I blink.
“You don’t know what’s best for her,” Hellsy adds. “Only she knows that.”
“I do know what’s best for her!” I shove a hand in my hair. “And it’s not me.”
They both give me long, level looks.
“Seriously, dude?” Hellsy asks.
I drop my ass onto the couch. Otis leaps up beside me and sits, too, giving me big brown puppy dog eyes. “Guys. I fucked up. Big. Huge. That hit…” I shake my head.
They both nod. “Yeah.”
My look is probably baleful.
“You did,” Hellsy says. “Everyone does at some point.”
“Nobody’s perfect,” Millsy adds. “No matter how hard you try.” His gaze lasers onto me.
“So.” Hellsy shrugs. “Let me pour you a tall glass of get the fuck over it. And here’s a straw so you can suck it up.”
“That’s it? After what happened, I’m just supposed to suck it up?” Anger heats my blood.
“What else are you going to do about it?” Millsy asks.
“Sometimes good people make bad decisions,” Hellsy adds. “It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. It means you’re human.”
I sigh with frustration, my jaw tense. “I know I’m not a bad person. But I’m sure as hell not good enough for Emerie.”
“Ah. A pity party.” Millsy nods. “Cancel it.”
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“We’re hockey players,” Hellsy says. “We fall. We get up. We learn. We grow. We move on.”
“Why do you think you’re not good enough for Emerie?” Millsy asks.
“Doesn’t that seem obvious?” I sweep out a hand.
“No. It really doesn’t.”
“Fuck. I’m not talking about this shit.”
“Oh hell no.” Hellsy leans forward. “You saw what we went through. Me, Millsy, Morrie. He’s on his way over, by the way.”
I throw up my hands. “What is this? An intervention?” Christ, just saying the word makes me shudder. How many times did we try that with Eric? It never worked.
“If we didn’t talk about what we were feeling, we wouldn’t have made it,” Hellsy says. “But we know it’s hard.”
“Fucking hard,” Millsy agrees. “But we’re not going to let you get away with macho bullshit like denying your feelings. Trying to stay tough on the outside.”
“I’m not denying my feelings. I’m pissed.”
“At who?” Hellsy asks.
“Myself!”
He nods. “Okay. Good start. Why?”
“Because I fucked up! Jesus, you’re asking obvious questions.”
“Everyone fucks up,” he says again. “Why is that so terrible for you?”
Slowly I move my head from side to side. They’re not giving up. I don’t want to do this. Finally, I say, “My brother died.”
They watch me. They know that.
“I…” I rub my forehead. “He fucked up. So bad, he gave up. I know how hopeless he felt.”
Millsy straightens. “Is that how you feel?”
“If you’re asking me if I’m suicidal, the answer is no.”
“Okay.” He settles down.
“He threw away everything. His talent. His family. His life. I vowed I would never do that.”
“Okay.” A notch pinches between Hellsy’s eyebrows.
“I was determined to play in the NHL like Eric should have. I’ve worked so hard to get here. To stay here.”
“Yeah. You work hard.” Millsy exchanges a look with Hellsy.
“My mom was crying the other day because someone came up to her and told her I should be carried off the ice on a stretcher.”
“Fuck.” Millsy scrubs a hand over his face. “That’s sick.”
“Jesus.” Hellsy looks skyward. “Some people.”
“As for Emerie…” I stop. “First of all, I don’t want her going through bullshit like that. Also, I don’t have time for relationships. Maybe if I hadn’t been so distracted by beach vacations and having fun and…and all her family shit, that hit wouldn’t have happened that way.”
“You’re blaming her?” Millsy’s mouth drops open incredulously.
“No!” I gape at him. “No, no! It’s not her fault. It’s mine.” I rub the back of my neck, which feels as hard as a frozen puck. “The morning of the game, Mr. Julian talked to me.”
They give me identical questioning looks.
“He didn’t come right out and say it, but apparently Mr. D’Agostino does want to get rid of me.”
Hellsy’s jaw drops.
“Shut the fuck up.” Millsy gapes at me.
“I got what he was implying. He stood up for me, but he can’t forever, if Mr. D wants me gone.”
“Jesus Christ.” Hellsy mutters.
“So he wants you to break up with Emerie.” Millsy frowns.
“Again, he didn’t specifically say that. But… I got the message. And shit, Mr. Julian’s a straight shooter, right?”
“Right,” they both agree slowly.
“I don’t want to cause problems for him. Or for the team. We’ve got a good group here. We’ve got a chance of going all the way this year.”
“Oh Christ.” Millsy looks sick.
“So, I was a little off my game.” I hold up my hands. “I told Brent Schneider this, too. It’s no excuse. And it proves my point. I need to focus on hockey.”
They both regard me solemnly, their mouths in identical flat lines.
My phone buzzes. It’s the doorman.
“Probably Morrie,” Hellsy says.
I tell the doorman to send him up, and a moment later, he knocks. Otis goes nuts barking and bouncing around as I head to the door to open it.
“Hey, man.” Morrie grabs me in a bro hug. “How’re you doing?”
“Shitty. Come on in. I’m being tag teamed.”
He laughs softly and follows me into the living room. “Are you ganging up on the poor guy?”
Millsy and Hellsy smirk. “Yep. And we’re making progress.”
“Excellent.” Morrie takes a seat and Otis leaps onto his lap. He absently pets the dog’s head. “As someone who’s been through months of therapy, I’m glad to hear that.”
I don’t know much about Morrie’s background. He just signed with the team this past summer, and we’ve only been playing together a few months. But he, Hellsy, and Millsy know each other. They all played junior hockey together and were involved in a tragic bus crash that killed a bunch of people. They survived, but that doesn’t mean they were fine after. They’ve been through a lot.
They’ve started a campaign focusing on mental health issues for men because of what they experienced, and I really admire that. I’m not one of the guys who needs it, though.
“He broke up with Emerie because he’s not good enough for her,” Millsy tells Morrie.
Morrie nods, focused on me. “Too bad you have nothing going for you.”
The other guys snort. On some level, I recognize the humor in this, but nothing’s funny right now.