The Playmaker (Fire on Ice) (11 page)

Eleven

Kian

As I got dressed, two of my teammates patted me on the shoulder as they prepared to leave.

“Great game, Kavanagh,” one of the guys said.

“Glad to see you’re finally back,
Man,” said the other.

The only reason I was back was because I was playing for Taylor, just like she asked me to. I felt like it was the only thing I could do for her. It was the only thing she would let me do, so it was the thing I had to do.

When I grabbed my cell phone from the locker, I was surprised to see I had a text notification. I nearly dropped the phone when I saw it was from Taylor. I was overcome with a feeling of elation, and hope, followed just a quickly by complete and utter dread.

For a guy who was usually so cocksure, Taylor brought out every one of my deepest insecurities and fears. She was the only person on the planet who truly had the power to hurt me. And not just hurt me, completely eviscerate me.

I couldn’t bring myself to read the text. Right now, at this moment, I still had hope. There was still a chance that Taylor would see me again. That she would still love me. If I read the text, it could all be over.

Sack up
, I said to myself.
You always deal with things head on. I knew I needed to deal with this head on, too
.

I took a deep breath, and then read the text. I stared at it for what felt like several minutes, unsure of how to react. The text was only four words:
I read your letter
.

Was that good or bad? There was no way I could tell because there was no reaction. I wasn’t sure if I should text her back. Was it just an acknowledgment or an invitation?

Sack up
, I reminded myself. I texted back one uncertain word:
And
?

Then I just waited. I’m not sure why. I knew it would prob
ably take her time to respond. She was in a freaking hospital. The image of her from the photo, beaten and bloody, flashed through my mind and anger surged through my veins like molten lava.

My fists were throbbing and I needed to hit something, an
ything, but I wasn’t sure once I started if I could stop. I really wanted to hit the sick fucker who did this to her. I didn’t just want to hit him, I wanted to
hurt
him. I wanted him to feel to kind of pain I felt when I looked at that photo.

I hadn’t told any of my teammates what happened. I had only given the coach a few vague details about my
family emergency
. I think they all knew from my demeanor that it was better not to ask. Plus I was performing on the ice—and performing very well. But I knew if I stopped performing, they would probably want more than just vague answers to their questions.

  My phone buzzed and I froze.
An incoming text
. I could feel my heart racing. I looked at the text:
I was surprised your handwriting was so soft and delicate
.

I smiled and texted back:
It’s not usually. That’s only because I was writing the letter for you
.

It took everything I had not to phone her. I wanted despe
rately to hear her voice. But I knew everything had to be on her terms or I’d risk losing her for good. I was a major risk taker but that was one risk I wasn’t willing to take.

Runt was right. That could have been a first. It was time for the grand gesture. Taylor’s dad had mentioned that she’d prob
ably be in the hospital for at least a week. I didn’t have a lot of time.

Twelve

Taylor

My parents and sister tried their best not to leave me alone for very long. And for once, I didn’t want them to. I felt scared, even anxious, and I really didn’t want to be alone. But they also had their own lives to lead and their lives didn’t stop just because I was attacked, even though it felt like mine did. My mom and dad had classes to teach and my sister had classes to attend, or at least act like she was attending. My parents finally gave her an ultimatum, she had to finish her degree within the next year or she’d have to foot her own bill. That seemed to give her the kick in the butt she needed to finally get serious about school.

I had no idea what was going to happen with my classes until Dr. Simmons stopped by for a visit one afternoon.

“Thank you for—everything,” I said as he sat down on one of the chairs next to my bed. He was still wearing his signature bowtie and ill-fitting suit like he had just come from class.

“I’m glad to see you’re doing better,” he said. He heaved a sigh. “I have to admit, I was scared when I found you.”

“I’m glad you found me. You saved me.”

He shook his head. “I did what had to be done. What any decent person would have done. What I hope someone would do if—” He hesitated and I could see his eyes were getting wet. “If it had been one of my daughters.”  He removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and blew his nose. Then he discreetly wiped his eyes before he put the handkerchief away. I had to admit I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen someone use one. Maybe it was my grandmother before she passed away. She always kept a handkerchief up the left sleeve of her sweater.

“I wanted to let you know that I’ve spoken with all of your professors. Due to the extreme circumstances, and because you’re one of the best students in the psychology department, all of them have agreed to forgo the normal course requirements and allow you to complete your final classes as independent studies. When you’re ready, we can sort out the details of exactly what that will entail.”

For someone who was normally so focused on school and her classes, I was surprised at how little I had thought about my school work since the attack. I knew it was important but for some reason it didn’t
feel
as important anymore.

“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate everything, Dr. Simmons.”

He nodded then rose. “I should probably let you get some rest.”

I felt like all I was doing was resting but I knew it was just his way of making a polite exit.

“Just let me know when you’re ready and I can get all of your assignments to you.”

“I will. Thanks again.”

***

“Taylor Thompson,” the attractive black woman said as she entered my room. She looked like she was in her late 20s or early 30s and she was wearing a navy blue suit and small wedge heels.

“I’m Malinda Willis. I’m a hospital social worker. I specialize in trauma. Do you mind if I sit down?”

I shook my head. I wanted to ask her if I had a choice but I didn’t feel like it. I f
elt like people were still doing things to me, and would continue to do things to me, whether I wanted them to or not.

Malinda took a seat next to my bed.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly. Her voice was calm, almost melodic. It made me wonder if she was a singer.

I had to think about it for a long moment. I didn’t know how I felt. I was still numb. “Tired,” I said because it was easy.

She nodded. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“I’m going to leave my card so whenever you want to talk, you can give me a call. Is that okay?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“I know it may be difficult to believe now but you will want to talk about it. To tell your story. I just caution you that it will probably be hard for other people to hear.”

Right now it was hard for me to think about. I wanted to be in a different body that hadn’t been raped. I wanted to be a different person, who hadn’t gone through the assault.

“The best thing you can give yourself right now is time,” M
alinda said. “Everyone needs to make sense of what happened in her own way. It will take time. Healing takes time and it’s not always linear.”

“I kind of feel dead,” I admitted. “Like he killed me in that alley but for some reason I’m still breathing.”

“Many victims of sexual assault state that they feel like parts of them died when they were victimized. But you’re not dead. You’re still here, still alive. You need to figure out a way to go on with your life. You may never be the same person you were before you were assaulted but you can be a better person.”

A better person. I wasn’t sure what that meant.

“There are a number of resources I can provide. Things that can help you regain control of your life. I’m going to leave a pamphlet for a support group. Many women find it helpful to talk with others who have experienced similar trauma. I’m also going to leave information about a self-defense class. Many women find that helpful as well.”

“Self-defense?” I asked. “Like wearing those white uniforms with the belts and learning to chop wood with just your hand?”

She laughed. “It’s not like that. It’s reality-based self-defense. Krav Maga training. You should at least give it a try.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Malinda smiled. “Good. I’ll let you get some rest. You have my card. Please call me whenever you’d like.”

***

I found it difficult to sleep at night. More often than not, I was startled awake by the feeling that someone was strangling me. It always took time for me to calm down and realize I was in a safe place, in the hospital. And then I dreaded going back to sleep again.

It felt easier to take short naps in the daylight, with the warm sunlight from my window on my face. The demons didn’t seem to come out in the daylight. Maybe it was because my naps tended to be short. Or maybe it was because I didn’t feel as vulnerable in the daylight.

I wondered how I would feel safe when I was no longer in the hospital—when I was out in the world again—on my own. I wasn’t sure I had ever felt truly safe even before the attack with one exception: when I was in Kian’s arms.

But Kian wasn’t here. He was in Seattle. Where he needed to be. Where I told him I wanted him to be. It was half true. I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want him to feel responsible for me, like he had to take care of me. I didn’t want him to give up his dreams because of me. Deep down, I guess I knew he would. He’d walk away from everything just to be with me. That was too much for me to deal with. It was too big a sacrifice. One he might later regret. And I really didn’t feel like I was worth it.

I was drifting off into another sun-induced nap when I heard my sister’s voice. “Is that all you do now? Sleep?”

I opened one eye and saw her standing above me, smiling. Today, she was wearing gold harem pants and
a flowing white blouse. Most of the time, I didn’t know if she was dressed in a costume from a show she was rehearsing for or if it was just one of her outlandish wardrobe choices.

My mom and dad entered the room a few moments later. My mom was carrying a smoothie from The Twisted Mug. “Peach, your favorite,” she said as she handed it to me.

I hadn’t yet regained my appetite and I know my parents were getting worried. I was on the thin side to begin with and I couldn’t really afford to lose much weight. I just didn’t feel like forcing myself to eat.

“Please try to drink it,” my dad said. When I glanced up at him he looked a lot older than he had just a few days ago. He had more grey around his temples and the worry lines on his forehead were deeper and more pronounced. My attack seemed to have aged him ten years overnight.

I nodded and took a sip but I found it difficult to swallow. All three of my family members were now staring at me so I choked it down. That seemed to appease them and they all took seats around my bed.

I told them about Dr. Simmons’s visit and the plans he had made with my other professors
for me to finish the term and graduate on time. They didn’t seem surprised which made me wonder if Dr. Simmons had spoken with them first.

Zelda
said Kyle had cornered her several times on campus. He had no idea where I was or what had happened to me. He was obviously very worried. I asked my sister not to give him too many details because I didn’t want him to feel guilty about leaving me to see Annie that evening. I didn’t want to burden him with any responsibility for what happened.

“I think you need to call him,” Zelda said. “He’s kind of freaking out. And you know what Kyle it like when he freaks out. He was actually standing outside
TheatreArtz the other day for God knows how long waiting for me. Kind of makes me glad I don’t have a cell phone.”

Our eyes locked for a split second and I knew immediately what she was thinking.

“I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

“You have to stop apologizing.”

“But if I did have a cell phone…” she trailed off. If she had a cell phone, I might have been able to reach her and I wouldn’t have been walking home alone.

“We can’t change the past. We can only impact the future.” The words sounded good and my sister nodded so I thought she bought them. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure how much impact I
could actually have on my future. Just a week ago, I thought I had everything figured out. I certainly had everything
planned
out.

Now I wasn’t sure about anything.

“I promise I’ll phone Kyle,” I said. I just didn’t say when that would happen because I still wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure about anything anymore which sucked because I had been so sure about so many things
before.

At least I thought I was.

An older woman, who I didn’t recognize, walked into my room. I didn’t think she was a nurse, because she was wearing a dress and heels.

“Sorry to bother you, Miss Thompson,” she said. “But we really need to test your television.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t really watch it.”

She frowned. That was obviously not the response she was looking for. “This will only take a minute.”

My family and I watched as she put the remote up to the television and turned it on. It looked fine. She turned it to the university’s public access channel. I wasn’t much of a television watcher but I had seen the station a few times. Mostly it was to watch one of my professors broadcast a special lecture.

A hockey coach was talking about how well the university hockey team was doing this year.

“The television seems to be working fine,” my father said. It was his friendly and indirect way of telling the woman to leave.

She smiled. “I really do need to test it for just a few more minutes.”

The hockey coach finished what he was saying and then the screen went blank for a moment. When the picture returned there was a cartoon figure of a hockey player on the screen. He turned his back, his jersey said: Kavanagh 23. My sister and I both glanced at each other then back at the screen. I could see my mom and dad sneak a peek at each other as well. Something very odd was happening.

Then a cartoon girl appeared on the other side of the screen. She had wavy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked small next to the cartoon hockey player. Was she supposed to be me?

A flower sprung up between the two and the cartoon Kian picked it and handed it to the cartoon girl. Above his head little heart bubbles appeared and floated around between them. The cartoon girl sniffed the flower and smiled. Then a dialogue bubble appeared over her head. It said:
Thank you
!

A dialogue bubble appeared over the cartoon Kian’s head and it said:
I’ll always love you, Princess. You and only you. No matter what
.

Ukulele music started playing in the background and then the cartoon girl kissed the cartoon Kian. More love bubbles appeared over their heads before the scene blacked out.

My family and I all continued to look at the television, stunned. I had no idea how Kian did it. The older woman glanced at me and said, “It looks like the television is working.”

“Did Kian ask you to turn the television on?”

The woman looked uncomfortable. “I think I’d better go.”

Before I could say anything else, she hurried out of my room.

When my parents turned to me, they both looked stunned.

“That was freaking awesome!” my sister exclaimed. “Are you going to call him now?”

“Maybe,” I replied.

“Maybe?” My sister sounded incredulous. “The guy made a television commercial. Just for you!”

I noticed my parents were noticeably quiet. I wondered if their silence was agreement with my sister.

It was quite a grand gesture. I felt like I should thank him. I was still nervous though.

My dad took my mom by the elbow. “We’re going to take off. We’ve both got early classes.” My dad leaned down and kissed my cheek.

My mom followed suit. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Taylor.”

My sister grabbed her extra-large purse from the table she’d tossed it on. “I’d better get going, too.”