38. Sean

38

Sean

The shadows in the room stretch and twist as my eyes snap open, trying to make sense of the dim light seeping through the blinds.

I'm not on that cold, dark street anymore, but the echo of that night—the gun cold against my back, the robber's harsh whispers—still rings loud in my ears.

In my dream, I was back there, reliving the moment that nearly ended me. But this time, I fought back, my body reacting with a rush of adrenaline that I could almost taste. I turned on my attacker, my hands finding the gun as if guided by some unseen force. The power shift was palpable, intoxicating even. I pushed him, hard, the fear turning to triumph in the blink of an eye.

I jolt awake, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding like I've just skated three overtime periods back-to-back.

But the triumph is short-lived. A sharp shriek slices through my dream-induced heroics, yanking me back to a harsh reality. The sound is too real, too right now. I blink, confusion clearing as I realize it's not the thief's voice echoing in my head—it's Aubrey's.

My heart drops to my stomach as I turn to see her, not at my side where she should be, but on the floor. Horror floods through me as the scene comes into focus—Aubrey, on the ground, clutching her arm, her expression one of shock and pain. In my panicked state, I'd shoved her off the bed, mistaking her for the threat in my nightmare.

"Aubrey!" I'm out of the bed in an instant, my previous injuries forgotten as I drop to her side. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" My voice is frantic, my hands hovering over her, afraid to touch, to make things worse.

She winces, her breath catching as she tries to sit up. "I... I think so. Just scared me more than anything." Her attempt to laugh it off doesn't fool me, not with the way she's rubbing her shoulder.

I help her up, my mind racing with apologies and explanations. "It was a dream—I didn't mean to—God, I'm so sorry."

She nods, still trying to catch her breath, still trying to smile. "I know, I know. Just maybe warn me next time you plan on taking down bad guys in your sleep."

Mortified, I bolt for the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

My heart's racing like I've just scored the winning goal in overtime, but this isn't a game. Locking the door with a click that sounds more like a gunshot in the quiet, I lean against it, breathing hard. What the hell was I thinking?

My heart is hammering against my ribs, each beat a loud echo of the mistake I've made. How could I have shoved her? Even in a nightmare-induced panic, how could I let that happen?

I stand there, alone in the bathroom, my breath shallow, my hands trembling. The mirror in front of me throws back an image I can hardly stand to look at—a man who's just hurt the person he loves because he couldn't control a damn dream.

There's a soft, persistent knocking at the door. "Sean? Please, open up. Let's talk about it," Aubrey calls, her voice laced with concern—not just for herself, but for me. And that just makes it worse. I shouldn't be adding to her worries. I shouldn't be the cause of any fear.

Unable to face her just yet, I turn to the medicine cabinet, opening it with a sense of defeat. Inside, the sleeping pills and anti-anxiety meds sit neatly aligned, promises of escape from the guilt gnawing at me.

Without thinking, I grab a couple of pills, throw them back, and chase them down with water from the sink. Anything to calm the storm inside, to stop the shaking, to erase the image of Aubrey on the floor.

I gaze back at my reflection, seeing the strain in my eyes, the tight set of my jaw.

"Get it together, Sean," I mutter to myself. But the man staring back doesn't seem convinced. He looks lost, like he's spiraling down a path he never wanted to tread.

Aubrey's voice comes through the door again, softer this time, "Sean, whatever it is, we can work through it. You're not alone."

Her words pierce the fog of panic and shame. I lean against the sink, taking deep breaths, trying to piece myself back together for her, for Luke. She's right; I'm not alone—not unless I choose to shut her out.

With a heavy sigh, I unlock the door and open it, ready to face her, to apologize, to explain. No more hiding, no more running.

I crack the door open, inch by inch, bracing myself for the confrontation. But instead of the firestorm I expect, I'm met with a wave of concern washing over Aubrey's features. The sight disarms me, strips the cockiness right off, leaving me just... raw.

“You… you OK?” My eyes flick down to her arm.

“I’m fine. Just shaken up. Never been woken up quite like that before.”

A beat of silence. “I’m sorry, Aub. I… I don’t know what came over me. It was a dream, like I said. I was back when the robbery happened, and…”

She cuts me off, placing her hand on my shoulder. Her touch calms me instantly.

"Have you ever talked to anyone about that night? Like a therapist?" Aubrey's voice is soft but insistent, her eyes scanning my face for the truth.

I shuffle uncomfortably, leaning against the door frame. "No," I admit, the word feeling heavier than it should. "Never really thought it was necessary."

She steps closer, her presence soothing despite the chaos of the night. "Maybe it's time," she suggests gently. "It could help you deal with the nightmares. And, who knows, it might even improve your game, not just our life here."

I'm hesitant, but her earnest look convinces me she's not just throwing out suggestions—she's genuinely concerned. "You think a shrink can help me score more goals?" I try to joke, but even to my ears, it sounds forced.

Aubrey doesn't miss a beat. "Maybe not directly, but being mentally sound? It can only help, right? Being your best self on and off the ice," she reasons, her hand finding mine, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Yeah, maybe you're right," I concede, feeling the fight drain out of me. "Could you set it up? I don't even know where to start with something like that."

"Of course, I will," she promises, her smile giving me a glimpse of the woman I fell for all those years ago. "And I'll be here, every step of the way."

As she speaks, it's like the weight starts to lift from my shoulders—not all of it, but enough to let me breathe a little easier.

Maybe talking to someone wouldn't be the worst idea. If it could help stop nights like this from happening, it might just be worth a shot.