The Hot Hockey Player

Chapter 22 - Madeline 🌸

It's only when I reach the showers that I find William. The steady patter of water kind of helped and I use it to mask my footsteps. He's sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, the streaming down on him. He's still fully dressed in his hockey gear, skates off but everything else on. His head is buried in his arms, knees pulled tightly to his chest. His breath are heavy, uneven, ragged almost. The sight couldn't be more heartbreaking.

He doesn't notice me at first, simply because he can't. He's drowning in his own panic. I approach slowly, making sure I don't startle him. The last thing I want is to trigger something in him. When I'm close enough, just a step away, I call his name softly, "William ?"

He lifts his head at the sound of my voice and at the sight of his tears mixed with the water from the shower, I can't help my own tears welling up. 

Without an ounce of hesitation, I move closer to him and wrap my arms around him, a gesture I want reassuring. At first, he resists and tries to free himself but I know he has more strength than I do, so if he really wanted to escape, he would have. But he doesn't. Eventually, he stops fighting back. His hands clutch weakly at my sides, and then they drop entirely. 

Once I'm sure he won't try to escape, I sit down next to him, the cold water from the shower soaking through my clothes.  I think the shower is broken because the water won't stop, but I don't care. None of that matters right now. I let him cry, as I struggle not to do so myself because none of this is about me. His sobs rack his entire body so I finally decide to extend my arms around his shoulders and rest one hand gently on the back of his head, my fingers softly brushing his damp hair. My other arm quickly find his back and I hold him firmly, keeping him anchored. I don't speak. I don't say anything. What could I possibly say ? Words aren't needed, aren't required. He just needs someone to be here. To hold him. To let him cry. 

And he just does that. His sobs come in waves, loud at first then much quieter as the minutes pass. Once I'm sure some tension left his body, I pull back, felling his exhaustion as I look him in the eyes. 

Now, talking is inevitable. I won't be able to sleep if I don't try to understand what went wrong tonight. Even more because of what I heard Adams say to Jude. I don't believe for one moment that William is a murderer. He can be guilty of many things but not of a murder. And I can guess that's what Adams told William the first time. Explaining why William went all rogue on him.

"Are you okay ?" I ask softly, the same question I had when I found him at Union Station. And I hope this time he'll answer me truthfully.

"No. No I'm not," he says, his voice raw. 

"I know," I reply gently, "but everything's gonna' be alright. Do you want to talk about it ?"

He lets his head fall back against the wall, resuming the posture I found him in earlier, except his head is no longer buried between his knees. He chuckles bitterly, eyes closed and shakes his head, "Are you some kind of shrink ?"

I chuckle along with him, trying to ease the tension,"No I'm not. I'm majoring in journalism."

"You might want to reconsider your career's choice," he says with a small smirk. 

I won't say the thought hasn't cross my mind these past few weeks but it's a topic for another time. "Maybe one day." I reply. "Do you want to talk about it."

His smirks fades and he's looking towards the wall, contemplating my question. For just one moment, I thought he was going to avoid the question, but eventually, he gives up. "I'm sorry for punching Jude, I didn't mean to. I just... I didn't see him behind me and when I felt his hands on me, I... I panicked."