The Hockey Star’s Remorse

Chapter 111

Late into the night, the dimly lit law firm’s office felt like a world of its own. The phones had stopped ringing, and the persistent hum of the fluorescent lights was the only sound that accompanied my solitude. | had been engrossed in settling a client's domestic dispute, and it was during these late hours that | found myself wrestling with the complicated depths of human relationships.

The client, Hannah, had been my focus for the past hour. Her voice, trembling with a mix of sadness and frustration, poured through the phone as we discussed the possibilities of her divorce.

“He just won't let me breathe, Evie,” Hannah's words trembled, like fragile glass on the brink of shattering. “Every moment of my life, he’s there, hovering, as if he can’t stand to be apart from me.”

| leaned forward, my brow furrowed with empathy, even though she couldn’t see me. “Hannah, I’m here for you. Let's talk through this. Can you tell me more about what's been happening last night?”

Hannah’s voice carried the weight of her emotions, a burden she had likely been carrying for a long time. “He came home and he...my friend was just delivering the supplies that | needed for my craft project. George, of course, he’s a guy so Bill go. really upset and started making assumptions...”

My heart ached as | listened to Hannah confess her heartbreak. She admitted to feeling suffocated by her husband’s constant jealousy. After attempting to beat her friend Bill last night, Hannah had decided enough was enough.

“I'm so sorry you’re going through this, Hannah,” | said softly. “Let’s try to figure out the best steps for you.”

Hannah’s sigh was laden with exhaustion. “I love him, Evie, | really do. But | need room to breathe, to be my own person. At this point, | don’t think he'll ever trust me enough to let me just be free.”

Free. What I'd give for my own freedom in times like these. “I don’t think you’re wrong for wanting those things, Hannah.”

Hannah laughed suddenly, though it was tinged with bitterness. “He thinks he’s doing it because he loves me, but | don’t feel loved.”

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Hearing Hannah’s words, | couldn’t help but recall the countless times | had tried to assert myself, to set boundaries with those who sought to invade my personal space and dictate my life. It had often felt like shouting into the void, my pleas for understanding falling on deaf ears.

“Hannah,” | said gently, “it’s essential for both partners in a relationship to have their own space and independence. Love should never feel suffocating; it should be liberating.”

Hannab’s sigh held a mixture of resignation and longing. “I know, Evie. | just don’t know how to make him see that. I’m afraid of hurting him, but | can’t continue like

this.”

“Let's take it one step at a time, Hannah,” | offered. “If you don’t want to consider couples counseling we'll just have to be firm in your stance on a divorce, okay?”

Once our conversation concluded, | sat back in my chair, the weight of Hannah’s story lingering in the quiet office. Her plight had stirred something within me, something dark. Whether it was media attention or a clingy spouse, it seemed like the world never gave up on making someone suffer.

The dimly lit law firm office had fallen into a heavy silence as | sat hunched over my desk late into the night, the remnants of paperwork strewn about. Solving a client's domestic dispute was far from glamorous, but it didn’t come nearly as much scandal. Strangely enough, it felt like the break that | needed.

As | reviewed case notes, a hushed presence approached me from behind. | could sense someone standing near my desk, and a cold shiver ran down my spine. Turning my head slightly, | found my Mr. Erickson leaning in close.

His graying hair was impeccably combed, and his eyes held a gaze that was all too unsettling. “Evie,” his voice was a barely audible murmur, “You're still here.”

| cleared my throat a | gathered some of my papers together, pushing them into al neat stack. “Um, yeah, | had to finish up some stuff before | left. | guess it’s pretty late.”

He nodded, thankfully appeased by this explanation. Of course, it didn’t curb the rest of his curiosity. “I couldn’t help but notice you in the news recently.”

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A

“In the news, sir?” | asked, taking on a quizzical look. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Mr. Erickson moved even closer, and the scent of his overpowering cologne filled. the air. His hand brushed lightly against the edge of my desk before drifting through my hair. It was a touch that made my skin crawl.

“Evie,” he whispered, his lips dangerously close to my ear, “you must be under so much stress. How do you manage?”

| tried shrinking away, but his meaty fingers had already entangled themselves in my hair and taken on a tight grip. “I manage just fine.”

“Do you, now?” He leaned closer and | trembled as his face came close enough for the stubble on his chin to scratch my jaw. “Let me help you ease that tension away.”Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

A mixture of fear and disgust welled up within me. | had always considered Mr. Erickson a mentor and a respected figure in the firm. Claiming that he was always sensible was a stretch, but this was a development that | couldn’t quite comprehend.

| leaned back, putting distance between us, my voice firm but shaking with anger. “I appreciate the concern, sir, but | can handle my own stress.”

Mr. Erickson’s demeanor shifted, his voice taking on a sinister edge. “You know, Evie, if you were involved with a taken man like Timothy Hayes, it's no wonder you're in the news. People like you, attention—seekers, always find a way to make headlines.”

His insinuation cut deep, and | felt my cheeks flush with anger. “Mr. Erickson, | don’t appreciate your comments about my personal life. Timothy was my client, and there’s nothing more to it.”

Mr. Erickson’s gaze turned predatory as he leaned closer once more, his voice a menacing whisper. “Perhaps you should consider getting involved with someone who can offer you more, someone like me.”

The audacity of his proposition left me speechless. It was a line that should never have been crossed, and my mind raced, searching for a way to make him. understand the gravity of his actions.

“| think you should reconsider, Mr. Erickson,” | said hastily. “If Timothy and | are as close as you claim we are, I’m sure he wouldn't appreciate hearing about your

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advances.”

Mr. Erickson’s expression darkened, and he scoffed at my words. “You're deluding yourself if you think he cares about someone like you.”

I clenched my jaw. “You don’t know anything.”

“| don’t?” he barked out a laugh, throwing his head back for effect. “Well, | know that he’s a taken man. Looks like your free meal ticket just expired!”

Slowly, his words started to process in my mind. A taken man.... He couldn’t have been talking about Timothy, right?

| knew | had to act decisively. Without another word, | pushed my chair back, rising to my feet. The door to Mr. Erickson’s office slammed shut behind me as | stormed out. | needed to escape his suffocating presence, to find a moment of respite.

In the women’s restroom, | sequestered myself in one of the stalls, my heart racing as | contemplated the ordeal | had just endured. | splashed cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the lingering feeling of violation.

As | stood there, my emotions in turmoil, | couldn’t help but reach for my phone. It was a reflexive action, a desperate attempt to escape the harsh reality that awaited me. With a trembling hand, | unlocked the device and opened the news

app.

The headlines were ablaze with news of Timothy Hayes, and my heart sank as | read the words that confirmed my worst fears. The media was buzzing with rumors and speculation, all pointing to a budding relationship between the hockey star and his new lover.

“This Just In: Beloved Hockey Star Timothy Hayes Is In Love with Stella Fitzgerald!”