Page 8 of Power Forward

We both remain silent, staring at each other for a few minutes. I can’t help but take him in. His five-o’clock shadow is speckled with a silver tint, matching the silver strands appearing at his temples. His face is as handsome as I’ve always remembered, only now he has fine lines around his eyes, and he looks tired. The low lighting emphasizes the shadows beneath his eyes. Being back in Hayden’s orbit is causing a lot of confusing emotions to war inside my chest because I shouldn’t want to ask him if he’s okay. I shouldn’tcare.

But there’s the saying that you don’t forget your first love. That they leave an imprint on your soul. And maybe it’s true, but that also goes for emotional scars, and they can run just as deep.

A car pulls up and parks on the round driveway, the bright headlights causing me to squint. Hayden pushes himself off the wall and picks up his jacket.

He turns toward the idling car, and I find myself blurting out, “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, this is my ride.” He glances longingly in the direction of the party going on behind before focusing his eyes back on me. “They’re your crowd, Jackson. I’m sorry if me being here made things uncomfortable for you.”

I open my mouth to tell him he didn’t make things uncomfortable, not in the way he’s thinking, anyway. Yeah, so it turns out I’m still fucking pissed at him, but that’s my problem to deal with. The only thing I’m uncomfortable with is the whole heap of fucking mixed feelings going on inside of me.

“It was really good to see you again,” he says after a beat because I still haven’t spoken. This time when he smiles, it does reach his eyes, but it’s full of sadness. “Take care of yourself.”

I don’t know why I want to ask him to stay. I want him to tell me why he’s now covered in tattoos and the stories behind them. I want him to tell me what’s going on in his mind and what happened to make his eyes become stormy. Like the flame that used to burn so bright has been snuffed out.

But I can’t.

I can’t do anything except watch as he gets into the back of the car and closes the door behind him. I stand there, a heaviness weighing on my chest, watching the taillights disappear into the distance.

I might not know what’s going on inside of my head and heart right now, but there’s one thought that’s clear in my mind. When he walked away, he was limping, favoring his other leg that didn’t end his career with a torn ACL.

His words come back to me like a quick-fire reel in my mind as I stare out at the now dark driveway.

There’s a lot of things that are new between us, Jax.

I probably hate myself just as much as you do, if not more.

I’m not that person anymore, Jax.

Fuck. What does that mean? And why do I want to know who he is now?

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. Ihadthrown it away because it meanteverythingto me.

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