I did my best to explain myself and hoped she got it. I spilled the beans and told her everything. All the thoughts and feelings I’d been festering for so many years. The sadness and anger about my parents. The heartache and struggle with Chase. The fight to try and find a better view on life. I apologized for my actions the last night at the bar. I know she’ll forgive me. She always does, but it won’t ever lessen the shame of that night. I finished with thanking her for being someone who never gave up on me. Especially when I gave up on myself.
I finally pull into the parking lot of my building. The sun has gone down and it’s quiet, vacant of sounds from city life and traffic. I snatch up Gerdie and make my way inside. I’m shocked when I don’t see an orange eviction notice on my door. Unlocking my door and placing the cage on the counter, I set the pile of mail that was overflowing in my mailbox on my small kitchen table.
Being back home feels strange, but good. I missed my shoebox of an apartment, the taste of real coffee and cable. You don’t get to watch much TV in the boonies. Being home also reminds me of why I chose to come back. The anxiety of what I’m going to do never lessens. I’ve gone through every scenario over and over on what I’m going to say once I call him. What he may say in return, but it never gets easier.
I’m going to call him. I’m ready to open up. Give us a real shot. But I have to be prepared that he’s moved on. He may resent me in all this, and my time may have passed. And I have to be prepared. He may not want to talk to me. It will bring up the past and the lying and it will hurt all over again, stirring up the exact reason why I spiraled out of control to begin with. But I need to try. To know if we still have a fighting chance. He will take me back or he won’t. I’m just praying it’s not the second option.
I picked up a pay as you go phone on my way back into town since I cancelled mine, along with bashed it to pieces. I plug it in to charge while I settle in, making Gerdie at home and getting him fed. I pass by the phone a few times while I unpack, the anxiety about what I’m about to do growing.
“Maybe I should have a drink,” I suggest to myself to cool my nerves. I take a glance at the top of my fridge at my collection of hard liquor. I haven’t had a drink since I left. I realized that the heavy drinking I was doing to help mask the pain was a huge part of my problem. Deciding no against drinking, I go and take a shower.
Two hours go by and I’ve done everything from paint my nails to clean out the fridge. I know I’m stalling. “Oh, just do it, you pussy,” I talk shit to myself. I grab the small piece of paper off my dresser, snatch the phone, and plop myself down on the couch.
“Breathe, Katie.”
I notice my hand is shaking when I lift the piece of paper to dial the numbers. My heart is racing, and I feel on the verge of having a heart attack. Four numbers punched in, six numbers. Come on. So close. On the seventh number, I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes shut. The call connects, followed by a beeping noise. “The number you have reached is not in service. Please check the number and dial again…” Again with the beeping with the repeated number. I hang up.
I double-check to make sure I dialed the right number. I did. My nerves shift to disappointment. I definitely didn’t factor in this road block. I move down the list to what’s written as house phone. With another long intake of breath, I dial.
“The number you have reached is not in service. Please check the number and dial again…”
Dammit!
My mood plummets when I make it to the last number, which is working, but ends up being a local taco joint that, from what I learn, is Chase’s favorite spot for tacos. Per Jose, the owner, Chase spent a lot of time there when he wasn’t traveling since he wasn’t much of a cook. Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen or heard from him in over a month.
I thank the nice man for the information, along with the discount if I ever come and visit and disconnect. “It’s too late,” I whisper as I stare at the piece of paper that holds every single number to reach Chase, which are all disconnected.
“Fuck. It’s too late,” I repeat almost in shock. I didn’t expect this when plotting out all scenarios. All led to us at least talking. I didn’t think… think… “Fuck!” I cry, ripping up the list and throwing it.
I get up, kicking my coffee table, fighting back the tears. “He just changes all his numbers?” I mean, what the hell? I swipe away at the wetness that’s escaped the barriers of my lids. This, he’s… I’m utterly confused. He wouldn’t have changed all his numbers because of me. Would he? Did I mess up that bad? I begin to cry. I can’t stop it. I finally saw clarity and know what I want, and now it’s too late. He’s given up. I fall onto my bed and cry. For being so stubborn. For being too afraid to follow my heart. For mostly not letting Chase in.
I cry until I’ve worn myself thin and expel all energy left in me. When I hear Gerdie chirping, knowing it’s snack time, I pull myself up and out of bed, knowing I need to man up. Move on and accept what is. I can only blame myself for the outcome. But blaming myself doesn’t solve the pain that resides where forgiveness and new comings were to be filled.
I find myself in my kitchen making a packet of hot chocolate. It’s that or the tequila, and I want to wallow in my self-pity without getting loaded and vandalizing my neighborhood. I can only assume that’s where it would lead to at this stage. I grab my mail and hot mug and snuggle into my couch.
Flipping through my mail, I go to my DVR and press recorded shows. If I can’t indulge on my first guilty pleasure, which is vodka, it’s going to be Catfish on MTV. Junk, junk, junk… God the amount of paper wasted on people trying to sell me mortgages or loans. Hello, I’m poor and I rent. “Environmental killers,” I mumble and toss the mail to the ground. Flipping through more, I see the late notice from my landlord, along with bills and more bills. “God, even my mail is depressing.” I take the rest of the pile and toss it on the coffee table. As they scatter across the wooden surface an envelope stands out.
Leaning forward, I push everything aside and grab for it. As I flip it over, I notice it has my name on it. The return address is labeled the NHL Corporate Center. “What the…” Setting down my mug, I slide my finger through the tiny open slot and tear the envelope open. Inside is an event ticket, nothing more. Further investigating, I realize it’s to a hockey game. My eyes lock on the details, the Cleveland Barons against Chicago Blackhawks. Who sent this? I turn the envelope over again, but there’s no further information. My address is even typed, taking away the detective work of whose handwriting it could be. Not that I know anyone’s handwriting. I read the ticket again, the date of the game being… “Today?” I look at the small clock hanging above my television then back at the ticket. “Shit.” The game started two hours ago. “Shit!”
Shit, shit, shit… What do I do? My heart is starting to pound. The ticket is shaking in my hand. I’m not sure what the ticket means. Did Chase send it? Who else would, dummy? “I don’t know!” I start arguing with myself. I’m up and pacing my small apartment. I glance at the clock every two seconds, wondering what to do. The game is almost over. If he sent it, he probably already thinks I’m not coming. What if he sent it so you can come and see him and his new girlfriend because he hates you now? Oh God. That’s probably true. I look back at the time with every second I use to think, tormenting me.
“If I left, I could still make the last quarter.” I calculate how much time it would take me to get down to the Sports Center where the game is being held, minus downtown traffic and time to fix myself, because I look absolutely horrible, which is, “Not a lot. Oh, God!” I run to my room and practically dive into my closet.
I hate Cleveland traffic. I hope it all dies a horrible death of its own traffic hell. I curse this in my head while I run into the Center, after having to park so far away, I could have just parked at home. Traffic was horrendous and parking even worse. By the time I get into the Sports Center, the game is letting out.
“No…” I whine, fighting through the crowd. I’m
like a fish trying to swim against the current, pushing through people to make it inside the arena part to the section stated on my ticket. Running up the stairs to the first level terrace, I overlook the rows and rows of empty seating below. Even the rink is absent of players.
“I’m too late,” I whisper at the bare ice rink. I bring my eyes to the empty seat reserved for me. It sits below, just in front of the glass. He would have known if I showed or didn’t. He’ll think I didn’t care. All this time and he still tried.
“Looking for someone?”
I turn, bumping into a young woman, about the same age as myself, standing behind me. “Oh, no. Well, I was. But I’m too late.” Wiping a tear from my cheek, I offer her a sad smile, but fall short at hiding my emotions as another tear falls.
“Sorry to hear that.” She digs in her purse, handing me a Kleenex. I silently thank her as I dry my cheeks. “Not to pry, but why do you think it’s too late?” she asks, her smile so inviting. Familiar almost.
I shrug, trying to keep it together. “Because I took too long to decide. Fought too long with myself before realizing something I should have a long time ago. And now it’s too late. I’m late, and he’s gone.” More tears. More sucking air into my suffocating lungs. “I’ve missed my chance, and now I… I…” I trail off because the tears become a constant flow down my face. I must look like a fool to this stranger.
She takes a step toward me, placing her comforting hand on my shoulder. “You know, my brother’s in the same predicament. Feels he was too late too. Said he lost the love of his life. Missed his chance to be happy because he was scared. Maybe you two should talk sometime. You might have a lot in common.”
I open my eyes and look at her. Really look. It’s why her smile felt so inviting. Because it was familiar. “Wait… Are you—”
“I see you’ve met my sister.” I whip around to see Chase standing at the bottom of the aisle, his back leaning against the arena glass. He’s freshly showered and wearing a pair of form-fitting jeans and a Cleveland Barons hoodie.
“I thought… I…” He’s got my tongue. I can’t finish my sentence because my throat begins to lock. My eyes take him in. His beautiful face. Those eyes I’ve gotten lost in so many times. His hair is longer than the last time I saw him, almost tucked behind his ears. And it looks like he decided to keep the scruff, close to a full beard. “I…”
“I’m gonna leave you two alone. Chase, I’ll meet you back at the hotel. Call me if you need a dinner date.”
Chase nods to his sister, as she offers me a kind wave, and she’s gone.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
I turn back to Chase, who hasn’t moved off the glass. “I didn’t technically.” Ugh. No time for jokes. “Sorry, I can’t help it. I’m super nervous.” I can’t stop fiddling with my hands.
He’s made no move to come to me, and his normal easygoing smile is missing. A rush of anxiety hits me suddenly, fearing the worst.
Finally, Chase makes his move, pushing off the glass and walking toward me, but stops at the first step, looking up at me. “And why are you nervous?”
Ten long steps separate us. “I’m not sure. I guess, just…”
“Is it because you left the hotel that morning without a word? Without giving me at least a goodbye?” As much as I deserved that, it doesn’t hurt any less hearing it. “Or all the times I tried to talk to you, fight for you and nothing.”
I don’t know how to respond. I know he’s referring to the night at the Anchor. And he has a right to be mad.
“Or how about just knowing that you gave up on us without a second thought while I kept fighting.”
My lower lip begins to tremble, my eyes filling with more tears, and still he makes no move to come to me. Missing is the normal Chase, who would scoop me into his arms and comfort me until I felt safe. Loved. That Chase is nowhere to be found. The one I see before me looks wounded. Angry maybe. His facial expression has me worried that he may return the favor and not listen to what I have to say. Fear that this is where I make my intentions clear and he tells me it’s too late.
He takes one step closer. “Well? Are you going to say anything?”
There’s a static in the air, with us being so close. Nine long steps separating us. A thickness to it that makes it hard not to sense the heavy emotions we’re both giving off. I inhale a deep breath for strength and begin. “I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye that night. It was wrong of me. I made a decision for both of us. I didn’t give you a chance.”
He slowly nods. “You did.”
God, he isn’t making this easy. “I was selfish. I did it because I was only thinking of me. I never thought of you and what you were going through.”
“Katie—”
“No, please listen, before you tell me to beat it.” I take a second to rein in my emotions. It’s taken a lot of time to be able to come to terms with everything. With myself. With being able to let go. I just needed to realize that sometimes in life, people make bad choices, but with good intentions. We can’t all live life being these flawless human beings. And I know now if that’s what I expected out of people, then I would forever be alone in a world surrounded by my own flaws. “I can’t excuse what you did. And I can’t even say that looking at you now, I still don’t feel the hurt and betrayal. Because it will always hurt. But that night. There’s something I never told you. I never told you that I forgave you. But I did.”
He’s still not budging. I know I’m losing him. The realization is slowly sinking in, my fears becoming reality.
I start to fully cry. “I was so scared to hear what you had to say that night I think I told myself that no matter what, it wouldn’t have changed things. I just didn’t think it mattered anymore. There was no way we would work out, and it was best I walked away from more pain that I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle.”
“Katie.”
Again, my name falls off his lips, causing my heart to beat uncontrollably, not knowing if I’ve fucked this all up. I probably look super pathetic right now, but I can’t stop the words from pouring out.
“I’ve missed you. And I’m sorry.” Having him in front of me only makes my heart ache more with the need for him. How do I express in words just how badly I’ve messed up? How do I use the right words so he’ll know just how sorry I am for not trusting in what we had, to figure us out together? I want to pretend I’m not this person who doubts and doubts. I don’t want to be, but I also can’t just shut that person down I’ve been for so long. “I’m sorry,” I repeat again, because I truly am. Sorry for the hurt and pain we both caused one another. “I’m sorry I doubted us. I doubted you.”
The tears are a heavy flow down my cheeks as I reach into my purse, pulling out a large stack of papers. “I did something while I was away.”
Seeing that I’m trying to offer them to him, he takes the stairs two at a time, until only four steps separate us. He reaches for the papers. “Oh, yeah? What’s this?”
“It’s a story.”
“And what’s this story about?”
He doesn’t look at the pages. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine. I know this is where I give it my all.
I suck in a deep breath for courage and begin. “It’s about a girl who doubts so much in life, she doesn’t know when it’s time to trust. To forgive when forgiving is needed.”
A few seconds pass before he asks, “And does this girl figure out how to trust and forgive?”
I answer his question with a nod. “She learns that love isn’t always how she expected it to be. You see, she finds it where she least expected it. With a person, she least expected to give her the time of day.”
Another round of tormenting seconds pass. “Was this boy able to show her just how perfect he thinks she is?”
God, does he ever. The tears are making it harder now to see. “He does, but she struggles to understand why. She doesn’t understand why he wants her. Because she doesn’t have anything to offer bac
k. She’s lived such a hard life that she thought she didn’t know how to love back. She ends up fighting his love, because she doesn’t feel she’s worthy of it. Until she fights it so much she ruins any chance of ever having it.” I have to stop to catch my breath. I’m struggling to speak. “She hurts so much because of her choices. And she doesn’t know how to fix it. She’s scared of the unknown. Of taking a chance and being right, but even more scared of not taking that chance and being wrong.”
Chase takes a step closer. Three steps separating us. “It sounds like this boy really loves the girl, and she should have let him in and allowed him to love her with everything he has.”
With each hiccup, I reply, “And she really wants that, but she isn’t sure if it’s too late or not. She ran away from him. And she acted super childish and didn’t step up when it was most important. She isn’t sure if he even wants her anymore.”
Another step. Two steps separating us. “So how does the story end? What does she do?”
“I’m not sure because the ending isn’t written yet,” I tell him.
“And why not?”
“Because I don’t know how it ends yet. You see, the girl finally knew what she wanted, but she had to come back home and find this boy and ask for him to give her another chance at listening and forgiving. She wasn’t sure how he would react, but she prayed he hadn’t given up on her as she did on them.”
My heart plummets as he takes the thick stack of pages and drops it into the seat next to him. His facial expression still blank. I silently beg to see a part of the Chase I know. The kind, understanding man I fell so in love with. Right now, I fear I’m looking at a man who’s given up. He places his hands back into his pockets. I hold my breath as his mouth opens.
Love Broken Page 23