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The question now is, should she be put through this in the first place?
CHAPTER 30
ASTRID
After the weirdness of last night, I’m careful to feel hopeful about the future. I know I was devastated reading those things about me online, but Sean looked out right depressed. And so damn guilty. I could tell he didn’t believe me when I said I understand what choice I made.
A part of me is surprised that he hasn’t tried to push me away, another part of me isn’t sure that he won’t try to in the future.
It’s a shitty feeling regardless, to have every aspect of my life teetering on the edge of something that I have no control over.
The roar of the crowd fills the arena, but my attention is solely on the fast-paced chaos playing out on the ice. The game is intense, the energy palpable, and I can't help but feel a surge of pride watching Sean maneuver with skill and grace. Hockey has become such a significant part of our lives, intertwining our paths in ways that I could have never anticipated.
I’ve started to like the sport, even. Well, I like going to the games. The air is cool, and his jersey is warm and comforting. I feed off the energy of the crowd.
Then, in an instant, the exhilaration shatters.
Getting attacked in hockey is a given, and I knew it was only a matter of time before Sean was on the receiving end of it, but I never anticipated something like this.
I see him go down, the sickening thud of bodies colliding echoing through the arena. Time seems to slow as blood stains the pristine ice, a vivid contrast against the stark white. Sean’s blood. Panic clenches my chest as I recognize the pained look on his face through the gap of his helmet, a sight I never wanted to witness.
It’s too much.
Without a second thought, I jump to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears.
No, no, no. This can’t be happening. He needs to get up. He has to be okay. Fear spikes my pulse. He can’t be hurt.
Instinct propels me forward, my only focus on Sean.
The trainer meets Sean on the ice, his sense of urgency evident. The sight of him, vulnerable and injured, rends my heart. I want to reach out, to reassure him that I'm here, but the barrier of the rink keeps me at bay. Helplessness consumes me.
The intermission between periods feels like an eternity. Finally, Sean is taken off the ice, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment. The connection is there, a silent understanding passing between us. I need to be there for him now, just as he was for me when I needed it most.
In the hospital room, I find him, the sterile scent of antiseptic and the low hum of machinery creating an atmosphere ready to escalate my anxiety. Sean looks worn, a contrast to the usual vitality that defines him on the ice. I can't stand the distance between us, the walls that seem to have risen.
"Hey," I say softly, my voice breaking through the silence. Oh god, is he going to be okay? Am I going to be okay?
Sean manages a small smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Hey."
"I'm here," I assure him, wanting to provide the comfort he gave me during my darkest moments. But instead of gratitude, I sense a subtle withdrawal.
As I insist on helping him, my intentions are met with resistance. Sean seems reluctant, almost avoiding eye contact. It’s as if my desire to care for him is exacerbating the divide between us.
Maybe, I speculate, he didn't want our relationship to become so official. The recent media attention, the dedication of a goal, and the public embrace might have been overwhelming for him. And then the other night when he wrapped me in his arms, shielding me from the intrusive lens of the media.
"Alright," I pause, my gaze searching his for any sign of reassurance. "I'll give you some time alone then."
The room hangs heavy with unspoken emotions. I turn to leave, desperate for him to call me back, to defy the growing distance. But he doesn’t. The silence persists, and I exit, leaving the door ajar.
As I stand in the corridor, shifting back and forth, uncertainty lingers, taking hold of my movements and crawling up my skin, making this somehow even more uncomfortable. And embarrassing, I think. He doesn’t even want me here. When things go wrong, he wants to push me away. Because I don’t mean anything to him.
No, that isn’t true. He wouldn’t have made my birthday so special if I meant nothing to him. He wouldn’t have taken care of me when I sprained my wrist. But Sean is in his own head right now, and I understand him well enough to know that when he gets like this, there’s no life ring strong enough to bring him back.
I swallow and walk quickly towards the elevators. This can’t be happening. I’m so frustrated that now, when the roles are reversed, he wants nothing to do with me. It doesn’t make sense.
I jab my finger against the lobby floor button, only relaxing when the elevator doors close and the lift moves.
A single tear escapes and I swipe it away before anyone can see.
