The Tales of a Professional Hockey Player

Chapter 7: Please

~Ben~

I am a little stunned at Eleanor's reaction, but I can't say that I don't understand it. She is allowed to hate me for what I put her through. She is allowed to hate me ten times more than I hate myself and I hate myself a lot more than she could imagine. I can't blame her for wanting to punish me, but like Thomas said, Ophelia is my daughter too, and the last thing I want is for her to grow up without her father.

Thomas gets up from the couch to run after his daughter, but I stop him.

"Let me try," I say, getting up as well. My heart is about to burst out of my chest as I knock on the door Eleanor locked herself behind a few moments ago. I hear a loud "no," but it doesn't stop me from turning the knob with shaky hands.

She's curled up on the bed, holding her legs to her chest. The expression on her face is not what I expected it to be. I wanted her features to be filled with anger, but, instead, sadness covers her face. Her eyes are filled with tears that are ready to leak with any false movement. Even from afar, I can see the redness on her chest, indicating that she's holding back her tears. She doesn't protest when I sit on the edge on the bed. I sit to face away from her, hoping it will make the conversation easier.

"You kept our bed. And our couch," I say as I caress the white comforter. We bought it at IKEA at the same time as the bed itself. Eleanor had first wanted a grey one with little white lines, but we didn't have enough money, and since getting a dresser was more important, we bought the cheapest comforter, the plain white one. I remember her disappointed face when she saw our finished room.

I wait for a moment, but when I don't get any answer, I continue. "You have every right to be mad at me, and I'm not here to convince you to stop." I meant to say more, but she stops me.

"Why are you here then?" It's the first complete sentence she says to me, and every word resonates through me as if she was burning them in my skin. I don't know how to answer her question. Does she mean why am I here, in her bedroom or why am I here, at Ophelia's birthday party? I choose the first option.

"I'm here to ask you to let me be a part of our daughter's life. I know I can never make up for the fact that I wasn't there for six months, but you invited me here today for a reason. I don't know what that reason is, and, frankly, I don't care. I want to be present for Ophelia. Let me help you," I beg, turning towards her as I say the last sentence. She shakes her head repeatedly. Her tears are now falling on her cheeks in a continuous stream. I know I did this to her, and it wounds me more than anything else in my life. I promised myself, when I started dating her, that I wouldn't be like the other guys on my team who date one girl after the other, leaving them heartbroken, all because they can. I promised myself that I would be a good boyfriend, and I broke that promise. I broke that promise when I made her choose between me and her career last year. I should have never taken for granted that she would follow me everywhere because once you take something for granted, you take the whole relationship for granted and that is what leads you to the end.

"I don't want to see you, I just can't see you every day," she answers still shaking her head. I nod, understanding completely because seeing her every day would hurt me so much too.

"We don't have to see each other every day," I say, not believing a word I say. "We can find a way, I promise," I add when I see her confused expression. The tears have stopped rolling down her cheeks, leaving her skin red and her eyes puffy. "Please, El, don't keep me from our daughter." I extend my hand for her to take. She hesitates for a moment before grasping my fingers softly. When our skin touches, she closes her eyes as if the contact burned her. I feel it too, the burning, but to me it's the good kind. It's the kind of burn that warms you up inside, but I feel like, to her, it's the kind that hurts enough to leave a wound, so I pull my hand away.

She nods her head, probably unable to find the courage to say the word out loud.

"Thank you," I say, getting up from the bed.

"I kept them because I didn't want to throw us away the way you did," she says as I was about to exit the room. I stop dead in my tracks and my breath catches in my throat as if someone had shot me. "The furniture," she adds, thinking I didn't understand. But I did. I so understood that my legs almost gave up on me. I nod, my back still facing her. It's my turn to lack the courage to say the words I desperately want to say.

I exit the bedroom, leaving her alone. I join the others in the living room. Six pairs of eyes turn towards me with questioning expressions. I simply nod before sitting down. I stay quiet for most of the afternoon. Eleanor came out of the room about fifteen minutes after me. Every trace of her tears was gone, and her cheeks were a faint shade of pink. She had put make-up on to cover the red spots on her chest and her hair was now styled in a low ponytail. Once everyone fell back into their comfortable conversations, William took Josephine's hand and got up.

"We had something to announce, and now that the other issue seems resolved, we feel like it's time," William says loudly enough for everyone to hear. The smiles on their faces is so big, a teenager who spends too much time on Goggle Earth can probably see Josephine's white teeth.

They face each other before simultaneously say: "We're getting married!" Everyone erupts in overjoyed congratulations and big hugs. When hugging Eleanor, Josephine even says that she can't wait to become her sister. Eleanor's face shows that she still isn't fully comfortable around her, but the forced smile she wears betrays her happiness for her brother.

"When?" Thomas asks.

"August, in BC, of course," William answers. "We will both be done with our residency, so we felt like it was time," he adds, looking lovingly at his fiancé. In that moment, I lock eyes with Eleanor who now sports a sad expression. It could have been us, I can't help but think. In December, if I wouldn't have made the biggest mistake of my life, we would have celebrated our five-year anniversary. Most couples who have been together for five years get married, especially those who have kids.

We toasted to Will and Jo's engagement and started cleaning the apartment as Eleanor put Ophelia down for the night. I think she thinks I didn't see her grab one of the books I gave her before locking herself in the nursery, but I did. I saw her and it melted my heart. I knew I was right to accord so much importance to this gift.

"We leave Tuesday for two weeks. I'll text you the address," Eleanor says to me as we are about to leave. I nod, thanking her again. In the background, I see Hannah waving her hand at me the way I only saw one other woman doing. She's wiggling her fingers in my direction, a smile on her face. I raise my hand in the hair to reciprocate the greeting. It's when she winks at me that I see how much she looks like Brittany. Not with how she looks, but with how she acts. I shake my head to get rid of her image in my mind as I close the door behind me.