Page 140 of For the Boys
“What are you saying?” Brent asked, his entire body going cold with what he knew was coming.
He could feel it deep within his bones, as sure as he knew his own name. As sure as he knew the sun would rise tomorrow, that the world would keep spinning, that he was meant to play hockey, he knew.
Berkley was about to leave him.
Fear zipped down his spine, all the anger from moments ago abandoning him an instant.
She hadn’t responded to his question, hadn’t voiced his absolute deepest fear, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Baby, don’t do this.”
He would do anything,anything,she asked if it meant she didn’t leave him.
Her shoulders hunched as she wrapped her arms around herself, her head hanging, hiding her face from view. If she would just look up, look at him, he was certain they could figure this out.
As if he had manifested it, Berkley raised her head and locked her watery eyes on his, taking a deep, shaky breath.
“I can’t be with you anymore,” she said, the words coming out wobbly.
Brent’s heart stopped, and his legs gave out. He dropped to his knees in front of her. “Berkley, don’t do this. I love you. We can figure this out.”
Brent watched as Berkley swiped at a tear on her cheek, and his heart cracked in his chest. She was crying, which was bad enough, but she was crying because ofhim, andthatwas unacceptable.
“I love you too,” she said quietly, and Brent wanted to jump for joy at the words, the first time she had said them to him. But in the middle of what appeared to be the end of their relationship, the elation soured into fear.
Berkley continued. “But I don’t think that’s enough. I think we moved too fast and we want different things. You want someone who is okay with being in the public eye, someone who is okay with you spending ridiculous amounts of money on them, someone who needs to be taken care of. That’s not me, Brent. It will never be me. I just think we’re looking for different people.”
“Berkley, no, you can’t mean that.” Brent’s voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He would get down on his knees and cry and beg and plead with this woman to keep him. He would promise her anything, do whatever she asked.
“Brent, I can’t.” Her voice broke, and she turned from him. “Please, just go.”
“Berk…” Brent reached out and brushed his fingers over her shoulder. She recoiled.
“Brent, please. Please leave.”
Brent rose slowly and made his way toward the door. He turned around to look at her. Her back was hunched, a curtain of blonde hair blocking her face from view. “I love you,” he whispered, and walked out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brent
She can’t be gone. This isn’t over. She just needs some time.
The same thought swirled around Brent’s brain on an endless loop. It was the only way he could survive right now.
Had he not already been drunk, he would have taken a bottle to the head following his fight and subsequent breakup with Berkley.
No, not a breakup. He refused to call it that. It was a misunderstanding. He would call her in a couple of days, apologize, and it would all be fine.
Clad only in his underwear, Brent sat on his couch with a bottle of beer held loosely in his hand. He had closed the floor-to-ceiling blackout curtains, shrouding his entire condo in darkness.
It matched his mood perfectly.
For two days, he ignored everyone and everything. He got drunk early, if only so he could pass out and forget about the nightmare his waking hours had become. But he always woke, and his heart shattered a little more each time he did, each time he remembered Berkley was gone.
For the first time in his career, he skipped optional skate. He didn’t work out at all, couldn’t answer his phone, and wouldn’t answer his door when Mackenzie came pounding, yelling at him through it.
For two days, he did nothing but drown his sorrows in beer.
He didn’t speak to anyone, even on the phone, with the exception of one spectacularly awful drunk voicemail he left Berkley, the details of which he didn’t care to remember.
