I’m still kicking myself for not talking to her when the opportunity arose a few weeks after leaving when the Stingers played the LA Sharks. I was a fool for believing she was better off without me. So I cut ties completely so she couldn’t contact me. I thought it was for the best.
Only now, the sleepless nights and the constant nausea were a cruel reminder of how I fucked up. Now I’m putting my trust in the universe, hoping she’ll read my letter with a thousand apologies.
What’s the worst outcome that can happen?She’ll delete the email, or she’ll read it.If she does, then what?I can’t leave and rush back to LA to be with her. The trade is done, and I need to see out my contract in Chicago.
The letter is a small step in the hope of us becoming friends again. While I don’t expect her to forgive me, it might open the door my actions slammed close.
I return to my desk, read over the letter, and click send.
Fuck, she’ll see my name and delete it for sure.
Pushing my chair away from the desk, I search for paper and a pen. A handwritten letter is more of a meaningful gesture.
I glance back to the screen to view the email I just sent and begin writing.
Lottie,
I need to begin this letter with an incredibly heartfelt apology.
A wise lady once told me the heart is fated to break, but the broken live on.
I’m waiting because the agony that constricts me is making it impossible to breathe.
Two long months have passed since my flight arrived in Chicago. The snow, while it looked pretty, felt equally as cold as my core. Dread filled me during my final days in LA. I was empty and at a loss for what to do.
How do I make our world right?
I can only hope one day you will understand why.
The last thing I wanted was for you to see a grown man cry.
When I saw you merely weeks after I was traded, I lied when I told you I had thrown my phone in the lake. I would never destroy our memories, our photos, or our chats. Instead, I changed my number.
Why?
You deserved a fresh start.
To be with someone you wouldn’t have to look at with disappointment. Someone your family would be proud of for you to share a life alongside.
I’d always hoped that person would be me.
And then I fucked up. I hurt you, Byron, and your family, who took me in and treated me as one of their own. For those reasons, I needed to cut all ties and remove myself from your lives.
How could I stay when I caused so much pain?
Byron hated me. Blamed me. Shit, I blamed myself. He almost didn’t play ball again, and it would have crushed him, as I know it would me…
Hindsight is a marvelous thing because if I had the chance, I would exchange playing for the possibility of being with you again. I have asked myself over and over again… would you give me another chance? Would you even want to see me after I left without a goodbye?
You deserve better.
Still, that doesn’t stop me from wanting you. I want that more than anything.
But we wouldn’t stand a chance if I didn’t take the time to work on myself. My worth. To learn how to value myself enough so I can love you the way you truly deserve. If we want an honest, healthy relationship, then that needs to start with me.
It will take time, but I guess time is what we have.
I mourn for you. When I’m not training, I lock myself in my apartment and ignore texts from my teammates to hang out. At training, I curse when I mess up, using every profanity I can. I scream at the players because they don’t understand how I play. They are unable to grasp it. Any of it. Their ignorance fuels my frustration. It’s not their fault I’m an asshole.
