It’s dragging up mine as well.
Unlike her, I was able to run away from the gaping wound that Hunter’s death left. I had hockey to keep me busy and people supporting me, helping me through the worst of it, letting me talk about the grief when it became too much.
Yeah, Hunter’s death left a deep scar, but it healed. With time. With help. With support from my parents and coaches.The team even brought in a counselor. It was mostly for me, but enough of my teammates used him that it became a permanent feature of the team, helping pave the way for more teams at that level to follow the lead of the pros by making psychological help available to players.
But Hailey …
She went through all of that without any help. Without any support. Her parents pretended her brother never existed, packed up all reminders of him, and forbade her from talking about him. Kept her from feeling like she could reach out to me, even though I know I told her repeatedly that I’d be there for her.
I wish … I wish so many impossible things. I wish Hunter never would’ve died. Never would’ve gotten sick. How different would all our lives be then?
And I wish that her parents would’ve been there for her instead of trying to pretend they’d never become parents and making her feel like they wish she’d died instead of her brother.
What a fucking load of bullshit.
I take in another deep breath, trying my best not to let the tears gathering in my eyes fall down my cheeks. I don’t want her to feel like she has to comfortmeright now. And I know Hailey well enough to realize that would be her first instinct.
“I’m sorry,” I say at last, my voice hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry, Hailey. For everything. For your parents. For not trying harder to be there for you. I thought …” I press my lips together, my nostrils flaring as I breathe deep. I can’t look at her because if I do, I know I’ll lose the tenuous control I have over my emotions.
“Jason, please don’t apologize for that,” she says softly, her voice pleading. “You were a kid, too, and in the process of getting drafted for hockey. And then you weregone. How could you have done anything for me from hours away, with a busypractice and game schedule, plus finishing high school? What could you have done?”
I risk a look at her, and her cheeks are wet. All I want to do is reach over and wipe away her tears, but I don’t know how she’d react to that. But then she reaches for me …
It’s instinctive, her hand reaching out in my direction, and then she seems to realize what she’s doing and pulls back.
But it’s enough.
It confirms what I’ve come to suspect—she’s afraid. That’s why she hasn’t jumped in with both feet. And her hesitation to tell her parents or invite them to the reception?
That has nothing whatsoever to do with me. That’s entirely about them and the way they’ve been treating her for years.
I knew they didn’t have the greatest relationship, I knew that they weren’t anyone’s definition of good parents after Hunter died, but I guess, since my parents are the exact opposite, and also I remember how her parents were when we were kids, I couldn’t understand how bad things really were.
They made her think they wished she’d died instead? Holy fuck.
That keeps popping into my head. I can’t … it’s just so disgusting. So awful. And I hate it so much.
“I don’t know.” I hold my hands out in front of me. What else could I have done? I feel like there has to have beensomething. “I could’ve tried harder to connect with you. Texted you more than two or three times a year. Called. Asked my parents to check in on you.”
She makes a soft sound of disagreement. “My parents never would’ve let your parents come near me. Don’t you remember the funeral? You were there with your parents. They knew how close you were, but they hated that you were there at all. Like I said, I’m not sure if they actuallyblamedyou. But they resented you every bit as much as they resented me.”
“So?” I challenge, a spurt of anger making me look at her, and she shrinks away. I let out a breath and temper my tone. I’m not mad at her. I’m mad at her parents. “I could’ve handled their resentment better. What does it matter to me if they resent the fact that I’m alive when their son isn’t? Because that’s what it boils down to, doesn’t it? They resent anyone who didn’t die of a brain tumor. Or maybe …” I pause, weighing the idea that just occurred to me before letting it out.
“Maybe what?” Hailey prompts, though her voice sounds dull.
“Maybe they were afraid of being close to you. Because what if you got a brain tumor or something too? Maybe they thought it would hurt less to bury you if they kept their distance?”
“That’s …” She looks away, swallowing hard. “That doesn’t make how they treated me any better.”
“No,” I agree quickly. “It doesn’t. It’s terrible, and you deserved—deserve—better. I’m also sorry I didn’t realize …” I shake my head. “I knew your parents were distant and that your relationship wasn’t close. I should’ve realized that your hesitation to share anything with them, much less that we got married, had to do with them and their treatment of you, and wasn’t about how you felt about me.”
“God, no,” she rushes to reassure me. “No. It wasn’t that. Well, not entirely.” When I glance at her, she shrugs, hands spread, palms up. “I wasn’t sure how serious you were when you said you wanted me around as long as I was happy here. I kept looking for the loophole—for you—that meant my time was still limited, even though we’d never set any kind of deadline for me to move out. I just …” She chews on her lower lip, looking down at her hands in her lap. “Everyone always gets tired of me eventually. And you’ve given me so much in such a short amount of time, I figured you’d get tired sooner rather than later. Sure,you like menow. You’re attracted to me, and I live in your house, and like we’ve said, wearemarried.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Stop.” I hold up a hand, palm out, like someone signaling a car to stop. “Are you saying you think I’m only with you because it’s convenient?”
Another shrug. “I mean, notjustbecause of that. But I’m certain it plays a role.”
I pause to digest that. Then, in a quiet voice, “Does that mean you’re only with me because it’s convenient? I don’t mean marrying me for insurance and a place to live. I mean everything else. Our relationship—because at least for me, that’s what it’s become. Is it just because we live together and I’m willing to scratch the itch?”
