Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
The tears spring to my eyes as the true repercussions of my selfishness hit me hard. I cut myself out of sharing in a perhaps once-in-a-lifetime event for my family: my two brothers winning the Stanley Cup together.
Tears pour down my face as I silently curse Van for driving me away, although I know this was my solid choice to stay here and be alone.
Another chime, another text. I refuse to get out of my tub to look.
Instead, I continue to cry because I miss my family, I’m overwhelmed with guilt I’m not there with them, and I fucking miss Van more than anything else. I let the tears pour down my face, and they come easily, as it’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to really let go.
Tears turn into sobs and I finally bury my hands in my face, hoping it will stop soon enough.
Another chime, but I don’t care who it is. Nothing I’ll receive will make me feel any better about my situation right now.
Eventually, my crying abates. I’ve never been a big crier, but I’ll admit it can be cathartic. The water cools and I reluctantly step out of the tub, slipping into a warm terry robe.
I nab my phone from the vanity and look at my texts, seeing a series of three of them from Van. My heartbeat skitters out of control, as he hasn’t reached out to me once, and now it looks like he’s sent me three texts within minutes of him winning the Stanley Cup.
My hand shakes as I see more accurately that he’s sent me three videos. I click on the first one, and as soon as I realize what I’m seeing, my hand goes over my mouth to stifle another tiny sob as I start crying again.
It’s of Max hoisting the Stanley Cup and skating it around the ice. Van must be taking the video with his own phone.
Tears of happiness slide down my cheeks as Max brings the Cup down to kiss it before skating it up to Lucas. Lucas takes it from his brother, raises it above his head, and skates around the ice as well with a big cheesy grin on his face. If I looked in the mirror, I bet my grin would look just like his.
The video ends when Lucas hands the Cup off to another player.
I tap on the next text, which is also a video. A small whimper of happiness and regret pops out of my mouth as I watch Van now on video taking his turn with the Cup. My eyes drink in every detail as he skates with it raised high, and I see the light shining in his eyes, the unrestrained smile of triumph and happiness, and the absolute peace in his expression.
I know I have every right to be pissed at this man, but how can I right in this moment when he’s reached the pinnacle of success? He reached it despite the shitstorm he faced this week with that news article about him and Arco.
All of the regret and guilt seem to evaporate as I allow myself to get swept up in the joy of this moment. I let myself be happy for my brothers and Van, but I refuse to acknowledge the fact that Van is making some type of overture by sending me videos of my brothers. He knew how important that would be to me since I wasn’t there, although he could have no clue I turned the TV off, so this was just extra special.
When the video of Van ends, I look to his last text, and it’s just a few words. I really wish you were here with us. I regret the words I said, or otherwise you would be here with us to celebrate tonight. That’s all on me.
My tears suddenly dry up as I read his message over and over again. It can’t be any more vague as to what he really wants. He wishes I was there, but is that just because they won the Cup or because he misses me? He regrets what he said. But is that because he truly didn’t mean to push me away? Or because he kept me from celebrating with my family?
I keep waiting for more, but nothing is forthcoming. I imagine the celebration on the ice, followed by pictures and interviews, will be taking up Van’s time for a while.
I walk into my bedroom and lie down on my bed, watching the videos a few more times so I can draw on the good feelings they evoke.
I then send separate texts to Lucas and Max congratulating them, as well as one to my mom.
The entire time, I debate about what to say to Van, but eventually, I choose not to respond.
It’s either now—when you need me the most in your life—or not fucking ever.