease. “You were named after an iconic nineties heartthrob.”
He runs his hand over his face, snorting. But there’s a curve around his mouth he can’t quite hide.
“Yeah, my mom was real into fantasies,” he says, softly. “Still is if you look at the guy she married this time around.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “Fourth time’s the charm?” I ask carefully.
His gaze is fixed on the television and I don’t want to push. He sighs, his fingers tracing soft circles on my arm, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
“With her you never know,” he murmurs. “I’ve given up on trying to figure out her reasoning. My dad couldn’t figure it out, and that’s why he’s been stuck at the bottom of a bottle since she left us.”
I turn in his arms, leaning away from him.
His expression doesn’t betray his feelings, instead he looks resolved to the life he’s been given.
Something inside of me cracks. Not everyone grows up with parents who love them, who support them.
Some have to face darkness in a different way.
It’s the broken way of the world. If anything it just shows how much we need a Savior.
“I wish you didn’t have to go through any of that.” I take his hand in mine, weaving our fingers together. “I can’t change your life, nobody can. It’s difficult when the decisions of others influence you in a way…that leaves you paralyzed.”
He looks at me, his gaze searching mine for a minute. He opens his mouth and closes it again. The tension between us grows with unspoken words, past wounds and the need to find someone who’ll understand.
“What do you need, Declan?” I ask the question we’ve been asking each other every day since we got married.
His gaze flicks to mine, dark and guarded. “I need you to not pity me.”
The word ‘pity’ twists in my stomach. I know what that feels like, to be pitied for what you had to go through.
EJ took pity on me, not because he meant too, but because he saw me as someone who couldn’t help herself, who couldn’t overcome.
But pity doesn’t help anybody, it cages you in. And I don’t want that for Declan.
“I don’t pity you,” I tell him honestly. “There was a time I did. But now, I’ve come to know you better. And I could never pity you.”
He looks away, relief and confusion twisting on his features. “Tomorrow I’m going to be back on the ice. This past week with you…” he trails off, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t want things to go back to the way they were before.”
Back to when I gave him a hard time about the choices he made in life.
“It won’t,” I say. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think things will ever be like they were before.”
He pulls me closer, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“That’s good.”
We sit and watch the Tampa Bay game, in comfortable silence, save for the one time the goalie made an almost inhuman save. I’m aware that soon we’ll have to get up, get dinner and then go our separate ways for the night. But I’ve never felt more comfortable, more safe and content than I do now.
“What do you need tonight, Snowflake?” he asks, his voice soft against my hair.
I nestle against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm. “Just a little bit more of this,” I say with a sigh.
“Done,” he says, pulling a blanket off the back of the couch and tucking it over my legs.
Somewhere between the second and third period of the game, my eyes grow heavy and the noise from the game fades into the background.
I’m not sure what tomorrow will be like, but as I’m drifting off, I send a prayer to my Father in Heaven, asking Him to hold both of us no matter what tomorrow might bring.