Page 113 of From Ice to Grace
“None of that means anything if I can’t use it to keep my spot on the ice!” I explode, the words tearing from me before I can stop them. “He’ll take my place and then he’ll take you too!”
Silence simmers between us, her blue eyes filling with tears even though she stands tall and strong. The fire I’ve come to know and expect from her, rises in her.
“I’m not something to be taken, Declan,” she says, her voice firm.
Her words land like a punch to the jaw.
“I made my own choices,” she says, her voice steady. “Nobody ever forced me into anything. I chose to marry you. I can’t expect anyone to carry my choices or their consequences. That’s between me and God. And I’m choosing to stay.”
She takes a small step forward, her hand landing on my chest. Not soft, but grounding, right above my heart.
“You keep talking about fighting for your spot, needing to prove yourself, showing everyone that you deserve to be here…” she shakes her head. “Maybe that’s why you’re losing control. Because you’re fighting in your own strength. You’re fighting to control something that’s not yours to control.”
Her words twist something inside of me. I’ve been running from God for so long, because He’s never been there for me. He’s never fought for me.
But have I ever really given Him the chance to?
“I can’t be the reason you feel better, Declan. I can’t be the reason you play, or get up in the morning. You can’t put that on me.”
Her eyes search mine. “And I will never put that on you.”
I turn away from her and the weight of her gaze. My eyes land on a small velvet box on the kitchen counter. I walk toward it and pick it up. The hinge creaks as I slowly open it.
Boqvist’s engagement ring.
The one she said yes to, the one she wore first. The real relationship she’s carrying with her still.
Resignation moves through me, acceptance settling like a heavy weight on my chest.
She’s got healing to do. The man gave her a ring, she gave herself to him and now she’s bound to me.
And me? I’m a walking wound. A mere scratch away from bleeding out on the ice these days. I’m bruised and broken by my own choices and by those made by the people who were supposed to protect me.
Turning back toward her, I place the small box in her hand, her breath catching.
“I guess we owe each other nothing then,” I say, my voice low and quiet before I turn away and head out the front door.
I’m not angry, or bitter…I’m just seeing things for what they are.
We can’t save each other. We can’t change who we are for another person.
No…she’s right. This was an agreement first.
And Declan Murphy will honor this agreement like he’s done with all the others.
I’m alone on the rink. The ice is perfectly smooth, glowing faintly in the dim lights above.
The stands are swallowed by the darkness and the sound of pucks hitting the ice echoes through the arena as I dump the bucket at my feet.
Ever since I was a kid, I would escape to the rink when things got to be too much. I spent countless hours on the ice, going through drills on my own, shooting the puck and skating like my life depended on it. I pushed and pushed, skated lines until my feet bled.
Anything to not have to go back home.
I told myself I was playing for a new home, and in a way I was. If I didn’t escape in that way…who knows where I would’ve been right now.
But your past catches up with you. These past few years have been a testament to the fact that you can’t outrun what runs through your blood.
Somehow I’ve allowed things to change…to switch. I reached for a drink when I needed to numb my anger. I scrolled through my contacts until I found someone who could fill the emptiness I felt.
