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Chapter Four

Hayden

A week has gone by since the wedding, and I’ve thrown myself in so deep with work I’m not quite sure what day it is anymore. I’ve needed to keep busy to stop my mind from replaying Jackson’s words on an endless loop. They were filled with so much hurt. Hurt that I caused, and I don’t know how to make it right.

I’ve been beating myself up. Thinking about all the things I could have done or said differently. But sadly, I don’t have a DeLorean or any other type of time machine. I can’t go back and change anything, which is the reason why I’m sitting on the comfortable, aqua-blue couch in Roberta’s office, five weeks earlier than scheduled. She’s been my therapist for over six years now, and she is now a crucial lifeline in my journey.

“So, how’s everything going?” Roberta asks. She’s kicked off her tennis shoes and tucked her feet beneath her on the armchair. She actively promotes that, inside these four walls, it’s a safe space. I can cry or laugh and talk about anything and everything or nothing at all. Although, I know she doesn’t like it when I don’t say anything. She knows how chaotic my brain is, so there’s always something to say. But the best part is she wants me to be as comfortable and relaxed as possible while I’m here, and if that includes taking off my shoes and kicking my feet up on the cushions, then it’s encouraged.

Knowing she’s not going to ask me outright what has caused me to move up my appointment, I avert my gaze to the jellyfish tank on the wooden unit lining the wall. Moon jellyfish swim in a mesmerizing movement under the blue light. Roberta’s had them for a few years now, and I find them oddly relaxing. There’s been a number of times where I’ve been envious of those tiny blobs because I learned they don’t have brains, eliminating the possibility of their minds turning against them. Like mine has done with me.

After I received the news I would need a third surgery on my knee after a torn ACL ended my career, I found myself in a dark, downward spiral. I’d often stand in the ocean out the back of my house when the current was strong and wish for the water to take me away. To relieve me of the pain that only seemed to be getting worse inside of me, both physically and mentally. I didn’t want to live like that anymore. Gone was the love and support I felt while I was playing professional hockey, and all I was left with was a fucked-up knee that didn’t seem to be repairable and a mind that was telling me I wasn’t good enough anymore. Even the waves didn’t seem to think I was worthy because they never did pull me in .

It was during my fourth attempt that Zara found me and realized what I was trying to do. She found Roberta through a few of her medical friends, and if I’m being honest, if Zara didn’t find her, I can wholeheartedly say I wouldn’t be sitting here today.

They both saved me.

We went from meeting twice a week to bi-weekly and worked endlessly with my psychiatrist to find a medication that suited me, and then gradually, we’ve moved to meeting every three to four months. Or in instances when I need to seek additional support, like today. Her door is always open for me, and I appreciate it no end.

“I saw Jackson last week,” I say, finally tearing myself away from the jellyfish tank.

When I look at Roberta, her expression remains calm and patient as she scribbles something in her notebook. If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. Her face never gives anything away. “How did it make you feel? Seeing him again?”

You broke my heart. You threw away the years we spent together just like that, like we meant nothing.

I squeeze my eyes closed as his words filter through my mind again, and the ache in my chest blooms. I may have broken his heart, but he has it all wrong about us meaning nothing. I had thrown it away because it meant everything to me.

“He could barely look at me, to begin with,” I start, clearing my throat when my voice cracks slightly. “There was only one seat left when I got there, which, of course, happened to be next to him. He…” I let out a long exhale an d focus back on the jellyfish when my heart rate picks up speed. The light in the tank has changed from blue to green, making them look like little green aliens floating around. “I think after seeing him at Zach’s place back in March, I stupidly convinced myself that maybe we could… I don’t know, talk again.”

“I don’t believe it’s stupid to think that, Hayden. You were very important to each other at one stage in your lives. So, what’s stopping you from talking again?” she asks.

Her question pulls my attention away from the tank and back to her again.

“We spoke before I left, and based on what he said and the anger in his voice, I don’t think he’ll wanna speak to me again.”

The tiny thread of hope I was holding on to snapped that night.

A few minutes pass by where she doesn’t say a word. I used to find it really unnerving. Long stretches of silence became torturous for me. It allowed the dark part of my brain to take over, to spread numbness throughout my body until I felt nothing but emptiness, but she’s helped me through it over the years. Now, I find silence can be peaceful. Except at night. I might be approaching forty, but I can’t sleep unless I have some kind of noise to drown out the chatter in my head.

“This was only the second time seeing him in quite a long time, right? Do you think there’s a possibility he was surprised to see you, and his reaction was more out of shock than how he was genuinely feeling?”

I nod. “Yeah, before that time at Zach’s, I hadn’t seen him since I retired over eight years ago. ”

I think back to the puzzled expression on Jackson’s face when my ride share pulled up and he realized I was leaving early. The internal war he was fighting was evident in his blue eyes, clear as day. A mix of disappointment, annoyance, and need. Disappointment I was leaving, maybe? A need to keep our conversation going? I don’t know, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been delusional when it comes to Jackson Wilde.

She’s right, though. There’s a high possibility he was surprised to see me. Sure, he knows I’m Blaine’s agent. I represent a few of his teammates too, but you can still be blindsided by your emotions when you’re actually faced with something or, in this case, someone.

“And maybe he was surprised. I mean, probably?”

I tell her everything he said to me. About how I broke his heart, how he questioned everything we had and my feelings toward him, to the hurt he felt when I announced my proposal with Zara, and how he corrected me when I said he hated me.

He didn’t hate me.

That’s got to mean something, right?

By the time I’ve finished recalling our conversation, my throat is tight. I fight off the tears burning the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over, so I focus back on the jellyfish.

The light is now purple, and one of the blobs is spinning around like a whirlpool near the pump. Do they ever get dizzy? I guess not without a brain.

“I know I could’ve explained myself there and then, but the timing was all off. I didn’t want to ruin his night more than I already had,” I say, which earns me a disgruntled noise from Roberta .

I quickly cover my mouth with my hand as my lips tilt up in a smile when she doesn’t call me out on my self-deprecating comment.

“Okay, so let’s say he agrees to talking again. What are you hoping to achieve from that?” she asks after writing something else in her notebook.

Dropping my hand into my lap, I tug my bottom lip between my teeth and lower my gaze. This seems like a trick question. What do I want to achieve from being back in Jackson’s life again? Ultimately, I want him back, but I know that’s not going to happen. All the sad love songs say you don’t know what you’ve lost until it’s gone, and it’s true. But my loss is so far gone, and I’m not sure it’s redeemable after what I did to him.

Maybe I need to start small. That’s what I had to do at the beginning of my therapy journey. That’s what Roberta taught me. When something feels too big to take on, break it down into small, baby steps.

If we can start by talking first, then maybe it can progress to friendship. Once we’re friends again, it’s a step closer to making things right. I can explain why I was an asshole of the highest degree, and hopefully, we can both heal from there.

“I want to be friends again,” I confess.

“How would it make you feel to be friends with him again?”

I automatically shrug, almost defensively.

Isn’t it obvious? I want to say, but I don’t.

“I don’t know. Happiness, I guess? I was so happy when we were together. I want to make things right with him, but I also want to open that door and see if there’s another chance for us.” I rub my jaw with my palm. My skin is beginning to feel too tight for my body under her watchful eye. “I’d start small, like you taught me. Ask if he wants to get coffee, then next time, maybe I can take him for lunch. Baby steps. I know he’s wary of me, and I don’t blame him for being guarded because I threw our relationship into a dumpster fire without so much as a second thought because I was scared.”

She gives a small smile and nods softly. “But you want to try.”

My breath comes out in a rush because that’s just it. I want to try. I’ve been working on myself over the years to get to this point where I’m strong enough to try and get him back. Medication and therapy doesn’t mean depression just disappears. I’m always going to be healing.

“Yeah, I do.”

Her pen flies over her notebook as she says, “Okay, so if he says yes to coffee and you’re back in each other’s lives again, how would that make you feel?”

A smile lights my face at the thought of having Jackson in my life again. “Really happy.”

“But what if it goes the other way? What if he doesn’t want to be back in your life again?”

My smile drops, instantly replaced with a frown. I lift my hand, rubbing over my chest as pain ricochets through me. I’d be heartbroken. There’s no other way to put it. I don’t think I would be able to recover from losing him again.

“Then I’d want to give up,” I admit, barely above a whisper .

As always, her expression doesn’t give anything away. There’s no sign of what she thinks I should do. I know she asks me these questions because she wants me to know nothing is guaranteed. She’s leaving this for me to decide.

Without a word, she gets up and moves behind her desk. Her nails tap away on her keyboard, and then she comes back to her seat, curling her feet beneath her again. “I have some homework for you.”

“Homework? Am I in school again?” I snicker, and she laughs.

“No, but I’d like for us to see each other again in two weeks. During that period, I want you to take some time to really think about both outcomes. Then I’d like you to write in your journal your feelings toward both sides. It’s easy to have an instant reaction to things, but when we dig deeper, oftentimes our answers can be different.”

I agree to her task, and we book an appointment for two weeks’ time. Once I’m back in my car and heading toward my home in Hermosa Beach, I hit Call on Zara’s name and wait for her to pick up. Even though we’re divorced, we’re still good friends, despite the lies I’ve said about her.

And that’s a whole other heap of shit I need to make right.

“Hey, how did it go?” she asks as soon as she answers.

“Good. She’s given me some homework.”

Zara snorts. “Homework? What, are you in third grade again?”

I can’t stop the bark of laughter that escapes. “You sound like me. She wants me to think about how I’d feel if I did get Jackson back and if I don’t.”

“And are you going to do it? ”

I let her question linger in the air. I’m aware I’m putting a lot of pressure on this. Not just on Jackson but on myself. Placing the source of my life’s happiness in one person’s hands isn’t healthy, I know that. And while I’ve come a long way since the first time I walked through the doors to Roberta’s office, I’m still a work in progress. There might never be a completed version, but I’ve come a long way.

“Yeah, I am,” I finally say after a beat.

“Good. You know I’m here for you if you need me. If you want to talk it out loud to me, or if you need me to create a diversion, I’m here.”

A warmth spreads through my chest at the sincerity in her words.

When we decided it was best for us to separate, Zara didn’t want the truth to come out about my struggles for fear of me spiraling further and destroying the progress I’d made. In order to avoid questions on why we were getting a divorce, she came up with the idea to say she had an affair. I personally thought it was a stupid idea, and if I was in a better mental space, I wouldn’t have gone through with it. But she was adamant that she didn’t give a fuck about people’s opinions about her. She said the people who knew us would know the truth. She cared more about people’s opinions of me, and fuck, did it make me feel like the biggest asshole who ever existed every time I had to spew those lies and play into the narrative she set.

But that’s the kind of person Zara is. She puts other people before herself all the damn time, and I’m glad she’s found happiness with Connor because he’s a much better partner to her than I ever was.

Even if I do hold a tiny bit of resentment toward him because he’s ten years my junior and playing in the NHL. Lucky motherfucker.

“You’re awesome, you know that?” I tell her.

I can hear the smile in her voice when she replies, “I know, which is why I’m gonna help you win your man back. No matter what it takes.”