Page 31 of If Only You

“What?” I ask, trying to snap, to make her flinch, to finally see what’s good for her and pull away.

But she doesn’t. Instead she stares at me, her expression serious. “Did you apologize?”

“For the sake of hockey only, and on pain of death threatened by Frankie, I made tangible amends, when possible. Paid back what I stole and cheated, set the record straight where I’d lied. Distanced myself from relationships I’d been a part of undermining that were trying to recover. That was my apology.”

“That’s good,” Ziggy says. “Reparative action is important. But I still think you need to actually say sorry.”

“It’s a little late for saying sorry.”

“That’s the beauty of saying sorry, though—you can always say it. It’s never too late.”

“People I’ve crossed don’t want my apologies, Ziggy. Unlike yours, my mistakes aren’t petty human errors, which people don’t mind forgiving and forgetting because they haven’t actually cost them anything. They’re not interested in forgiving truly terrible things.”

She stares at me, so intensely. “That…can’t feel good. But it’s also okay. Your apology, it’s as much for you as it is for them. It’s their choice whether or not they receive your apology and forgive you. Your choice to be genuinely sorry helps you, whether or not you have their forgiveness.”

“‘Helps’ me how, Ziggy dear?”

Her eyes hold mine. “It helps you forgive yourself.”

My jaw clenches. “You’re getting very Freud on me again.”

“It’s called therapy, Gauthier. You should try it.”

“Fuck no—Jesus.” I wince, rubbing my shin in the wake of Ziggy’s kick.

“Watch that mouth,” she says between her teeth as she forces a smile. “You’re reforming, remember?”

I feign a smile, too. “Well, with how much you’ve been beating me, at least one of us is following through on our public-image overhaul.”

A genuine smile lifts her mouth as she sips her water. “Sorry. It’s a habit. My siblings are very physical. Just existing in the Bergman household is a contact sport.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a Bergman.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t beat you up anymore. But we need some kind of signal to stop you from being such a potty mouth. How about a word?”

“A word?”

She shrugs. “Like a code word. Something you wouldn’t normally say.” Frowning, she peers up in thought. “Zounds? How about that?”

“Zounds? That’s one of Ren’s words.” My eyes widen. “Wait, are you in his nerdy little theater club—”

I’m kicked again.

A groan leaks out of me as I rub my shin. “Sigrid, we just talked about this. You can’t beat me—”

“You,” she says pointedly, her voice hushed, “cannot talk about that. It’s a secret.”

“Then it’s the most un-secret secret I have ever known.”

She sighs, exasperated with me. “If there were a Shakespeare Club, and if I were a member of it—hypothetically—I still wouldn’t admit that to you, after you called it a ‘nerdy little theater club.’”

“I was joking.”

“Hmph.”

I stare at her, rubbing my knuckles across my mouth. “In all seriousness—”

“I didn’t know you were capable of that,” she says airily.

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