Chapter 23 #2
“Perhaps all the other women who wore your jersey used you the same way you used them, but that’s not what this agreement is about. It’s never been about that.”
“Well perhaps that was our mistake.” My voice sounds cold and detached, even to my own ears. “Maybe if we kept things simple, we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
She steps closer, placing her hands on either side of my face, her hands rubbing along the scruff of my jaw. She forces me to look at her, to look into her blue eyes.
“Declan,” she says softly, her thumbs brushing against my jaw. “This thing between us isn’t nothing.”
But I’m struggling to believe it. I’m struggling to let myself believe it. Besides, the man she wants, the husband she described…I don’t have it in me to be that man.
“I’m not perfect—”
“And neither am I,” she cuts in firmly. “None of us are, we’ll never be perfect.
There’s only One who’s perfect and He loves us enough to be with us through the struggles.
The point is that we struggle, that we wrestle.
We don’t give up, we don’t give in to the demons, Declan.
And you’re the strongest fighter I’ve ever seen. ”
Her words ring true…and a part of me doesn’t want to hear it. I’ve been fighting against the darkness for a long time. I’ve even let it consume me a time or two. It’s just easier that way.
“Listen to me,” she says, her voice filled with conviction. “You’re kind and loyal—”
I shake my head. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. To those that are in your life, you are. You work hard, you have ambition and drive and passion.” She searches my eyes, pleading with me to see what she sees. “You’ve been here for me in a way that no-one else could’ve been. You’ve given me what I needed.”
“None of that means anything if I can’t use it to keep my spot on the ice!” I explode, the words tearing from me before I can stop them. “He’ll take my place and then he’ll take you too!”
Silence simmers between us, her blue eyes filling with tears even though she stands tall and strong. The fire I’ve come to know and expect from her, rises in her.
“I’m not something to be taken, Declan,” she says, her voice firm.
Her words land like a punch to the jaw.
“I made my own choices,” she says, her voice steady. “Nobody ever forced me into anything. I chose to marry you. I can’t expect anyone to carry my choices or their consequences. That’s between me and God. And I’m choosing to stay.”
She takes a small step forward, her hand landing on my chest. Not soft, but grounding, right above my heart.
“You keep talking about fighting for your spot, needing to prove yourself, showing everyone that you deserve to be here…” she shakes her head. “Maybe that’s why you’re losing control. Because you’re fighting in your own strength. You’re fighting to control something that’s not yours to control.”
Her words twist something inside of me. I’ve been running from God for so long, because He’s never been there for me. He’s never fought for me.
But have I ever really given Him the chance to?
“I can’t be the reason you feel better, Declan. I can’t be the reason you play, or get up in the morning. You can’t put that on me.”
Her eyes search mine. “And I will never put that on you.”
I turn away from her and the weight of her gaze. My eyes land on a small velvet box on the kitchen counter. I walk toward it and pick it up. The hinge creaks as I slowly open it.
Boqvist’s engagement ring.
The one she said yes to, the one she wore first. The real relationship she’s carrying with her still.
Resignation moves through me, acceptance settling like a heavy weight on my chest.
She’s got healing to do. The man gave her a ring, she gave herself to him and now she’s bound to me.
And me? I’m a walking wound. A mere scratch away from bleeding out on the ice these days. I’m bruised and broken by my own choices and by those made by the people who were supposed to protect me.
Turning back toward her, I place the small box in her hand, her breath catching.
“I guess we owe each other nothing then,” I say, my voice low and quiet before I turn away and head out the front door.
I’m not angry, or bitter…I’m just seeing things for what they are.
We can’t save each other. We can’t change who we are for another person.
No…she’s right. This was an agreement first.
And Declan Murphy will honor this agreement like he’s done with all the others.
* * *
I’m alone on the rink. The ice is perfectly smooth, glowing faintly in the dim lights above.
The stands are swallowed by the darkness and the sound of pucks hitting the ice echoes through the arena as I dump the bucket at my feet.
Ever since I was a kid, I would escape to the rink when things got to be too much. I spent countless hours on the ice, going through drills on my own, shooting the puck and skating like my life depended on it. I pushed and pushed, skated lines until my feet bled.
Anything to not have to go back home.
I told myself I was playing for a new home, and in a way I was. If I didn’t escape in that way…who knows where I would’ve been right now.
But your past catches up with you. These past few years have been a testament to the fact that you can’t outrun what runs through your blood.
Somehow I’ve allowed things to change…to switch. I reached for a drink when I needed to numb my anger. I scrolled through my contacts until I found someone who could fill the emptiness I felt.
But now, I’m on the ice again.
In some way it feels like a homecoming, and I know deep down this is where I need to be right now—at this very moment. When I stepped out of our home, leaving Avah alone in our living room, I felt the tug deep within my soul.
It was undeniable and it felt like the right thing to do.
Skating around, I handle the puck, firing it into the back of the net, one after another. But instead of the usual satisfaction and sense of pride…I feel empty.
So I push harder. I skate lines, cutting sharp corners, driving my legs until they burn. The sound of my blades cutting through the ice centers me as I focus on the soft rhythmic click of the puck against my stick as I move up the ice.
Still, there’s nothing.
Nothing but the look on Avah’s face and the sight of her old engagement ring on the counter. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I’ve tried, I followed everyone’s advice.
God should know that I’ve tried.
I found a woman who’s marriage material…
I married her. I posed for pictures and changed the headlines.
My fine’s paid, my suspension over. I went to church and listened to what the pastor had to say.
I prayed…albeit short and clumsy on some abandoned sidewalk, but it should count toward trying, right?
I haven’t touched alcohol, or been with a woman.
And still my life is threatening to fall apart. Still it feels like I’m left with nothing, like I’m juggling a dozen fragile uncertainties, and every time I reach for one, another one slips away.
Breathing heavily, frustration burns through me, I fling my stick over the boards with a loud grunt.
Not feeling better in the slightest, I bend down and start hurling the pucks against the boards.
The sharp clang of them hitting the glass satisfying as it echoes through the empty rink.
The glass rattle and groan ominously, but they hold despite the onslaught of frozen pucks, but it holds.
“What do you want from me?!” I bellow out, the words torn from my chest as it echoes through the rafters until the silence that follows is almost deafening.
There’s nothing but the cool air burning through my lungs, the sounds of my ragged breathing in the empty space and the blood pulsing through my veins.
And then…stillness followed by undeniable certainty that I’m not alone in the rink anymore.
God is here. And He’s watching me. Waiting.
Falling onto my knees on the ice, I let the cold seep into my bones.
“Why do You only ever watch?” My voice cracks, raw and uneven. “Why can’t You step in? Why can’t You fix the things I broke, things my dad broke, things everyone broke?!”
The words tear from me and I slam my fist against the ice. Again and again. I feel nothing but cold until I watch drops of blood dripping from where I split the skin.
And yet, I feel nothing.
“I’ve been dragging all of it with me for years,” I whisper, my throat raw. “All of my mistakes, their mistakes. My dad’s drinking, my mom not caring, every word I spoke to hurt others, everything I took and never gave back…all of it. It’s too much.”
The weight of everything I’ve had to carry with me ever since I was a kid is threatening to drown me. It’s weighing me down, squeezing the breath from my lungs, the life from my body.
“I don’t want any of it anymore, please just take it. Take all of it. I need You to take it from me. Stop watching and just take it all!”
The silence following my words feels endless.
Then a deep certainty settles in my soul.
‘And I carried it all for you. You don’t have to carry anything anymore.’
A breeze moves across the ice, slight but unmistakable. I can’t see anyone else in the rink, hear anything else, and for a moment I can’t help but wonder if I imagined the presence. If He was ever really here to begin with.
Then I feel something shift. Not around me, but inside of me. Like a thread inside my chest being pulled taught. Not to hurt me, but to steady me. The weight of my life, decisions, mistakes…it doesn’t disappear, it just shifts. It’s not mine to carry anymore.
“What’s happening to me?” I murmur.
Putting my hands out in front of me, I watch them shaking, feeling like I’ve left my body, watching myself in a heap on the ice. The coldness inside of me begins to melt and something warm spreads inside of me.
I drop my head and the tears spill freely from my eyes. For the first time in my life, I’m not holding on so tightly it feels like I might die.
I feel light. Free. Hopeful.
Hockey used to be my saving grace.
It was the thing I clung to when everything else in my life fell apart. When my dad was drunk, I stepped onto the rink. When my mom chose her new husband over me, I skated harder. It gave me a place where I could fight back, a place where I belonged.
But now that I might lose it…What will I have left?
Do I even have Avah? And our agreement of a marriage?
I’ve been drifting for so long, like a leaf caught in the winds of the world. Now finally, I’m landing. I found an anchor, my center of gravity.
“I don’t even know how to start,” I breathe.
Start here. With Me.