Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I roll us to our sides as I consider that. “Maybe what I need to do is tell my teammates what I did. Maybe if they would forgive me, then—”
“Stop,” Tillie hisses, and I jerk back to look at her. She’s clearly pissed. “They can’t forgive you because you didn’t do anything to them. Your actions involved Kyle and Kyle alone. Your inability to apologize to him doesn’t shift that burden to anyone else. Not to me and most certainly not to your teammates.”
“So I shouldn’t tell them?”
“What’s the point, Coen?” she asks. “How can that possibly help you? I think you’re just looking for punishment. I’m not giving it to you, so maybe you’ll seek it elsewhere?”
“But I feel like I have to do something,” I grumble in frustration. Because although I feel unburdened to some extent, the guilt is still there. I’m having a hard time understanding what to do with it.
“You do have to do something,” Tillie says, going up on one elbow and looking down at me. “You have to forgive yourself. That’s it. That’s the only thing left you need to do, and then you need to claim your life again.”
My eyes drop to a wavy lock of hair over her shoulder. I reach up and rub it between my fingers.
Forgive myself?
Reclaim my life?
Is that even possible?
Do I want that, or could I be content staying here?
Yesterday, I knew what the answers were to all those questions.
Today, I can’t answer a single one of them.
“I’ve got to go to Pittsburgh. Want to come?”
“To pack up the rest of your things?” she asks.
That was the original plan, but now I’m not sure. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know.”
“When would you go and for how long?”
I shrug. “Tomorrow or the next day. It would only be for a day or two.”
Tillie’s gaze slides away from me, and she nibbles on her lower lip as she considers. When she looks back at me, her smile is apologetic. “I love Pittsburgh and I’d really love to go, but I’ve got too much going on. Some pieces I need to finish, and I have lessons on Saturday.”
Yeah, I’m disappointed. I’m not sure if I asked her to come as a security blanket or because I hate being away from her for even a few days.
“No worries,” I assure her, ignoring the impulse to try to persuade her to come.
It’s going to be a quick trip, anyway.
In and out to pack up the rest of my clothes and some personal items from the condo. I’ve got movers coming to move the furniture, which will go into storage until I decide if I want to switch any of it out with the stuff here.
That’s what I need to do… go back and close out the remnants of my life there. It’s the commitment I made so that I could move forward.
Except, as I lie here in bed next to Tillie, after I just unloaded something horrible about myself, and she didn’t run for the hills, after she told me to forgive myself, I have to wonder if perhaps I’m throwing away my life when I don’t need to.
It’s a hard concept to grasp because I’ve spent months mired in anger and self-hatred for what I did. I’ve had countless hours of ruminating over all the great things in life I no longer deserve because I betrayed Kyle, and therefore cannot be a trustworthy friend and teammate to the new guys. On top of that, every time I think about hockey in any way, I almost buckle under the guilt of being alive when my teammates are dead.
And yet… I wonder.
CHAPTER 22
Coen
This is not where I thought I’d be during my trip to Pittsburgh. The plan was to slide in mid-morning and spend the day packing clothes and other personal items. Everything else I’d leave to professional movers. I was going to order takeout from my favorite restaurant and eat it on my couch while watching TV.
Next day, I’d hit the road back to Coudersport and hopefully see Tillie that evening.
But here I am, sitting in front of the Igloo, a year-round skating facility with three ice rinks.
“You’re here to drop off some stuff for Stone and nothing more,” I say out loud, just to make sure I don’t succumb to pressure to do anything else.
I consider my reflection in the rearview mirror before letting my eyes drift to the hockey stick in my extended cab seat alongside my gear.
It’s fucking Stone’s fault. I texted him last night to let him know I was coming in for a short trip to pack up and asked for a place we could meet so I could hand over some of his brother’s belongings I found at the cabin. It wasn’t much—some books and clothes—but I figured they might have sentimental value to him.