Page 209 of Staying Selfless

“Thank you,” Eli finishes, taking off his headset. He shoots the camera a shy little smile that I know is intended for me before ducking back into the tunnel towards his locker room.

The rest of Eli’s game goes great. He plays well, better than I’ve ever seen him at the college level. Knowing Eli’s competitive side, being surrounded by so many talented athletes is just going to drive him to be better.

After cake, and once everyone is in bed, Cam crashing on the couch and Ali in a guest room, Eli finally texts me back.

E: Happy Birthday, baby is accompanied by a photo of a hockey puck, the edge wrapped in white tape. Written on it is, ‘First NHL goal’ with today’s date.

L: Couldn’t be more proud of you. Can we FaceTime?

E: I can’t tonight. We’re boarding the plane back to Dallas. But did you have a good birthday?

L: I had a great birthday.

Which is surprisingly not a lie.

L: Thank you for everything. We still need to talk about the car.

E: I don’t know what you’re talking about. What car? Eli responds with sarcasm.

E: Please just take it. For me. It’ll give me peace of mind.

L: You’re too good to me.

E: That’s literally impossible.

E: We’re about to take off, but Logan, just remember how much I love you. This is all for you.

L: Eli, it can be for you, too. You’re allowed to be selfish with this. You’re allowed to admit how badly you want this for yourself. Just because some bad things happened doesn’t mean it’s not okay to enjoy the good stuff too.

E: I can’t think of it like that. The only thing that is getting me through right now is knowing that this will give you the life I want you to have. So, for the next six or so weeks, that’s what I’m going to remember. And I need you to remember that too.

Chapter 51

Eli

The last six weeks have been so hard.

But so good, too.

I’ve played the best hockey I’ve ever played. To be honest, I didn’t know I had the potential to be as good as I have been. But being surrounded by the best players in the world has done nothing but push my competitive drive, always needing to be the best one on the ice.

I’ve firmly found my spot, centering Dallas’ third line. That might not sound like much, but for an undrafted player, finding his way onto a good team just in time for playoffs, it’s a pretty big deal.

I’ve also found my stride in therapy, and that’s the only thing that has kept me sane while here in Texas.

I got connected with a new therapist who works for the team and therefore can handle my hectic schedule. Even though it was once my primary source of panic, the way I play and the fear of not making it is no longer the thing that plagues my mind.

The issues I’ve struggled with are the guilt I’ve carried since the night of Logan’s accident and the responsibility I’ve held because of it. For the last six weeks, I’ve replayed that night over and over in my mind, picturing the things I could’ve done differently. How we would be expecting by the end of the year if I would’ve just told her I was coming home that night.

And the grief. Fuck. The waves of overwhelming sadness that hit me out of nowhere. They take my breath away. They punch me in the gut. They break my heart over and over. And all those feelings that have continued to crash onto me are solely because I thought I would be a dad this year, and now I’m not.

I can’t imagine the pain that Logan has been in over the years, losing her parents, if this is what it feels like, simply losing a possibility and a hope.

And it reminds me once again that Logan is the strongest person I know.

But I’ve been working on changing my perspective by forgiving myself and realizing that I can’t change the outcome now and being thankful that Logan was pregnant in the first place. Because now, she wants to be a mom. She wants to build a family with me, whereas before, she was adamantly against it.

In the early weeks, Logan sent me a text about grief and how she’s been coming to terms with the loss, and it’s been my mantra ever since. She said that grief is just a sign that there was enough love in the first place to feel that ache of sadness. And we have to hope that if it found us once, it’ll find us again.

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