Chapter 19 – Apology Tou
Who Grovelled Bes t
Bash
I never mention her name at these interviews… it feels too raw, as if speaking it might break me.
That's the first thing people notice. After the games, when reporters shove microphones in my face, asking who I dedicate my wins to, I always smile when I think of her.
"Someone who taught me what strength looks like," I say. "She doesn't need grand gestures, but that's what I want to give her. What she values is honesty. Loyalty. "
"Is she the woman in your life, Bash?" a petite blonde reporter teases. "Is that who you are playing for? A lady friend?"
"You could say that," I mutter with a choked laugh, "if she were speaking to me. I messed up big time, and if she ever lets me back into her life, I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us."
"So, who's the lucky woman?" shouts another journalist.
"What's her name, Bash?" a different voice calls from the back.
"Come on, give us a scoop."
I lift my hands, trying to slow the flood of questions.
"Let me be clear. I don't have a girlfriend.
I have a friend I care for deeply, who happens to be a woman.
I jumped to the wrong conclusion and accused her of something she didn't do," I run a hand through my hair.
"It cost me, and she hasn't spoken to me since. "
The chatter buzzes around me as the media circus presses in, microphones surging toward me. But I keep going, despite the noise.
I look straight into the camera of one of the major networks.
"Firebird," I breathe. "I hope you're listening. "
The room seems to tilt. My legs give out, and instead of bracing, I let myself drop to my knees beside the podium. Seems fitting. Camera flashes explode, and the press erupts around me.
"I'm sorry for what I said," I continue, my voice breaking slightly. "I was wrong. I know you've always been honest with me. I miss your friendship, your smile—everything about you. Please, give me the chance to make this right. I promise never to hurt you again."
For a moment, I let myself drift, thinking of her, as I often do, while the press roars around me, fading into the edges of my mind. I remember the first time I met her at the club. I immediately noticed the air of sadness around her.
A woman that beautiful should never have any reason to be sad, I thought.
The sadness gave way as she threw her head back in delight and called me a player. Her eyes sparkling, her hair hanging down in luscious curls. I was drawn to her.
But there's more to her than her looks. She's beautiful inside as well.
We'd just finished ice skating, and I noticed her fingers tinged slightly grey from her Raynaud's.
She had to be in pain, yet barely acknowledged it, sipping a cup of cocoa, fingers curled around the warmth.
She looked at me so intently as we got to know each other that for a few breaths, it felt like I was the only person in her world. Everything else had ceased to exist.
No other woman had affected me as she did.
Too often, I'd been treated like a prize to be claimed, admired from the outside rather than valued for who I really am.
People call me handsome, and it draws women in, but I need someone who cares for me , not for how I look or what I can give.
Amelia was the first to make me feel truly seen. To her, I wasn't a trophy.
The noise of the press begins to seep back in as thoughts of Amelia fade, and questions are being thrown at me.
"Who's Firebird, Bash?" a reporter shouts, thrusting a mic at me.
I’m still on one knee when I answer, rising to my feet as Coach moves in.
"Thanks for carrying my apology, hopefully to her ears, but we're done with that line of questioning. It's time to talk hockey, not my lack of game."
It doesn't let up. Cameras keep clicking. Mics inch closer. No one's interested in stats or strategy.
Coach steps up to the podium, moving fully in front of me, lifting a hand. The chatter dies down .
"Alright, guys," he says firmly, sweeping his gaze across the room, "that's enough. Let's get back to what we all came here for—let's get down to the sport."
One determined question cuts through. "What's with your necklace, Bash? That looks like a woman's charm."
All the monitors on the wall show the feeds zooming in on my chest, where Amelia's skate charm hangs, the diamond, catching the light. I replaced the chain with a heavier, longer one. One that actually fits around my throat. But it still keeps her close.
I'm haunted by the actions of my past, that day I threw her out into the storm. We haven't spoken since. I tried. I called. I texted. Weeks passed with no reply. It all mingles, the past, the present. I feel the weight of the wrongs I've done.
Jaxson
I don't know what Bash is doing at the press conference, but I watch him stagger slightly and drop to his knees beside the podium. Camera flashes fire in rapid bursts, popping like soundless fireworks as reporters shout over one another and the room spins into pandemonium.
I turn to Rod .
"What's up with the Ice Princess over there?" I tilt my head toward Bash.
Rod shakes his head. "Man, you really need to stop calling him that, it's unsportsmanlike, and if Coach hears you again, he'll reem you out... again."
I wave him off, but Rod keeps going.
"Rumor is, he messed up with a girl he fell hard for. Now he's trying to win her back."
"You've got to be kidding me." I snort. "How pathetic. What a loser."
Then it hits me that this isn't a bad idea. This… this could work. A public apology. A grand gesture. Maybe that's how I get Melly's attention.
Since I've been back to the house, here in Thunder Bay, it's been torture without her.
I know that sounds ridiculous since I ignored her for months, but now, I'm sober and alone.
I'm suspended for a block of games, so there's no point tagging along with the team if I can't play.
Coach insisted I stay home and get my counselling started so I can continue it later over telehealth.
Up until now, I've sat there at home, neglected, wondering if that's how Melly felt. Lost, unloved. The thought makes my stomach roil, not just for myself, but for her too. It was cruel of me to leave her as I did, and I have n o right to complain now that she's serving it right back to me.
I scan the room, taking in the cameras, the flashes, the reporters hanging on every word. All the excitement I've missed, since this is the first game I've been allowed to play in weeks.
Wondering how I should go about this, I decide to just be me. Melly isn't some random girl. We've been together forever. She loves me.
Sure, she's mad, and I guess I don't blame her. She stayed home and waited. I didn't. I neglected her. But she's paid me back these past few weeks by leaving. She's got my attention now. I can still salvage this. We can make this work.
As the Ice Hawks leave the stage, our team steps forward. Bash comes down the steps, hollow-eyed, and I flash him a grin. A little malicious, a little deliberate. Even in my rejected state, I have no sympathy for the Ice Princess.
The cameras pivot as we line up behind the podium.
"Jaxson, any thoughts on Bash's apology to this mystery woman?" An eager reporter calls out.
I lift my hand. "I'm afraid I didn't hear it." My smile grows more confident .
"It appears he's in a similar boat to you, Jaxson," Tony Slater, one particularly slimy paparazzo that I truly despise, calls from the back.
He's also the one who's been capturing and selling those incriminating photos and videos with Mandy.
"He's hurt a woman he cares for and is in the proverbial doghouse. "
Who let this guy in here?
"How are things between you and Melly?" Tony snipes, digging a hole straight into my soul.
"You know exactly how we are doing." I stare coldly at the impudent jerk.
A few uncomfortable coughs echo in the room, but it's mostly silent.
So, I shoot my shot.
"Since you brought that up," I say, lifting my chin, "I want to talk about something. I know I've already offered my wife an apology through the press release, but I want to repeat it."
The room is still again. Cameras refocus. This is it.
"Melly, love, I'm sincerely sorry for the pain and embarrassment I've caused you… "
"Speaking of your wife," Tony cuts in again, voice sharp with relish, "what do you think about her winning the Ca nadian Nationals? First place in Toronto, Canada, last week. Her performance was fantastic."
Shock registers on my face as the words hit me like a body check I never saw coming.
Like being attacked by an angry pool of piranhas, the room explodes with questions flying from every direction, shouts overlapping, relentless.
"You had no idea, did you?" No.
"How could you not know?" I don't know.
"Are you two even still together?" I wish.
"When was the last time you spoke to her?" I can't remember.
"Are the rumors true that you've been seeing puck bunnies?" Heaven help me, I don't know why I did that.
That last question from Slater, the tool. He knows because he and Mandy are friends.
I don't answer out loud.
I can't.
My mouth snaps shut, and everything I planned to say is sucked into my lungs, my jaws shut so tight it hurts. A dull throb in my temples is coupled with a roar in my ears, and everything else is drowned out. I didn't know.
Melly's skating again .
Coach steps forward fast, planting himself between me and the press scrum.
"Pipe down!" Coach bellows over the melee, clapping his hands together loudly. "Enough of the BS, let's get down to business."
Groans of protest ripple through the room, but I've already dropped behind the line of players and am scrolling the sports news when I come across it.
Amelia Smith Takes First Place at the Canadian Nationals.
The footage begins mid-performance. Melly was always the best and brightest on the ice.
I loved to watch her skate until I selfishly wanted her to myself.
Like breathing, she glides across the ice effortlessly, weaving intricate spins and leaps that defy gravity.
Flowing seamlessly from one movement to the next, her routine is a powerful blend of precision and artistry.
The footage cuts to the scoreboard. Her name is at the very top. After a moment of stunned silence, Melly jumps, laughing, her hands flying to her mouth before she's attacked by her fellow skaters, throwing their arms around her. Her coach draws her into a hug.
Another clip loads.
A grid fills the screen with her past year's events and results. She had been competing at mastery levels long b efore I opened our marriage. She was already pulling away from me, and I had no idea.
Then, a montage of her competitions plays. Podium finishes stacked one after another. Silver, Bronze, and Gold.
The headlines continue.
Top Olympic Contender. Ranked for Next Month.
Amelia Smith — Chasing Gold at Next Month's Olympics.
Darkhorse Darling, Amelia Smith, Takes the Ice Skating World by Storm.
She stands there crying as the winners are awarded their medals, and she's at the very top of the pyramid.
She's beautiful. Glowing. Alive. Thriving.
And she did it all without me.
I lower the phone slowly as the noise of the room returns, stifling me. She doesn't need me. I don't stand a chance.
This brilliant plan of mine didn't just go off the rails.
It never mattered .
She was already moving on before I even opened the marriage. Instead of playing, I should have been scrambling to save our marriage.
Amelia
I switch off the TV and stare at it for a moment. That was… painful to watch. Not in a melancholy way, just embarrassing.
It's been a month since Christmas, and I'm over these bull-headed, egotistical men who think they can push me around and then come back with lame apologies?
I roll my eyes, reflecting on the live scene I just witnessed on the Canada Sports Network.
Bash dropped to his knees with a dramatic apology that was too little, too late, while Jaxson got shredded with questions about me.
Someone he knows nothing about any longer.
I giggled as I watched him slither behind everyone else, hiding, eyes glued to his phone. I know exactly what he was looking at.
New year, new me.
I don't need some hot-headed, faithless, testosterone-filled idiot telling me what to do.
I finally see my worth.
I'm done .
I pick up my mug of cocoa and head to my reading nook. Settling back with my book, I watch snow drift lazily outside. I barely notice. I'm focused and content in my own little world.
"Ah, Brock—my Wild Man , my favorite book boyfriend. Thank you, Kristen," I coo, lifting my book and diving back into the story.