Page 29 of Axe-identally Married
“Two years ago, I was hired by the Gagnons for the same reason, and the work we did resulted in your father’s arrest.”
What she didn’t mention was how that investigation also resulted in her being kidnapped and held at gunpoint by my father. That was a particular family shame we would probably never recover from. I had still been playing at that point and was pretty far removed from it all, but just the thought of my father doing such despicable things made me nauseous.
Sometimes I found myself wondering how he could be capable of the things he’d been accused of. But then memories I’d worked to repress would creep back in, and it wasn’t as hard to believe.
His cruelty toward my mother and me.
Or the long car rides home from hockey games, when he’d spend hours yelling at me, belittling me, and reviewing every play I’d made. He’d accuse me of not trying hard enough and remind me that I was destined to be a loser.
The phrases would play in my mind as clearly as they did when he repeated them.
You’ll be pumping gas someday.
Idiots like you can only shoot a puck for a living.
I didn’t marry your mother for her brains, and I’m paying the price with you.
And once in a while, it got physical. Mostly, he’d shove me into walls or force me to shoot five hundred pucks in the driveway before I was allowed to go to bed. When those memories surfaced, I swore it was as if I was standing outside with the cold winter air burning my cheeks as I took slap shot after slap shot, trying not to look at the buckets of pucks I still had to get through.
If the abuse had been solely directed at me, I’d have been okay with it. But he’d been terrible to my mother as well—blaming her for everything, yelling at her for making the smallest mistakes.
And if she made a bigger mistake, like the time she dented her new Mercedes? He escalated to physical abuse. That time, he had grabbed her by the hair—her long black hair was her pride and joy—and cut off a big chunk. I remember watching her sit there as he came at her with the scissors, shaking and knowing that I should intervene, that I should fight for her, but being unable to move.
As the memories assaulted me, heat crept through me, and a tingling sensation started in my fingers. Trying to suck in air, I scanned the room. My brothers were all paying careful attention to what Parker was saying, but I couldn’t even hear her voice over the rushing sound in my ears.
“Excuse me,” I croaked as my lungs tightened further, making it almost impossible to breathe. I stood abruptly and strode to the door. I needed to get out of this room. It was too hot, and there wasn’t enough air. With each step I took, my legscame closer to buckling. Finally, I made it into the hallway, but I didn’t stop there. Still gasping for breath, I headed straight for the stairs.
“You okay?” Karl, who’d been walking toward the conference room with a tablet in hand, asked.
Without responding, I slammed into the stairwell door. When the cooler air hit me, I collapsed on the metal stairs and gripped the handrail as I put my head between my knees and forced oxygen into my lungs.
Fuck. My hands shook as I extended my fingers to get my blood flowing again. My jaw ached, and my head felt foggy.
“Here.”
The voice came from far away, but the bottle of water in my periphery was very close.
“Drink.”
Karl sat next to me, adjusting the cuffs of his perfectly pressed plaid dress shirt.
“You’re not okay.”
I waved him off and took a small sip. I wasn’t even sure I could swallow. My tongue felt too big for my mouth. The cool water soothed me, instantly slipping down my throat. Fuck. I closed my eyes and took another sip.
“Now breathe,” he said.
We sat side by side in silence for several minutes. Fortunately, he didn’t ask any questions. If he had, I wouldn’t have been able to explain my weird behavior. I wasn’t even sure what was going on.
After a few minutes, I pulled a deep breath in and held it. Then, as I let it out, I stood.
“I better go back,” I said without looking at him. “Thanks.”
He stood too and held the door open for me. “Cole?”
“Yeah?” I glanced at his face but looked away at the pity etched in every line.
“It’s okay not to be okay. Please remember that.”
