11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Elias

Fifteen years old

"Don't feel so brave, do you, Mouse," Carter taunted, looming over me. I tried to stand tall, but his overwhelming presence made me want to curl in on myself.

"Let me go, Carter," I insisted, squirming in an attempt to shrug him off, but he only tightened his grip.

"I don't think so, little mouse," he sneered. "See how easy it is for me to manhandle you? Imagine that on the ice. I'm going to squish you like the pathetic little rodent you are."

"You have to catch me on the ice first!" I retorted, struggling against his tight hold.

"I’ve already caught you. You're a pathetic excuse for a hockey player," Carter spat, his words stinging like a thousand tiny needles.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, to stem the flow of tears. I couldn't let him see how much his words hurt. I couldn't afford to seem weaker than I already did.

"Get your hands off him before I break your fingers one by one." I turned to see Jarman standing tall behind Carter, fists clenched by his sides.

Carter's grip loosened and I crumpled to the floor. "Got your big boyfriend to look after you?" he taunted, a smirk playing on his lips.

"He isn't my boyfriend!" I protested loudly, wanting to deflect attention away from Jarman. Jarman flinched at my words, but he stood his ground.

"He's right, I'm not," Jarman interjected, stepping forward to confront Carter. "But I'm someone you don't want to mess with."

Jarman lunged, snatching Carter up by his collar and pinning him against the wall. "If you ever touch him again, you can say goodbye to your pretty nose," Jarman threatened before releasing him, Carter’s legs collapsing beneath him.

Jarman turned to me, expression softening like he hadn’t just been threatening someone. "Come on, Mouse."

I followed Jarman down the hall, my hands beginning to shake with the rush of adrenaline fading from my body. Once we were out of sight, Jarman turned my face this way and that.

"Are you hurt?"

"Only my ego," I replied, pushing his hands away and trying to brush off the encounter. “I’m so embarrassed.”

Jarman tightened his grip on my cheeks, holding me in place. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Eli. That guy should be ashamed over his behavior."

"I'm embarrassed because I'm too small to defend myself. I feel like a joke of a hockey player," I confessed, frustration fueling the tears in my eyes.

Shane leaned down until his eyes met mine. "You're an amazing hockey player and your size doesn't define you. You're small, yes. But you’re also fast, and nimble—qualities that make you a valuable player on the ice. And don't worry; you'll have your growth spurt soon enough. Trust me, growing pains suck. Don’t wish those on yourself."

I couldn't help but hug him tightly, "Thanks for being here for me."

"Forever and always, Mouse," he assured me and, in that moment, I knew I had a friend I could always count on.

Present

"Oh, my goodness. That's gorgeous Eli!" Jenna exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with excitement as I held open the necklace box, revealing the delicate silver chain and pendant inside. It complemented the elegant black dress she was wearing perfectly.

"Glad you like it. Come on, let's go," I said, smiling at her enthusiasm.

It was our one-year anniversary, and I was determined to make it perfect. If someone had told me a year ago that this would be my life, I would have laughed in their face. But there I was: dressed in a suit like any other game day—only I wasn’t headed to a game. The excitement that once came easy was more muted, buzzing just beneath my skin for that outlet. Saturday night dates night were those moments. It was when I tried to get away from work and focus on my girl. Despite living together, we rarely saw each other during the week, so this was our chance to chase those moments

“Where are we going?” she asked, slipping on her new Jimmy Choo pumps .

“It's a surprise,” I replied, not missing the skeptical look on her face. I hated surprises. Normally I had things planned down to the letter. But this time, I had something bigger in mind. Something that I hoped would make the evening unforgettable. I took her hand as she straightened and together, we stepped out the door.

On the drive, I took a moment to admire her. Her red lips and cat-like eyes bore a striking contrast to the backdrop of her black dress. The long-sleeved wool fabric hugged her body in all the right places. Her hair was longer since she got extensions, and I hadn’t quite made up my mind on how I felt about it. But seeing the pure joy on her face made all that uncertainty melt away. She chattered away excitedly, and I tried my best to listen, but exhaustion crept in, and I lost myself gazing out of the car window at the mesmerizing city lights.

When we arrived at the gallery, I opened the door for her and her squeal of delight at the sight of the massive banner outside filled me with anticipation.

“Elias?”

“Surprise!” Jenna had always dreamed of running her own art show, so surprising her with her own showcase night was my way of making her dreams come true. Her eyes watered but she kept her composure. She took my hand and this time; it was me being dragged through the glass doors to the bustling crowd of people who came to see her work.

It was a challenge to get her pieces from the studio to the gallery, but Megan was a powerhouse. As a thank you, I made sure she was getting a good bonus this Christmas—even if it came from my own paycheck. She deserved it.

It took seconds for Jenna to peck me on the lips and disappear to mingle with the crowd, leaving me behind.

I admired the pieces I’d seen more than once, though they’d lost none of their magic. She had talent—I had to give her that. And I could at least understand the meaning behind her pieces—somewhat. It wasn’t a blank circle on a white canvas like some of the other art shows I had gone to …

The night flew by—and so did the free drinks. I was more than tipsy from expensive champagne which didn’t get any better; no matter how many glasses I had. I took note of the marketing phenomenon that was champagne: a shitty drink with bubbles that cost a fortune because it screamed money—even if it did taste like cat piss. By midnight, Jenna had more red dots than I could count. Or maybe that was the booze. Either way, I tried to find joy in her excitement.

As the night unfolded—and the alcohol coursed through my system—I found myself navigating a maze of conflicting emotions. I attempted to be the supportive boyfriend, even though everyone’s touchy-feely interactions with Jenna made my stomach churn. Yet when she whispered in my ear, a sinister tone about the “fools” she’d conned into buying her work, I no longer wanted to celebrate.

As the time ticked to the early hours of the morning, my girl began to descend from her euphoric high and when she didn’t reach for my belt at the end of the night… Well, I can’t say I was disappointed. Instead, I helped her out of her evening attire and rinsed her down. Not out of intimacy—but because champagne was a bitch.

After drying her off and tucking her into bed, her whispered words of gratitude hung in the air. "Thank you. I love you," she murmured, barely audible as sleep swept over her. Only then did I retreat to the living room, seeking solace in the flickering flames of the fireplace and the tranquil scenes of Animal Planet playing on the television. Yet, the cacophony of my own thoughts drowned out any hope of finding peace.

I reflected on the past year, unable to shake the sense of disillusionment gripping my chest. Once, this all seemed like the dream. The girl—marriage—the lavish apartment; my father’s pride.

But now, as I sat in the stillness of the night, my heart raced for a completely different reason. Even the seemingly innocuous documentary about clownfish couldn't distract me from the void that loomed within. It was a darkness that defied explanation, zapping my appetite and leaving me numb to the joys that once defined my existence.

Lost in this fog of despair, I found myself navigating life on autopilot, longing for the day when this suffocating funk would dissipate, and I could once again rediscover the meaning that had slipped through my fingers.

"Georgia!" The urgency in my tone even made me cringe. I sounded way too much like my father.

Georgia appeared at my door in a flash, her usual disapproving gaze replaced by a sense of… was that fear? Gone were the days when anyone could regard me as a helpless boy. "Where's the file for the Milson Bay account? How on earth am I supposed to piece together a proposal without it?" I demanded, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"So sorry, Mr. Michaels.” Georgia’s voice quivered. “I'll get right on it. I believe your father was reviewing it."

I waved her off with a casual flick of my fingers, turning my attention back to the papers strewn across my desk. I raked my fingers through my hair, desperate for another cup of coffee. Yes, that was exactly what I needed to wash away the guilt churning my gut.

Just as I reached for my phone to ask my assistant for a much-needed cup, the name popping up made me drop the device to my desk.

Jarman.

The sight of that name alone unearthed the emotions I’d fought tooth and nail to bury.

I stared at the screen as if it were the embodiment of all my hurt. That name, Shane Jarman, carried with it memories of a life I had once known, a life I had left behind when I fled Canada. But it wasn't just a life I had abandoned—it was a part of me.

As I gazed at the blinking screen, I couldn't help but remember the day I had walked away. I didn’t know that I was just leaving him behind that night—but I was leaving behind a piece of me that he no longer desired.

The shrill ring of my desk phone pierced the heavy silence, momentarily offering me a respite from the suffocating tension. With a shaky exhale, I dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, I could finally catch my breath, even if it meant just for a fleeting moment.

But before I could even contemplate reaching for either phone, a sharp knock on my office door yanked me back to the present with a jolt. Panic surged through my veins at the mere thought of Jarman reaching out to me.

My father's Tom Ford clad figure filled the doorway, his once vibrant blond hair peppered with streaks of gray. As I met his gaze, a strange sense of déjà vu washed over me, as if I were staring into a distorted reflection of my own future.

I shook it off, forcing myself to suppress my emotions and focus on the present.

"Got that file for you, Elias," he remarked, a proud smile etched upon his lips. "I received excellent feedback from Parker and Sons on your recent proposal. They're eager to move forward."

I simply nodded in acknowledgment, the lump in my throat rendering me speechless.

"Elias, I know I've been preoccupied lately, but I hope you understand how proud I am of you," my father continued, an odd air of sincerity in his voice. "You've turned your life around, grown into a remarkable man. You make me proud to call you, my son."

His heartfelt words didn’t do anything to break through the thick fog of numbness that had settled over me. With a forced smile, I murmured my thanks, my hand outstretched for the folder he held.

"Are you alright, Elias?" he inquired, his concern palpable. A brief expression crossed my father’s face, a flickier of concern. And I swallowed against the threat of word vomit

With a forced serenity, I replied, "Yes, Dad. I'm fine. Just need to get this proposal done."

He observed me for a moment, just briefly, but it was enough to make me fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. Then, he set the file on my desk and quietly slipped from the room. I sighed with relief, my mask slipping as I dropped into my chair. With a sharp inhale, I turned toward the towering glass window that loomed behind me, the cityscape stretching out before me like a sprawling labyrinth of possibilities and pitfalls.

I speared my trembling hands through my hair, letting out a raw, guttural scream that was muffled by the soundproof walls. It was a pathetic release, a desperate attempt to expel the turmoil churning within me.

But as quickly as the wave of emotion had overtaken me, I righted myself, straightening my suit and adjusting my tie. With a few passes of my fingers through my hair, I smoothed down the unruly strands.

A cold, steadying sip of water kept the tears at bay, and I could finally focus on the task at hand. In this world of cut throat ambition and relentless pressure, there was no room for weakness. And so, with a resolute determination, I plunged back into the fray, burying my feelings yet again beneath a veneer of unyielding composure.

Hours later, I glanced at the time—I’d finished my proposal early. With a thought in mind I got up and went into my father’s office.

“Elias, how can I help you,” my father beamed at me.

“Here’s the proposal.” I tossed the folder onto his desk. “I’m heading home for lunch. Jenna wasn't feeling too good this morning so I’ve arranged to get some chicken soup from her favorite restaurant.”

My father 's smile brightened. “You’re a good man, son. Thank you for getting this done so quickly. I'll review it and let you know how it is.”

I made my way to the restaurant with a new pep in my step. Jenna had been the one constant since I decided to “clean up my act.” Coming home to her every day, making her happy were the only things I looked forward to at the end of every day. It was like one day I just woke up and realized that the life I had was getting me nowhere. Now I was making a living and had a beautiful girl at my side. It's all my family ever wanted for me.

The chill of November hung heavy in the air as I trudged homeward, clutching a container of soup in one hand and a fresh bouquet of lilies—Jenna’s favorite, in the other. The cold, biting wind whipped at my face, a bitter reminder of the season's harsh embrace. With each step, the weight on my shoulders grew heavier—the weight of my job, of my obligations to Jenna.

As I reached our apartment, the dim, muted light filtering through the windows cast a somber pall over the space. It was a stark contrast to the warmth and comfort I had hoped to find within. A sense of unease settled over me like a heavy cloak, gnawing at my insides.

Stepping inside, I was met with an eerie silence that seemed to reverberate through the empty rooms. With a sinking heart, I made my way towards our bedroom, the sound of Jenna's muffled groans reaching my ears, sending a jolt of panic coursing through my veins.

I pushed open the door, my mind already racing with thoughts of rushing Jenna to the doctor, thinking that the only source of my distress would be her being deathly ill.

But I couldn’t have prepared myself for the sight that greeted me.

They hadn’t even registered my presence, oblivious to the shattered remnants of my world fracturing around them. My breath caught in my throat, a strangled gasp escaping me as I watched in disbelief, frozen in place as if caught in a nightmare .

The only sound in the room was the container of soup hitting the floor, the scalding liquid searing my flesh a welcome distraction from the agony of betrayal. The burn was nothing compared to the searing ache in my chest as I watched Jenna's head pressed into the pillows, moans of pleasure tearing through me. Moans I’d never heard before.

In that moment, I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

“The fuck…”Words finally fell out of my mouth and they both stiffened. The man—who probably had the muscle mass I used to—turned to me wide eyed, his full head of hair whipping around him. I recognised him to be one of the men from the art show I organized over that weekend. One of the ones she fake flirted with for a sale.

Which apparently was as fake as the expensive extensions I paid for.

Jenna had the decency to look equally shocked.

“Both of you get your shit and leave.” Even I was impressed with how I was able to keep my cool. Mouse was gone. He ceased to exist.

“Eli…” Jenna sobbed, wrapping herself up in our now soiled sheets.

“Don’t. We’re done. Just leave. I'll have your shit packed and sent to you.”I angled myself away from her, making myself clear and steering her toward the front door.

“Please…You don't understand.”

I sighed. I was through with people thinking I didn’t understand. I wanted to scream at myself for once again finding happiness in others. Because at the end of it all, I was left alone.

“Understand what Jen? How you cheated on me?”

She grabbed a piece of clothing, scrambling to stand in front of me, eyes pleading. Jarman’s hoodie. I snatched it from her, not caring that she’d be left exposed. No matter how badly he’d hurt me, that hoodie was mine .

“You don't…you barely have sex with me. You barely touch me.”

I wondered if I’d ever reach a point where adulthood would stop hurling blows at me. I stood there looking at her and the other guy that was now dressed in a pair of rumpled jeans, hovering in the corner of the room. I moved aside letting him pass and ignoring his mumbled apologies. I took in Jenna's mussed hair and sad expression wondering where the hell I went wrong. It felt like all I did was try—for her!

I was so fucking exhausted

“We have date night every week,” I defended as if that was enough. I hadn't had energy for more than that. To my credit, I didn't know what to expect in a relationship—Jenna was my first. Apparently, like everything, I was fucking ignorant.

“Eli, the sex feels like it's transactional. I… I love you. You have the sweetest heart and have everything on paper, but I feel like you love the idea of me. You don’t love me. ”

I was frozen in place. Of course, I loved her. I loved her in every way possible. I thought she was beautiful. Transactional. The word rang in my head, taunting me like another cross against my name.

"Forget it. I'm going out. By the time I get home, I expect all your things to be out of this apartment. Understand?" My voice was cold, anger simmering just beneath the surface as I laid down the ultimatum.

"Mouse..." Jenna's pleading voice trailed after me, but I refused to acknowledge her. I turned and walked away, leaving her standing amidst the wreckage of our shattered lives.

I managed to hold it together until I stepped into the cool night air. Only then did the tears threaten to fall—But I refused to give in to the pain, I pushed forward with a determination born of desperation.

With each step, the remnants of my old life fell away, leaving behind nothing but emptiness. The soup plastered my trousers all that was left, but I pressed on, the lights of the city flickering in the distance like distant beacons guiding me forward .

I kept going until I reached a department store. With numb fingers, I selected a new change of clothes, shedding the remnants of my old life with each discarded piece of fabric.

I kept going until I found myself standing in front of a real estate agent's office, the promise of a fresh start beckoning me forward. I put my apartment up for rent, desperate to sever every tie to the past.

I secured another apartment—as is—fully furnished and ready for me to move into. I accepted the keys, the weight of them heavy in my palm as I made my way to my new sanctuary.

I collapsed onto the unfamiliar bed, the tears that I’d been holding back finally breaking free. In the solitude of my new home—if you could call it that—I allowed myself to grieve, to mourn the loss of what once was, and to steel myself for the uncertain future that lay ahead.