Ty's POV
I cruise around a side street in Pittsburgh, staring at the address on my phone while going over the conversation I have drawn out in my head. As I get closer and closer to my final destination I become more wary. I know I'm going to try and act poised and unaffected, simply because that's what I do. I'm good at hiding pain.
And believe me, there is pain.
I've had a couple of days to get my bearings about me since seeing him last, and I must admit that even my exit wasn't as classy as I would have liked. After seeing Geno at the rink I scampered around to find my clothes, told him a few post care instructions, and practically ran for safety even against his protests. I begged him to not follow me, to not injure himself further and to my pleasure he complied. It's the vision of the one last glimpse backwards that I continually see in my head; him standing with just pants half way buttoned, tshirt in one hand and a look that screams pain and longing. He doesn't need to say anything, I can see how badly I've hurt him. Because I decided to run. Because that's what I do. Because I told him from the beginning that I'm not the type of person that can handle pressure or commitment. I always knew I was meant to be alone. That look is confirmation of these facts and hits me like a dagger to the upper abdomen. You have no idea how badly I wish I wouldn't have turned back around for one last look.
That look plagues me now, albeit a couple days later and I know it's clouding my memory, which is not what I need right now. I have to keep my mission in perspective.
He, of course, called me a couple of times that evening, I'm sure just to make sure that I was okay. And I, of course, did not answer. That's what runaways do. Avoid conversation. Hide emotions. There was no way I could talk to him and not beg for forgiveness, something I don't think I deserve.
And yes, he hurt me as well. I still feel that all too clearly. Somehow, I don't think the old saying of an eye for an eye was the best way to go about things. I know he had ended things between us to begin with, but his reasons were for concern and for what he thought was my well being. Why did I hurt him? It's simple. Because I was a fucking pussy.
I don't even know why I feel obligated to go through this. There is a very good chance that he doesn't want to hear from me at all, but I know that if I want to try and stay in Pittsburgh that I'll have to clear the air. I need closure. I'm hoping he'll give me that much.
I pull up and park across from the apartment complex I've been told he lives in. It's a game day and I know that my timing is terrible, but I can't wait any longer. And besides, I can still remember everything; I know he even thought he will not be playing tonight because of his knee, that he will just have woken up from his pre-game nap, because if there is one thing to know about a hockey player, it's that you do not mess with their rituals.
I take a deep breathe, gather my thoughts, and head toward the door. I adjust the baseball hat on my head, pulling it down over my eyes. In the end, I had went ahead and wore my hat, even though I know it will almost immediately give me away. Geno's the one that pointed it out in the first place; I only wear it when feeling insecure.
I knock once timidly, then once more and take a step back from the door. It takes about 30 seconds, but I eventually hear heavy, shuffled footsteps toward the door. Once last surge of anxiety rises within me, but I know at this point it's too late to retreat to my car.
He opens the door and the surprised look on his face almost makes me want to try and haul ass to my car anyways.
"This was foolish," I murmur, taking a tentative step backwards. When he doesn't respond, but instead continues to stare at me I add "I'm sorry, I should have called," before turning around and walking swiftly down the stairs. I make it about 10 steps before he speaks up.
"Ty," he calls out, his voice full of confusion. I hesitate, taking another small step before turning around and facing him. And there it is. The standoff. We both just look at each other, neither of us knowing what to do before he finally continues "do you want to come inside?"
"Thank you," I add meekly while adjusting my hat once more for good measure. I'm sure I see him smirking as I shuffle past, but I'm too nervous to sneak a peak.
He closes the door and ushers me into the living room where we both sit down on opposing sides of the coffee table and continue to look at each other.
"It's a nice apartment," I note quietly while looking around.
"Thanks," he mumbles quietly. "I just couldn't find sense in keeping the house."
"Right," I add, suddenly feeling all the guilt rush back. Because he was absolutely right. Why should he keep a house we bought together when I up and left the country? "Well, it's very nice. Very 1920s," I add, feeling a need to fill the void of quiet.
"So," he hesitates, "you're back?"
"Yes," I start, but instantly wish one of us would have chosen a better choice of words as I see a glimmer of hope flash into his eyes. A glimmer I don't deserve. "Well, yes and no," I continue, speaking quicker than normal. "That's actually what I was here to talk to you about."
"Oh?" he responds simply, his hands fidgety.
"I just wanted you to know that I'm not trying to play head games by moving back," I continue and the defeated look crosses his face again. "Don't do that," I add. "I don't deserve it. And I wanted to say that I was sorry about the other night. It was very unprofessional of me, and I just wanted to say that I'm sorry and that it won't happen again."
"I'm not sorry," he says nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Geno, don't--"
"Well I'm not," he interrupts. "You're not the only one at fault here, Ty. And yes, it would have been nice to know that you were coming back into town, but I'm not under the impression that I still get to know those types of things," he adds, starring directly at me. And he's right, him and I haven't shared information like that in months, a fact that haunts my memories. I will never understand how we could have slipped from what we were to where we currently sit in the amount of time that we did. I would say that this feels foreign to me right now, but I would be lying. In all honesty, I miss him. And there wasn't a day that I was away that I didn't think about him.
"I just don't feel like I should be able to come back into town and totally flip your world upside down, so I just wanted to let you know that those were not my intentions." He sits still, rethinking everything I've said and I'm sure trying to figure out how to approach me. "And I also wanted to let you know that I won't interfere with your life here."
We both sit there and stare at each other again, neither of us agreeing to back down.
"Why wouldn't you talk to me when you left? I tried to call you a thousand times to set things straight, and you gave me nothing," he accuses. I sit, taking blow for blow, because this is what I deserve. He should be angry at me.
"I couldn't talk to you," I shrug, knowing it's a brief answer.
"You couldn't?" he scoffs. "No, you wouldn't Ty. Like I said, I know I pushed you away. I felt like that was the only way I could keep you safe, and I know now that I was wrong. Very wrong. And I also know that I was wrong for what that I said to you. I knew exactly the words and actions that would tear you down, that would make you believe that it was over between us. What I didn't know is how easy it would be for you to believe those lies."
"I know," I add simply in response, because it's the only addition I can make to the conversation. He's 100% right. "And that's why I'm telling you that I'm not here to make amends, Geno. I don't think I could ever even the score."
"It's not about evening the score, Ty," he says quietly. "I think we've both already done enough of that."
"I just want us to be okay," I blurt, the frustration clearly showing in my voice. "Not okay in the sense that we fall back together, but okay in the sense that you don't hate me," I sob, because that is what this really is about. The guilt has killed me for months now.
Geno's POV
I think about the last statement she's said. I'd love for us to be okay, but ever since she's been back into town it feels as if I've been a whirlwind of emotions. I'm angry at myself for ever thinking it was a good idea to push her away. I'm happy she's back, because I can't help but think that there is a glimmer of hope. I'm scared, because I know that if she leaves again there is no way I will handle it even half as well. And lets be honest, I didn't handle the first time well at all, but I know that I don't want to loose her again, even if that means we're in this awful limbo and the conversations between us are awkward and cold.
"I don't hate you," I add because it's true. I don't hate her, but I don't trust her either. The wary look she's giving me lets me know that she doesn't trust me either. I don't know how to ever regain her trust either, but I feel like the other night was a start. There was so much that she had to go through alone; the loss of our child, the lies I fed her, and the feeling of being tossed aside. I don't know if those are things that I will ever be able to overcome. "I don't know if I like you right now, but I don't hate you." She smirks at me. It's faint, just barely visible on her tanned face and there is a small trace of it in her eyes before it vanishes.
"A fair trade," she admonishes. I know that she is seemingly unwilling to admit that I want her back, that I've always wanted her back, but for tonight I'll take it as progress, because I've got nothing else to hold on to.
