Page 25 of Your Love (Merrimack Mavericks Hockey #3)

Chapter 25

“Let Me Go”

Landry - Age 19, 1989

I t’s been a few days since the incident at Twist ’n’ Taste. I’ve never been so angry in my life. I didn’t see it coming. That piece of shit, Beau, basically confirmed my suspicions.

He caught me off guard at first. I didn’t know who he was when he swaggered over me with a smug look on his face, but as soon as he spoke, I became aware the interaction wasn’t going to go well.

Still, my intention was not to get physical until he took it too far. I can still hear the arrogance in his voice as he spoke. He chuckled and said, “Interesting the way things work out. I heard Paige got the worst of it. Imagine if Kerri had been in the passenger side like she was supposed to be?”

He all but admitted he had something to do with the accident. Everything in my world went red. I forgot about the people around me. I forgot Kerri was watching, and all I knew was I had to end the threat to her. So I told him and no explicit terms that if he doesn’t stay the fuck away from her, or if anyone so much as touches a hair on her head, I will end him. My resolve on that issue has not wavered, and even though I’ve had time to calm down and think rationally, I still feel the same way. I will end him.

I still wish Kerri hadn’t witnessed the interaction. She’s never had a good poker face, and I know it spooked her. She didn’t explicitly say that, but it’s clear from the way she’s been acting. She hasn’t wanted to talk to me or see me, saying she needs a break, but I can read between the lines.

Meanwhile, my mom keeps nagging me to come back home because Coach has been calling her for updates on my plans. But right now, everything in my life is uncertain. All I know is as long as Kerri is here, I want to be close to her.

I make another attempt at calling the house to ask if she’d like some company today. It’s Sunday, and her parents usually go to church. Maybe she’s going with them, but it’s worth trying.

I dial the familiar number and wait for the other end to pick up. The phone rings several times before a deep voice answers, “Hello?”

“Hi, Charlie. It’s Landry. I was wondering if Kerri wants some company today. Or to speak on the phone?”

“Let me go check with her, Landry.” My heart races with nerves as I wait. I can hear the wrestling and some conversation happening in the background before Kerri’s angelic voice cuts across the line.

“Hi, Landry.”

“Hi. Thanks for taking my call. Would it be possible for me to visit today?”

“Yes. Why don’t you come over around 11:00. There are a few things I’d like to talk to you about.”

My heart sinks as soon as I hear her tone. It’s not good news when a woman tells you she wants to talk.

I give myself plenty of time to go to the flower shop before I arrive at Kerri’s. I make sure to get her a bunch of vibrant orange and yellow flowers, hoping the colors might inspire her mood.

When I knock on the screen door, I’m surprised when Kerri answers. She’s healing fast and moving much better than she was a few days ago. The bandage on her head is smaller, and the bruising on her cheekbone is fading from red/purple to yellow. Her broken arm remains in a sling to stabilize her collarbone. Overall, she’s looking much better.

“You look like you’re feeling better,” I say as I enter the house.

Kerri carefully steps to the side to allow me to walk past. “Thank you. I’m getting a bit better every day.”

My fingers itch to touch her—to pull her into my arms as I normally would. Even when we were just friends, we were tactile with one another. The physical distance between us is a mirror of the emotional distance. It’s painful, but there’s nothing I can do, so instead, I shove the flowers toward her. “These are for you,” I say awkwardly.

Kerri grabs them with her good hand and brings them to her nose. “They’re gorgeous,” she says sincerely. “Thank you.”

“Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll put them in some water,” I suggest.

“I’ll show you where the vases are,” she says.

Kerri points to a specific cabinet, and I retrieve a tall, cylindrical vase and fill it with water. As I begin to trim the stems of the freshly cut flowers with a pair of kitchen scissors, Kerri watches intently. “Did your mother teach you that?” she asks with a hint of amusement.

I chuckle as I pour a dash of sugar into the vase before arranging the flowers neatly inside. “No,” I answer, meeting her gaze. “You did.”

A flicker of emotion crosses Kerri’s face, too quick for me to fully grasp. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a hint of sadness.

We settle onto the plush tan sofa across from the fireplace, and my eyes are drawn to a photograph on the mantle. I would guess she was in middle school at the time it was taken. It’s one of those amazing photos from the 80s where the parents are posed behind the child, each with one hand on her shoulder. She grins widely, braces glinting, and her reddish hair is teased up to the sky.

Kerri notices my gaze and chuckles. “Can you believe the hair?” she asks.

“It’s pretty rad, actually,” I reply.

“Ah yes, the bigger the hair, the closer to Jesus,” she jokes with a twinkle in her eye.

I release a soft chuckle. My favorite thing since I got here is when I catch glimpses of the Kerri I know. When she’s relaxed and she uses her Texan sayings, or when I catch her checking me out. Those are the things that give me hope that we’re going to make it back to each other one of these days. But that hope is dashed when she starts talking.

Kerri twists her hands together, her knuckles turning white with nervousness. She takes a deep breath and meets my gaze. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this,” she says. “We’ve spent quite a bit of time together, and I can’t express how much it means to me that you dropped everything to come here for me. You’ve told me all about Merrimack, our friends, and our relationship, but it’s not helping. I’m not remembering anything.”

“The doctor said it might take time,” I argue.

She places her hand on mine. “Please let me finish.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

“It makes me feel worse that you have your life on hold here for something with no guarantee.” It hits me that she used the word “guarantee” before when we talked about taking our friendship further. She asked for a guarantee. She asked if we could always be friends.

I tell her the same thing I told her then. “I’m not looking for a guarantee. Spending time with you, whether you remember or not, isn’t a hardship for me. It’s exactly where I want to be.”

“I can’t shake off this feeling of guilt, knowing that my presence in your life is holding you back from experiencing new things.” She hesitates before speaking, taking a deep breath. “Maybe it would be best if you went home,” she says softly.

My mind races, wondering if this is about the other day. “Is it because of what happened?” I ask cautiously.

“I thought so at first,” she admits. “But as I’ve thought about it more, I don’t think that’s the real reason.”

“Are you still afraid of me?” I blurt out, fear creeping into my voice.

Her response surprises me. “No, I’m not scared of you hurting me,” she clarifies. “I’m scared of not knowing who I am anymore and who we were together. It’s like constantly being at a disadvantage because you know so much about me, and I barely know you. It doesn’t make much sense, but that’s the only way I can explain it.”

“I’m here to answer any questions you have,” I say. “I don’t mind. I swear.”

“But I’ll still never remember what we were. No matter how much I learn, I still won’t know everything about us that you do. It’s just too hard. It’s adding too much stress to me right now.”

That’s it. That’s the one thing she could’ve said to make me leave—my presence here is hurting her. I lean forward, placing my forearms on my legs, and let my head hang between my arms, completely defeated.

Her body language shifts as she speaks, her shoulders tensing up and her gaze fixed on the ground. “I think I know what triggered my reaction the other day.”

I raised my head to meet her eyes. “Do you remember?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

She shakes her head slowly. “Not in the sense that I remember him specifically. When I saw you at first, it was your face that came to mind when I thought of him. But then it changed, and it wasn’t your face anymore. It was just some guy with no face. When he approached you, it took a minute, but it clicked.”

No matter how much I hear her talk about that moment when I walked into her room, it shatters my heart into pieces.

“When I saw him approach you at the diner,” she continues after a moment of silence, “something in me knew it was him. Somewhere deep down, I knew without really knowing.” She took a deep breath, her eyes filling with tears. “The memories are still a bit cluttered, but that much is clear. Does that make sense?”

“Intuition plays a huge part in our lives.” I think back to the day I first met her and how I knew she was such a kind person by the way she treated Paisley. My intuition was right. Even now, when she’s about to crush my heart into dust, she’s still the best person I’ve ever known.

“Can I ask you what he said to you?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Please don’t treat me like that,” she bites. “I’m not a child, and I’m not going to break. Please tell me what he said.”

I blow out a breath. “He said it’s a shame you weren’t on the other side of the car. He made it sound like someone purposely hit that side of the car, and you were supposed to be there. I don’t know if it was a coincidence or if he had something to do with it, but I feel like it’s possible. That’s part of the reason I want to stay—to protect you.”

“I thought it might be something like that,” she says. “I’ll talk to Daddy, and we’ll have some people look into it. I doubt he had anything to do with it. He’s as spineless as he is worthless. This is just my sixth sense talking, but he probably saw us together and took the opportunity to be the douchebag he is.”

Kerri’s fire is one of the things I’ve always loved about her, and I’m happy to see it right now.

“I have plenty of protection here, Landry. I have Mama and Daddy and friends and uncles and cousins. It’s not your job to protect me.”

Out of anything she could have said, that might be the most painful because if she remembered who I am at all, she would know that my job is to protect her. At that moment, I know that I need to respect her wishes.

I could stay in town and try to watch her from afar, and the idea crosses my mind for a moment. But then I think it through, and if she finds out, it will only put a bigger wedge between us. I need to give her the time she asked for to figure this out. Having me here makes her feel weak. So if my being here is making it more difficult for her, I need to go home, even though it’s the last thing I want to do.

“I’ll go home,” I tell her, “but can I still call and write letters sometimes?”

Her eyes glint with unshed tears. “Of course,” she says. “I’m not much of a letter writer, though.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, me neither. That’s why we always ran our phone bill up when you were away at school.”

Kerri offers me a small smile. “Landry, I’m really sorry about all of this. I’m not the only one who’s been affected by this. I know how hard this has been on you, and I know deep down that you’re an amazing person.”

I can’t stand to hear the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, so I stand and tell her the same thing I said months ago: “Nothing needs to be decided right now. I’ll go home, and you work on feeling better. We’ll just wait and see what happens.”

I won’t let her say the words that she’s breaking up with me, even though I know that’s what she’s trying to tell me. I can’t hear the words. It’s too final. It’s too hard.

Kerri follows me to the door, and I turn to give her one last look, not knowing the next time I’ll see her. She gazes up at me with those bright blue hopeful eyes that I’ve lost myself in so many times before. “Landry,” she croaks, “promise me we can stay friends?”

I lift my hand up and wrap my pinky around hers. It’s the first deliberate physical contact I’ve initiated since her accident. Her eyes go wide at first, but then they settle on our interlocked fingers. I squeeze lightly. “Pinky promise,” I whisper, and then release her hand and walk out the door.