Page 99 of Whirlwind
Because on the other side is her, looking at me like I’ve hung the moon. When, really, it’s her who has. I don’t know if she’ll be able to forgive me. I’ll live with whatever she decides, as long as it isn’t cutting me out of her life completely. Loving her is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Losing her would be the hardest.
My future, whatever it looks like, includes her in it.
Her father is a piece of shit for not seeing how great she is. What he said, about her being indifferent, was bullshit. Had he cared enough, he’d have tried to learn why she doesn’t process and react the same way as most. Instead, he put the responsibility on her, a child. A child who didn’t understand that what she was doing was different from everyone else.
I understand how challenging it can be to live with a neurodivergent person. When you love someone, though, that challenge isn’t difficult. It becomes part of life, of who you are. It becomes precious and beautiful. Different isn’t bad. I happen to think it’s better.
Fuck him for not seeing that. Fuck him for dismissing her. Fuck him for not begging her forgiveness.
Also, bravo to Kit for having the strength to tell him goodbye.
Kit will always be my priority, but she’s right about one thing. I can’t miss another game. The regular season ends with the next game, which is only twelve hours away.
Flying from one side of the country to the next, and still being ready to suit up, is part of the gig. I’m not worried about that. With our playoff spot secured, I’m not worried about that, either.
I can taste the cup, though. Fuck, I want it.
Zander picks us up at the airport. I help load luggage, while Damian gets Kit and Willa settled in the backseat. They’re both practically dead on their feet after a long few days.
“Fair warning,” Zander says after shutting the hatch. “Cillian wants a word with you.”
“A word, or right hook to my jaw?” I ask, assuming my fuck up with Kit has finally found its way to him.
“Could go either way,” he answers.
“I’ll take whatever he decides. Hopefully, we can squash it and not fuck up the team dynamics.”
“You both damn well better. I want the cup.”
“You and me both, man.”
Me calling Kit his wife’s name was always something I knew Wylder would find out. There was no way around it, just like there’s no way around him being pissed off about it. I get it—I deserve some level of retribution. Avoiding it only makes things worse.
So, when I get to the arena, he’s my first stop.
“You want your shot before or after I attempt an explanation?” I ask, dropping my game duffel into my cubby.
“Explain, first. That way, I know how many hits to take.” He looks up from the bench, a scowl on his normally smiling face. “You’re not leaving the locker room without new bruises, though.”
I take a seat next to him, releasing a heavy sigh. This conversation should be happening with Kit, first. She’s not ready, yet—her plate is full of more important situations. It’s understandable, but still, I wish it was her sitting next to me to hear this.
“As a kid, did you have a picture in your head of what your life would look like?”
“Yeah, to an extent,” he says. “I daydreamed of The Show, like we all did. As I got older, I imagined a wife, lots of kids, family.”
“Me too. Exactly that,” I say. “It shifted as my real life changed. I mean, as a shithead kid, I imagined a new woman in every city for my first few years as a pro.”
“Most of us did. I thought the same until I met Isla,” he says, a brow raised pointedly.
“Again, me too.”
“Murphy, you are dangerously fucking close to being taken to the floor,” he says, jaw tight. “I’ve spent days dreaming about beating the shit out of you for calling Kit my wife’s name.”
“I know, I know,” I say, raising my hands in peace. “I’m not in love with your wife, Cillian. I thought I was, once. Now, I know better.”
“Because you love Kit?”
“More than fucking life itself,” I say, dropping my head into my hands, rubbing them through my hair that’s getting too long. “I’d give everything up for her—no regrets.”
