Page 129 of Loving the Legend
Oof.
I rub the acid sluicing up my chest. Now I understand. He’s been rejecting my advances because he thinks it’s distracting me from processing my grief. That’s utter bullshit. Making love to him reaches a part of me that I can’t access on my own. It’s the most precious and frightening thing how much I need what we give to each other. It’s always felt transcendent. It’s not about getting off or escaping. It’s how I feel connected to him. And some days when I’m lost, adrift, being anchored to him is the only thing that makes it all bearable. I need him to understand.
“Baby, can’t you see that I might get traded if I don’t turn things around? I might not even get picked up by another team. I never judge you for locking in and focusing on the game. We’re supposed to support each other.”
“For fuck’s sake. It’s always about ball with you. Why the hell are you even with me?” He shakes his head and retreats into the bedroom.
I trail behind him. “I’m with you because I love you. Ball is important, but you mean everything to me.”
He stares up at the ceiling and shakes his head. “I don’t doubt that you love me, Tyler.” He turns to face me. “I doubt that you love yourself. Your grief is twisted so deep inside of you that it’s running your life.”
I went to great lengths these last few months to contain my shit and avoid the look he’s giving me right now.
“Is that how you see me?” I ask, my voice splintered. He said he wanted all of me, but if I lay all my parts bare, he wouldn’t be able to love something so dreadful.
The tension in his face crumbles as he moves toward me.
“Don’t” I say, stepping back. I steel my voice despite the mounting fear. “What does all of this mean? I'm not sure where we stand anymore. I was honest with you when you asked for us to live together. I told you that it might be like this. I told you that I’m broken.”
You said you would love me through it.
He steps back, stuffing his hands back in his pockets. “That’s a cop-out, Ty. This isn’t an irreversible illness. You can go back to therapy. I told you I’d love you through it. This is me loving you,” he says, echoing my thoughts.
I scoff. “Pushing me away is you loving me?”
“Encouraging you to get help is loving you. I’m here. I haven’t pushed you away.”
“And if I don’t go to therapy, what, you’ll break up with me?” I swallow down the energy drink I downed in the car as it worms its way back up.
It’s terrifying asking the question I fear the most.
A pained expression crosses his face. “I’m sayingIcan’t keep living like this.Youcan’t keep living like this. I’ve spent my entire life trying to heal and take care of myself. I’ve worked hard to live an honest life and provide for my loved ones. You know what I’ve been through. And every day, I watch the person I love most in the world sinking deeper and deeper into what looks likea kind of mental illness, and he refuses help,” he says, lowering himself to the bench in front of our bed, cradling his head in his hands. He swipes away his tears like he’s angry at himself for crying.
I step forward to reach for him but pull back, afraid I’ll be rejected again. I crouch in front of him instead. I can’t stand seeing him miserable. I have to fix this. I can’t hurt him. We are supposed to be good for each other.
“I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want me to. Just give me to the end of the season. I know we don’t agree on why I must see this through,” I beg.
After a deep breath, his shoulders slump forward. “That’s too far. You need help now. Plus, how can I trust you’re being honest?”
“You don’t trust me anymore?”
I shrink when he doesn’t answer. “So what, it’ll be like this until I go back to therapy?”
“What do you mean?”
“This tension between us. You won’t even touch me.” I ask, grimacing at how repulsed he seems by my attempts to connect lately.
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “We made love a few weeks ago.”
“Since when do we go weeks without making love? Not to mention, you seemed in a rush to get it over with.” My eyes drill into him, daring him to deny it.
He shrugs. “You keep asking for shit, but you give nothing in return.”
“So my love and commitment to us means nothing?”
A storm of emotions crosses his face—sadness, remorse, and hurt. A glimpse of what’s behind his anger.
The doorbell rings, and I flinch.
