His head whipped to the side when I knelt beside him. Tears washed his face with pent-up pain, and, without thought, and needing to embrace the person I had opened my heart to, I wrapped my arms around him. At first, he stilled, and I worried he was mad at me for approaching him. That maybe I’d been too presumptuous and that he didn’t want company in this heart-aching moment.
But I sighed in relief when Cael quickly gave in and wrapped his arms around me too … and held on like he would never let go.
His shuddering sobs were like bullets to my soul, each one penetrating farther and farther, until he had shredded me where we sat. “Sav,” he murmured against the side of my neck. His tears fled down the skin of my collarbone and underneath my coat. Tears I knew he had kept trapped for too many months to count, eating away at him, day by day.
His hands were freezing from where he had been touching the ice. But I embraced the cold. If it helped Cael in this moment, helped him release himself from the heavy shackles of grief, I would plunge myself into the arctic sea just to help him heal.
I ran my hands through his hair, taking his beanie off and placing it on the ground beside us. I didn’t say anything. There were no words of comfort that would help right now. Silence was soothing. And I knew what this emotional exorcism felt like. It was a torrent, a flash flood of grief so strong it destroyed anything in its path.
Cael’s fingers raked at my back, like he was trying to find a way to be closer. He was raw and vulnerable, flayed open and emotionally exposed. Cael never mentioned any friends or family from home. At least I had Ida and my parents. I had Aunt DeeDee and Rune.
Who did he have to fall on in times of need? Had he pushed them away like he’d tried to keep us all at a distance?
I ran my hands soothingly through his messy waves; he continued breaking apart. He broke and broke, his salty tears endless. It felt like we were completely alone as we stayed kneeling on the cold ground, Norway continuing to exist around us.
Several minutes passed, and Cael’s body began to calm. My sweatshirt and coat were drenched from his tears, but those tears seemed to be slowing too. Still, I held him. I held him until those tears had run dry and his erratic breathing had shifted to labored, heavy breaths.
The aftermath of an emotional purge.
“Sav …” he whispered, voice hoarse and deep from exertion.
“I’m here,” I said and found the nerves to add, “for you.” I swallowed and made myself repeat, “I’m here for you.”
Cael’s hands gripped tighter onto my coat, and then he slowly reared his head back. His face was red and blotched; his eyes were haunted. But, to me, he’d never looked more beautiful. Cael withdrew a hand from where it had been wrapped in my coat and stared down at his palm. It was still chill-burned from where it had been pressed against the ice.
He looked out at the ice that was spread out before us. The string lights above made the rink glisten like it was made of a million opal jewels. I wondered what Cael saw when he looked at it. Whether it looked like heaven or hell, or somewhere in between.
A stray tear escaped the corner of his eye. I instinctively reached out and brushed it from his cheek. I stilled when he turned his head, worried I had gone too far. But then Cael wrapped his hand in mine and brought my hand to his lips. He brushed a chaste kiss on the back of my hand and my heart thudded to a sudden stop.
He moved my hand north and pressed it against his cheek, skin cold and damp. And he left it there, as though the warmth from my hand was transferring much-needed heat to his frostbitten bones.
“I’m a hockey player,” he said, his whispered words as loud as a scream in the quiet, sleeping square.
I squeezed his hand in my own. A small smile broke through his desolate expression. He turned to me, eyes like blue-tinged molten iron ore as he said, “You do that when I’m breaking.” I held my breath, unsure if that was a good thing or not. He exhaled through his nose and squeezed my hand right back. Two firm squeezes. “It keeps me anchored,” he admitted, and, although it was night, my chest filled with sunlight. “How do you know when I need it?” He searched my face, looking for an answer.
“Because I recognize the signs.” The pulse in my neck fluttered as I said, “Because I often break too.”
Cael wrapped his hand tighter in mine, and he stared out at the rink—I simply stared at him. This boy had me completely enamored. “I’m a hockey player,” he said again, but this time with more conviction. His voice cracked when he said, “But I can’t play anymore.”
“Why?”
Cael’s shoulders dropped. “Because it was our thing.” Of course, I knew he meant Cillian. He seemed to think as much of Cillian as I thought of Poppy. But there was a distinct difference. His pain was much different from my own.
He’d had no closure when Cillian died.
“I was good, Peaches,” he said, and I melted at the use of that nickname falling so affectionately from his lips, especially at such a troubled moment. He reached out and ran the fingertip on his free hand over the edge of the ice rink. “I was really good.”
Cael shifted off his knees to sit on the ground. I followed suit. “Hockey isn’t just something I played. It’s who I am—
was,” he corrected and shook his head. “I’m so confused.” His throat was thick as he pushed those words out. I squeezed his hand twice, and he gave me an echo of a thankful smile. Then he gave me two right back, and my heart raced. “I played at first because Cill …” He shifted where he sat, the topic clearly uncomfortable. “Cill played, and I just wanted to do whatever he did.”
“But you loved it,” I said, not a question. I could hear the joyful inflection hockey inspired in his voice.
“I love it.” The use of the present tense wasn’t lost on me.
“I lost them both that night,” Cael said, and broke my heart again at the gutting agony lacing his voice. “I lost Cill and could never face the ice again either.” He paused, and a wistful expression settled on his face. “We were so tied up together that I don’t know how to exist alone. Brothers, hockey players, each other’s biggest supporters. I attended his games, he attended mine. We trained at the same facility. We practiced on the frozen pond at our house all winter long and mourned it when summer rolled around. We lived for the cold. Hockey was Cill, and I am hockey. Cill was me and I was him and now it’s all blown to hell.”
“Cael—“
“We were meant to play together in college.” He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “Harvard.” Chills whispering words like “destiny” danced up my spine. I knew this, of course. But I was proud of him for opening up and telling me. I squeezed his hand. “He was in his junior year when he …” Cael couldn’t finish that sentence. His head lowered. “I got in. Was meant to go this past fall. But I couldn’t do it with him gone. We never got to play together for the Crimson. And now we never will.” I laid my head on his shoulder in support. “I’m so fucking lost.” I hugged his arm, when he asked, “What about you, Sav? Why can’t you move on?”
Blood drained from my face. I didn’t want to speak about Poppy, about myself. But Cael had been so open with me, and I wanted to give him something back. He clearly needed it.
“I don’t know how to live without her either,” I said. “Poppy died, and I became trapped in that moment, suspended in some freeze-frame I can’t break free from.” Cael’s head dropped to lay on mine. “She died peacefully,” I said, trying to chase that day from my head, but after speaking to Cael, I realized that Poppy had died in the most beautiful way. “She passed the way she wanted to go. But … I honestly don’t know, Cael. I’ve just struggled to move on.” I released a self-deprecating laugh. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m a little bit … reserved.” Cael huffed out a single laugh too, and for a minute I thought he might crack a joke. I wondered if he’d been humorous,
before …
The sound of his laugh made my heart swell. “I suppose I internalize a lot. My therapist back home has tried everything to help me. This is my last-ditch effort to try to grab hold of some semblance of life after loss.” I laughed again, but this one was filled with sadness; it was weak, and it made me feel silly.
“She died almost four years ago, yet here I am, suspended in time and barely living a life.” I looked at a pebble on the ground just to focus on anything while I said, “I should have been able to cope by now. I know people think I should be able to move on already.”
“I don’t think grief works like that.” I turned to face Cael, unsure what he meant. “I don’t think grief sticks to any timeline, Sav.” He searched my eyes, and I became lost in their depths. “If someone judges you for how long it’s taking you to move past a loved one’s death, be happy for them, because it means they’ve never experienced it.”
My throat clogged with emotion. “Thank you,” I said, feeling so completely understood. Just from that one sentence.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.