“Save her?” Clara turned her head. "I didn't know it was that bad."
"I was ashamed of it, Clara. I wanted to be anyone but the poor kid from the trailer park. I felt like I had to leave it all behind to get ahead."
The fire popped.
"And I was the past,” she stated.
I sighed. "I realized I couldn’t ask you to give up your dream.”
“But, that wasourplan. It wasn’t for you to decide.”
It was something I'd thought about for years. What would've happened if Clara had dropped her life to follow me into mine? "It was selfish to ask you to quit skating for me."
"It was selfish of you to make that decision for me." Her voice was low. She took a piece of jerky from the bag, tearing off a frozen piece with her teeth.
"I'm sorry, Clara. I should've given you the choice, but I didn't want to ruin your life."
Her shoulders sagged. "Yeah, moving away from this shitty town with my NHL player boyfriend would've totally train-wrecked my life."
"It wasn't like that, Clara. There's something you didn't know."
She took another bite of jerky. It seemed like the act of eating it was more enjoyable than the snack itself.
"What's that? You needed a few more puck bunnies in your hockey pants before settling down?"
I took the jerky from her hand and gnawed off a bite. "I finally got my mom out of poverty, and then I had to put her into a home. Her dementia came on so fast. She didn't know who I was, but I was the only person whose hand she would shake. She'd tell me she knew that she loved me, but didn't know why."
The years that were supposed to be the best of my life, had been the hardest. I'd lost both the women in my life: Clara and my mom. I probably should've gone to therapy, but playing hockey had served as my therapist.
Sitting in that stinky hut, smelling like a wet dog next to a literal wet dog, tears spilled down my cheeks for the first time in years.
"I'm so sorry, Beckett. I didn't know." Clara’s voice was soft. She let go of Dash's paw and rested her hand on my thigh.
"It was too much for me." I swiped at the wetness on my face. "The only thing that kept me…" I was going to say alive, but didn't want to sound dramatic, "going, was hockey."
The warmth of her hand on my leg was comforting and without thinking, I rested mine on top of hers. She didn't pullaway. "That's why I couldn't come back here when your…" my voice cracked. I was ashamed of my weakness.
"When my mom died."
The guilt hit me, the wounds as fresh as though this had all happened yesterday. "I told myself you were better off without me. That I was doing you a favor by staying away."
"You were wrong."
"I know." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
"No, Beckett. Those years when you left were hard for me too." She stared at the fire. "After Mom died, I quit skating. Completely."
"What?"
"Yeah, and that's not the worst part. I spent a few years numbing myself with anything I could get my hands on."
"Oh, Clara." If I felt like a piece of garbage before, now I was an entire trash can. A rotting one.
She pulled her hand from beneath mine. "It's fine. I came out of it, but not without the help of Mrs. Krinkle and Clementine and the church ladies. They practically shoved my feet back into my skates. It's them, and the Chance Rapids rink, that saved my life."
I took her hands in mine. "I know I've said it before, Clara, but I mean it with every part of me. I am so sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be a big enough man to deal with my own shit. I'm even more sorry I couldn't be strong enough to show up for you."
"I needed you, Beck." Her voice trembled. "I mean, Beckett."
