I stared at my friend and teammate, Luke Carter, refusing to believe the words that just came out of his mouth. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. I gripped my hair and shook my head, wanting the words hanging heavy in the air to disappear.
“She must’ve misunderstood,” I told him.
He shook his head at me sadly. “I was worried you might think that. I had her send me the screenshots. Anna doesn’t have a reason to lie about this. I’m sorry, man. I wish it weren’t true, but here’s the proof, if that’s what you need.”
He dug his phone out of his pocket and opened up a stream of texts from his current girlfriend. He scrolled up and showed me the screenshots of my fiancée—and the supposed mother of my goddamn child—bragging about how easy it was to trap me when she suspected I was planning to break up with her. I read the messages that were apparently sent to a group of women, one of whom was seeking advice because she thought her guy was going to dump her.
My heart stopped in my chest when I saw the line Luke specifically told me about. “You should’ve seen Will’s face when I told him I was pregnant. I had him hook, line, and sinker then. I knew he’d never be able to say no to his baby. And I figure once we’re married in a few weeks, I’ll just tell him I lost it and he’ll never be the wiser.”
My heart broke as I realized it was all a lie.
She was never pregnant.
She lied to me, deceiving me over something I was actually starting to get excited about. For what? She didn’t need my money or my fame. Why would she do this to me?
Then it hit me, harder than being tackled to the ground.
Control.
She’s been manipulating me and controlling me this whole fucking time.
None of what I thought we had was real.
With that thought came a burning rage I’d never felt before. I shoved the phone against Luke’s chest and stomped toward the door, determined to end this relationship for good.
The soft leather of the couch dips from my weight. The moment I entered the small room, the hint of vanilla that hit my nose made my heart ache with memories of Gina. She always used to smell like vanilla, something she claimed was because of the scented lotion she used.
“So, Will, what’s been going on?”
I shift my jaw back and forth, rubbing the unfamiliar stubble—from too many days not shaving—with my calloused hand.
“I think I quit therapy prematurely.”
I expect a reaction, but Dr. Stein has a stone-cold poker face.
“Why do you think that?”
Taking a deep breath in an attempt to strengthen my resolve, I say quietly, “Because I fucked up.”
His eyes squint minutely. “Care to elaborate?”
I look him dead in the eye. “I fell in love.”
“Okay.”
I drop my head in my hands, and then run my fingers through my hair as I sit back up. I’m not the most eloquent guy on a good day, but add the emotional stress I’ve been dealing with and it makes finding the words harder.
“I didn’t mean to, but I fell in love with her.”
“Is it safe to presume the woman to whom you’re referring is Gina?”
Surprised he remembered my mention of her from my few times here, I only nod.
“And I take it by your reaction you believe this is a bad thing?”
I look out the windows, my chest rising and falling quickly, my lips pursed as I fight back my self-loathing. “I don’t deserve a woman like her.”
Dr. Stein’s face furrows with concern. “Why do you think you don’t deserve her?”
“Because I’m the one responsible for my fiancée dying.”
He sits back in his chair, his thumb and pointer finger forming an L and resting against his cheek and chin. “I thought your fiancée died due to a drunk driver.”
In an instant, I’m thrown back to that night three years ago, and I lose all control over my emotions. A tear slides down my cheek as I finally confess, “She was the drunk driver.”
“What does that have to do with you?”
“I let her leave knowing she was trashed!” I scream, words suddenly bursting forth with an intensity I’ve never experienced before. “I was angry at her for lying to me. We’d been fighting, and I knew she was fucking drunker than shit and I let her leave anyway. Do you know what could’ve happened if she’d hit another car instead of a telephone pole that night? I would’ve been responsible for more deaths!”
Dr. Stein has the decency to let me cry it out, my grief finally releasing the way it probably should’ve years ago.
When I finally compose myself, he continues. “Walk me through that night. What were you fighting about?”
“We got engaged because she told me she was pregnant. We’d been together almost a year. I’d been thinking about breaking up with her because I started to feel like something was missing in our relationship, even though I thought I loved her. When she told me she was pregnant, I proposed and convinced myself we could make it work. I’d never been in love before so I started thinking maybe it was just me—maybe love just felt that way and there wasn’t anything missing. Things still felt off as she started planning the wedding, but I couldn’t abandon my kid, so I stuck it out.
“That night,”—I pause, again picturing the ugly scene—“that night, I found out from a buddy she’d been telling her friends, including his girlfriend, that she was going to trap me. We’d only been engaged about a month and she wasn’t showing yet. She claimed that was normal, but the reality was she was never pregnant to begin with. Her plan was to tell me after we got married that she had a miscarriage.”
“Did you love her?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “No. I never loved Candace. At one point, I thought I did, but I know now that wasn’t love.”
“So, why did you propose then? We live in modern times, where it’s fairly common for couples to have a baby out of wedlock.”
“I grew up without a father. I had friends whose parents were divorced and only got occasional visitation. I know what that does to a kid. I’ve never wanted that for my own children, if I ever had them. That’s not the kind of father I want to be. I don’t want to be a part-time dad. Candace knew that. She knew all about my childhood. She knew about how it impacted me.”
“She manipulated you.”
I nod.
“And that night you called her on it?”
“Yeah, I came home, and she tried to hide that she’d been drinking. I had been planning to fly to Texas to visit my mom after my game, so she didn’t know I was coming home. She was already pretty wasted, but then got belligerent when I called her out for lying about the baby.”
“And how did that end with her leaving?”
I sit back against the couch, my eyes closing as I transport myself back to that moment. “I called her a heartless cunt and told her we were done. She lost her mind. She started shrieking at me and slapping my chest calling me a bunch of nasty names. She said I was a great fuck but nothing special, and if I pushed her away, she’d make my life a living hell.”
I huff out a hollow laugh. “Seems she did follow through on that one.”
“And then she left?”
“No.” Guilt laces my words as I continue. “I told her she’d end up alone and no one would love her because she was a selfish bitch with no soul, and I understood why her parents didn’t even want her.” I drop my face into my hands, my elbows resting on my knees. “I’d never spoken to a woman like that before. My mom would kill me if she knew.” I shake my head, shame coursing heavily through me. “She just stood there like I’d slapped her, and then slurred that I’d regret this, grabbed her keys, and walked out. The police showed up two hours later telling me she’d wrapped her car around a telephone pole and died on impact.”
I look up, my eyes red and wet. “Her blood alcohol level was .24. They said she was lucky she didn’t kill someone else.”
“You’ve been holding onto all this for three years?”
I nod.
“Have you ever told anyone else all of this?”
“No,” I whisper.
He leans forward. “Will, what happened to Candace was a tragedy, but it wasn’t your fault.”
“I should’ve stopped her from leaving.”
His eyes are kind when he looks at me. “In my experience, short of tying her up, which could have potentially put you in a legal mess for holding her against her will, you can’t force someone to stay when they are determined to leave, impaired or not.”
“I should’ve taken her keys,” I whisper.
“Will, this is not your fault. This was a tragedy, a horrible tragedy, but not your fault.”
“I don’t see how it isn’t my fault. I should’ve found a way to stop her.”
He sits back. “Will, what do you need to absolve your guilt?”
“I have no idea. I can’t see any way to ever forgive myself for causing her death.”
“Then it seems we have our work cut out for us.”