18. Chapter 18 #2
“You got to walk away,” he keeps going. “You got the NHL. The money. The life Nico never got to have.” His eyes burn into mine. “And everybody calls you the fucking wall like you’re some kind of hero.”
He steps closer.
“But you know what you really are, don’t you?”
My hands start to shake.
“A coward who was too fucking scared to save his own brother.”
He’s unloading the hits at machine-gun pace.
A tremor starts in my hands, completely out of my control.
I’m afraid of what I’ll do if he doesn’t stop.
If it were anyone else, they’d already be unconscious.
But I know what he’s doing, and as cruel as it is, it’s not malicious.
It’s a last-ditch try to get something out of me.
But he’s going to get a very, very wrong reaction out of me if he doesn’t shut his mouth right now.
“Do you smell the fucking blood on your hands every single day? When you wake up, when you lace your skates, do you still smell your baby brother’s blood?” He pushes the knife in until it hits the hilt.
The suffocating grief, the raw, blinding guilt of a thousand sleepless nights, and the pure, unadulterated rage fuse together into a white-hot explosion inside my head.
I can’t stop it. The dam completely detonates. Every ounce of self-control, every silent prayer for peace shatters into a million pieces. I let out a sound that isn’t human and I lunge.
My hands fly out and I grab him by the throat. My fingers dig into his skin as I slam him downward. We hit the floor with a jarring thud. I pin him there, my knees locking his arms down as I squeeze.
I want to stop the words.
I want to stop the noise.
But Dominic doesn’t fight back. He doesn’t claw at me. He doesn’t try to buck me off. He just stays there, his face turning a deep, bruised purple, his eyes locked onto mine, watching me. He’s letting me do it. He’s enduring the strangulation long enough to let me see exactly what I’m doing.
“Is... that... how...” Dom wheezes, the words barely a rattle in his throat. His eyes never leave mine. “How... you did... it... huh?”
I see the purple of his skin, the way his hands are limp at his sides, the way I am seconds away from actually murdering him.
My friend.
I recoil like I’ve been burned.
I yank my hands back, shoving off him as I scramble to my feet, my chest heaving so hard I think my ribs might snap. Dom rolls onto his side, gasping, his lungs drawing in air with a ragged sound. The sight of the bruised finger marks on his neck snaps me back to the present with a jolt of horror.
“Why the fuck are you making me do this?!” I scream, the sound breaking like a car wreck. “Why the fuck are you doing this? You knew him!”
Dom collapses onto his side, but I can’t even see him anymore.
The locker room walls are gone. The smell of stale sweat and hockey tape is replaced by the suffocating scent of pulverized concrete and ozone.
I can hear the metallic shriek of the rig, the heavy, final crash of metal hitting the ice.
A small voice begging me, crying for me.
The horrific, eternal silence that followed.
“No,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “No, no…”
I sink to my knees, my pads hitting the floor with a hollow thud. I don’t care that Dom is watching. I need the images to stop. I need the words—Dom’s words, the world’s words, Nico’s final words—to get out of my head.
“Stop.” A raw, dry sound tears my throat open. My forehead nearly touches the floor. “Please... stop. Just fucking stop.”
I’m begging my own mind for a mercy it’s never shown me. I’m an animal caught in the trap of my own making. Screaming at the ghost of a thirteen-year-old boy to tell the world I didn’t mean to do it. I wish I could physically reach in and rip the memory out.
Through the static in my head, I hear the heavy rustle of hockey gear. I expect him to tackle me, to get his revenge for the grip I just had on his throat. Instead, two massive, heavily padded arms wrap completely around my torso.
Dominic pulls me forward, dragging my huge, trembling frame against his chest in a fierce, crushing hug. He locks his arms around my shoulders, hugging me tight while the world spins out of control.
“You can’t let it control you, Zed,” Dom says into my ear, his voice shredded and wheezing from my fingers.
He holds me tight, his chest heaving against my back.
“That day... it took so much away from you, man. Don’t let it keep taking.
Don’t let it take everything until there’s nothing left of the person you were.
Don’t let the lie become the truth in your head. ”
My muscles go completely slack. I let him hold me. I let the first hot, stinging tear escape my eye and track a path through the dried sweat on my cheek.
I want to.
God, I want to. I want to drop my head against his shoulder.
I want to close my eyes, tear my chest open, and just cry.
I want to scream and sob and completely break down until my lungs give out, letting the suffocating weight of this horror finally bleed out of me.
And I know with complete certainty that he’d sit on this dirty floor and let me cry without a single shred of judgment.
The temptation is lethal.
It’s a warmth I don’t deserve.
And that’s exactly why the sickness screams back to life.
With a sudden burst of panic, I drive my elbows back and shove Dominic away from me with ruthless force.
He flies backward, his skates skidding across the rubber mats before he hits the row of benches behind us.
I get to my feet, my chest heaving, my hands shaking to the point that I have to brace my fists against my thighs to keep from collapsing. The raw vulnerability in my chest instantly calcifies into a defensive wall of pure hatred.
“Don’t you ever fucking touch me,” I breathe, my voice a dead hiss that completely erases the version of me who just wanted to weep. I look him dead in the eye. “Next time you try a stunt like this... I won’t stop. I will fucking kill you.”
I don’t wait for a response. I grab my bag and my gear and storm out the door. Instead of taking the main hallway where people might be waiting to corner me, I throw my weight against the metal crash bar of the rink’s back exit. The door slams open, and the warm midday air hits my face.
It’s wet.
My face is wet.
I think I’m crying.
I storm across the asphalt, completely blind to the world, until I reach my car. I throw my bag into the back, slide into the driver’s seat, and slam the door shut. The quiet of the cab settles over me, but the static in my head is still a deafening, roaring storm.
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely grip the steering wheel.
With a clumsy, desperate motion, I yank my phone out of my bag and open my contacts.
My thumb stops over the name I made Lilly put into my phone before she fell asleep on my chest.
Snowflake.
I stare at it.
I don’t want her to hear me like this.
I've spent most of my adult life making sure no one sees me fall apart.
But right now, I don’t give a fuck.
She's my only lifeline.
The only person who has the power to pull me back from the edge.
My thumb hovers over the screen…
I press call.
One.
Two.
“Hello?”
My eyes close.
I don’t answer.
I just sit there with the phone pressed to my ear and listen to her breathe on the other end. The painful weight in my chest lifts just a fraction at the sound of her voice.
“Zed?”
Something in my chest loosens.
“Zed, are you okay?”
I lean my head back against the headrest and drag in a slow breath, trying to get my voice under control before I finally answer.
“Yeah.”
“What happened out there?”
"Are you ok?" she asks.
“I’m fine.”
She goes quiet.
I know she doesn’t believe me.
But I can breathe again.
“I’ll see you at the gala in a couple days.”
“Zed. Wait—”
“I’ll see you there, Lilly.”
I end the call before she can ask me anything else and let the phone drop into my lap.
Her voice is still in my head.
But the panic isn’t.