Chapter 24
CARSON
Ayla’s words are like a knife to my heart. Twisting, opening it up, blood spurting everywhere. I press a fist to my chest.
That was the day things came to a head between us.
Ever since, I’ve hated myself for saying that.
When I saw the expression on her face that day—the betrayal in her eyes as she stared at me, the way the blood drained from her face, leaving her skin looking like pale wax, the way her hands shook—I hated myself.
I wished I could take those words back. I’ve hated myself for saying that ever since.
Fuck. Fuck!
All the emotions that have been agitating inside me the last few days boil in my gut. I think I might puke. How I felt holding baby Marcus. How I felt when Ayla told me she felt like I’d betrayed her. When she said she felt like a failure because our marriage ended.
I hate myself. I love her more than anything, and I hurt her and betrayed her over and over again back then.
I lift Ayla off my lap and sit her beside me. Then I slide off the couch onto my knees on the floor in front of her. I bury my face in her lap, squeezing my eyes shut against the tears. “I’m sorry, Ayla. I’m so, so sorry.”
I wrap my arms around her legs and hold onto her.
The pain in the back of my throat makes it hard to swallow and the sour ache in my gut feels like I’m about to vomit.
Regret and shame and guilt are like shards of broken glass in my chest cavity, and the pressure building behind my eyes turns into burning tears.
I squeeze my eyes shut but they leak out anyway and then a huge, shuddering sob overtakes me.
“All I wanted was to fix things for you. To make your life happy like it was before. But I fucked it up so horrendously. I fucked it all up.”
“It’s okay.” Her fingers thread into my hair in soothing caresses. She holds the back of my head and lets me try to get control of myself.
“Christ,” I gulp, fighting to discipline my emotions.
“It’s okay,” she says again. Her hands stroke my hair. “It’s okay, Carson.”
Her voice is soothing, her hands calming. She said it’s okay if I break down with her.
And it pours out of me, my body quaking against hers in painful, silent sobs.
I’m reliving moments from our marriage and moments from the past few days.
I hurt her. Betrayed her. And all because I was too afraid to let go of control.
To let myself feel things. Just like when my dad died. She was right about that, too.
“I keep thinking about what Nonna said this morning,” I choke out.
“About when you lose a young child you also lose the life you never got to have with him. But it’s not just losing a child.
Losing my dad was like that, too. Every time I played well, I wished he was there to see it.
” I pause, a sharp rock stuck in my esophagus.
“He didn’t get to see me get drafted, or play my first game in the NHL.
He didn’t get to meet you…” I swallow the gravel stuck in my windpipe. “And he didn’t get to meet Kane.”
“You looked like you’d been punched when Nonna said that,” Ayla whispers.
“I felt like it.” I cough. “It fucking kills me that he never knew you. That he never saw how happy you made me.”
“I wish I’d met him, too.”
And fuck, I’m crying again, spine-shuddering sobs wracking my body until there’s no air left in my lungs, holding onto Ayla, my lifeline, my cornerstone… my salvation.
Can she forgive me? Can we go forward? Can I forgive myself?
I don’t know and the questions terrify me.
Was it wishful thinking that there’s still a chance for us?
After being reminded of every reason I love her: her kindness and generosity, her love of family, her sweetness and caring for other people.
Her huge, loving, soft heart. And yeah, her soft skin, everywhere.
The way she responds. The way she wants me.
After seeing all that again, knowing I still love her… is it enough?
Do I even deserve that?
I’m fucking terrified. My fingers tighten on Ayla. I can’t lift my head.
She pets my hair with gentle touches.
When I can talk again, I say, “That was a terrible thing to say.” My voice sounds like a rusty bike chain.
“I hate it that I hurt you. That has haunted me every day of my life since then. I knew it was bad. I’m sorry I said that.
I’m so sorry I hurt you.” I gulp air into my lungs.
“I… I guess that proves you right,” I say roughly.
“Everything just seemed to build up inside me and that came bursting out. I hated myself immediately. But that was… Things had been so hard between us and if that’s what ended things for us, I figured I deserved that. ”
“Oh. Carson.”
“I was so frustrated. I couldn’t accept that I wasn’t in control of things. All I wanted was for you to be happy again. To go back to how things were before.”
“I know.” She chokes out the words. “I know.”
“But… we can’t go back.”
“No.” Her voice floats softly over my head. “We can’t.”
I still don’t move, for how long, I don’t know. Then I lift my head, straighten, and take her hands in mine. Her beautiful face is blurred from the wetness in my eyes. “I love you, Ayla.”
She holds my gaze. “I love you, too.”
I voice my biggest fear. “Is it enough?”
“I… I don’t know.” A smile touches her mouth. “But I think love is pretty powerful.”
I nod. “I think… I need to do some thinking.”
Her eyes shadow. “Okay.”
I squeeze her hands. “I want to make this work. I love you. We can’t have our old life back… but maybe we can have something different. Something better. I know I fucked up a lot. I just need time to process it all.”
“I understand. That’s probably a good idea for both of us. This was a lot.”
I search her face. “Do you want to make this work?”
She swallows and her bottom lip quivers. “I do.”
“Those are nice words.”
She gives me a shaky smile. “They are.”
* * *
“It’s a split tear of the ulnotriquetral ligament.”
“Say what?”
Trev grimaces. “A split tear of the ulnotriquetral ligament. It’s a ligament in the ulnar side of the wrist that connects your two forearm bones.”
I nod. “Okay. But the MRI was normal.”
“Yeah. The doctor said this condition is weird like that. The pain only happens with certain activities, and X-rays and MRIs can be normal. And usually, ligament injuries involve a rupture, but a UT split tear is different. The ligament is still attached to the bones on both ends, but is split open lengthwise.”
I wince. “So… surgery?”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “95 percent success rate.”
“Well, that sounds positive.”
Trev’s mouth tightens. “I won’t be able to play for months.”
“Shit.”
“I think I might wait.”
“Did you ask the doctor about that?”
“Yeah.” He drops his gaze.
“Is there risk of damaging it more?”
He doesn’t reply at first, then says, “He said it’s possible I could completely rupture the ligament.”
“Jesus.” I rub my jaw. “You can’t wait.”
“It could be three months. I might be back for the playoffs. Depending how far we go.”
“In the meantime, you’re… It’s affecting your game.”
Trev sets his jaw. “I’m working on that.”
“You have to have the surgery, Trev.”
“I don’t have to do anything.” The sharpness of his words surprises me.
“They know what’s wrong; they can fix it. What if you do more damage to it when you’re playing? What if that means they can’t fix it? Is it worth risking your entire career to play right now?”
“We have a chance to go deep in the playoffs this year.”
“And you might be able to play by then. If you have it now.”
He shrugs.
“You’re also in pain.”
“I can handle that. At this point in the season, probably two thirds of the guys are playing hurt.”
“You’re young. You have a lot of years left to play hockey. You have to do it, and you have to do it now.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Jesus.” I stare at him.
“We’re done for today.” He skates away, jumps off the ice, and tramps down the tunnel.
What the fuck? I shoot a puck at the empty net. I’m trying to help the guy and he’s being an idiot.
I stay on the ice a while longer, lining up pucks and firing them at the net.
When I finally leave, Benny’s standing at the boards. “Hey, Alfie.”
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Can we talk for a minute?”
I frown at the team captain. “Sure?”
Nobody else is around. The Zamboni’s coming on the ice to clean it and one of the guys is taking a net off its pegs.
“I was just talking to Trev.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for all the work you’ve been doing with him.”
“Well. I don’t know how much it’s helping. He’s…” I hesitate, not knowing if Trev has shared his injury with others.
“His wrist,” Benny says. “I thought something was bothering him.”
“And it’s going to keep bothering him until he has surgery.”
“Yeah… about that. He’s kind of… pissed… at you.”
“What?” Okay, I’m not surprised. I could see he was annoyed. “It’s not my fault he needs surgery.”
“No. But he felt like you were pressuring him to have it.”
I gape at my teammate. “Pressuring him?”
It’s an echo of what Ayla said the other day. She felt like I was pressuring her.
“Yeah.” He blows out a breath. “Look, the kid’s young and he’s got a wrist injury and needs to go under the knife. It’s affecting his play. He’s stressed.”
“Well, yeah. I get that.”
“It’s his decision to make, though.” Benny eyes me. “I know you’re trying to help. That’s what you do.”
I’m having another flashback to that conversation. I know you want to fix things for people.
“Maybe just ease up on him a bit,” Benny says. “He has to come to terms with it and decide what he wants to do. Weigh the pros and cons of having the surgery now versus waiting until the season’s over.”
“I’ve already weighed the pros and cons and he should have the surgery now.”
Benny tips his head. “But it’s not your decision.”
“Of course not. But we all know that’s the right decision.”
“Okay, let me be blunt. I’m telling you to back off. Trev feels like you don’t understand what he’s going through. He’s getting pissed off at you. You two have been working great together and I know you’ve been helping him. Why risk that relationship? We all need to support each other, right?”
“Right,” I say slowly. I’m feeling a little pissed myself that I’m getting a lecture from the captain.
“Okay, great.” Benny claps a hand on my shoulder pad. “Thanks, man.”
We walk together down the tunnel and I head into the locker room while he turns to leave the facility. I sit on a bench to take off my skates, but I don’t move for a few minutes.
Those echoes of my conversation with Ayla keep circling in my head.
I’ve been thinking a lot about that conversation. I had to get my head on straight for the game last night, and practice today, but apart from that, I’ve spent a lot of time lying on my bed in my apartment staring at the ceiling and replaying it all.
I know you want to fix things for people.
Yeah. I do.
But I felt judged or criticized.
Did Trev feel like I was judging him?
I drop my head forward, elbows on my knees.
Fuck. Of course he did.
Like Ayla did. And like… Lenny. As Ayla pointed out.
You wanted to look after them and keep them safe, and they probably wanted autonomy and independence.
Of course they did.
Is it a bad thing to want to help people? Why am I like this?
I take off all my gear and hit the showers, now deserted. As I wash away the sweat with soap and water and shampoo, I ponder it more.
Is it about control? I hate it when I can’t control something. Why is that?
I think back to when my dad died. Everything felt out of control. Scary. Taking charge of my mom and my sisters gave me a sense of control when I was terrified. Angry. Confused. Except that didn’t always work out so well.
Jesus Christ.
I lean my head against the tile wall, letting the water spray down on me, steam billowing around me.
I was trying to fix them to make myself feel better.
I did that with Trev. I did that with my family. I did that with Ayla. And that’s what fucked everything up.