Page 55 of Passing the Red Line
“Who is it, Eliana?”
She takes a hard swallow and after what feels like forever, she answers me.
“Kalen Bradford.”
Bradford.
I don’t know the name of every player in the league, but the name sounds familiar.
My mind goes to a game we played two seasons ago. It was the last game of the season with no hopes of heading to the playoffs, so no shits were given during that game. We were playing against Vancouver and one their defenseman clocked me in the chin after intercepting a pass and going into a breakaway. We both got kicked out of the game and got a fine for fighting.
The dude’s name was…
“The Canuck?” I ask, because there is no fucking way. There has to be a different Bradford somewhere in the league.
But Eliana nods. “The very one. Except he wasn’t a Canuck at the time. He was my boyfriend senior year in high school.”
“I thought that he and his current girlfriend have been together since high school?” I ask. I looked into the guy after that game. He’s been all over the country before landing in Vancouver last year. Apart from the articles that I found about his playing style the internet is flowing with cutesy shit of him and his girlfriend and how they were some match made in heaven or some bullshit like that.
“There were,” Eliana says, letting go of my hand and heading into the kitchen.
I follow behind her and watch as she goes to the fridge and takes out the bottle of wine that I buy for her on every grocery run.
“They got together while I was still with him, and I found out during one of his tournament games. His parents knew because they were sitting right next to me while their son was making out with another girl right in front of me and weren’t the least bit surprised.” She takes a drink of wine straight from the bottle, not even bothering to grab a glass. “I went to every single one if his games, and even asked my dad to go watch him play to better his chances at possibly getting scouted and the asshole still finds time to fucking cheat.”
Damn. I guess I shouldn’t ask if the prick still pisses her off. The way she is slamming back the wine tells me everything I need to know.
“I broke up with them right there and there and the bastard still has the fucking audacity to ask me if I can still out in a good word for him with my dad. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t important to him. He was only with me to get something he wanted. He wanted an in with the NHL and I had the ability to give it to him because of who my dad was. That was the first catalyst of my hate for all things hockey. The second was that same day with my dad. The tournament was hours away from home and mom had wasn’t feeling all the great, so I didn’t want to bother her while she rested, so I called my dad, even if it wasn’t his weekend. I knew he would come and pick me up. I called him a handful of times and sent him so many damn messages to come and pick me up, explaining what had happened between me and Kalen, but he didn’t answer until two hours later and made me wait another four hours for home to pick me up.
“And you want to know why he didn’t pick up? Because he was out with his old hockey buddies celebrating the fact that he had just signed his coaching contract with the Knights. He cared more about hockey and his new position than he did about his daughter. In a span of a few minutes two men that I thought would never hurt me silently told me that I would never be as important or worthy of their time, as much as hockey is.”
“That’s not true. At least not with your dad,” I interject.
Sure, Anderson has his issues, I’m not going to deny that, but he wouldn’t put hockey in front of his daughter. Would he?
Eliana rolls her eyes at my comment and takes another drink of wine before she says anything.
“Did you know that my dad didn’t fight my mom when she asked him for a divorce? She was tired of him never being home or helping her raise me, so she thought the only way he would get his head out of ass was to ask for a divorce. But instead of fighting for the love of his life, he gave it to her because hockey was more important. Then she got sick, and I thought he would realize the mistake that he made and be by her side. That he would ask the Knights for leave so he could be with her during her treatments, but he didn’t. He wasn’t around. Sure, he paid for every bill, every hospital stays and every single test but he wasn’t there. No matter how much I begged him, or my mom asked for him. Then she died and was he around then? No. He was at the funeral, was the grieving husband for a few hours and then the next morning he jumped on a plane to coach a game. I had lost my mom, and I was a fucking mess, and he wasn’t there. He put hockey before me, before her! Hockey has always come first! Not me! Not my dead mother! Hockey!
“You want to know why I hate it so much? Why I hate players and coaches alike? That’s why. Because in the hockey world, I don’t fucking matter. Every single person will always love the sport more than me. They will put the sport before me or anyone else. People will continue to use me because of who my father is, and my father will always put the sport first. It doesn’t matter how much I love the sport, it and the people in that world will always hurt me and disappoint me every chance it gets.”
Tears continue to run down her face, the wine completely forgotten, and her body is shaking as if it's trying to release all the emotions that are currently swimming in her body and she won’t let it.
She’s breaking.
I close the distance between us and even though she tries to push me away, I don’t let her and wrap my arms around her and hold her as tightly as I can.
A sob breaks through her and she melts into my hold and lets everything that she was holding in out. She holds onto me as if I were her lifeline and if she were to let go, she would drown.
But I won’t let her. I will continue to hold until she no longer wants me to. I will keep her in my arms and tell her that no sport will ever be more important than her or worth more love than she is. As much as I want to tell her all of that now, I don’t know if she will believe the words that come out of my mouth. At least not right now. I have to tell her those words when I know she will believe every single word I say.
For now, I will give her all the comfort that I can.
And hopefully soon I will be able to tell her everything I want to.
We just have to get there first.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
