Page 3 of The Other Side of Wild
Cute is an understatement. That man is gorgeous. He’s at least 6 feet tall and a wall of solid muscle. At least, that’s what it felt like when he ran into me. I’ve never bought into Dream Guys, but this guy could be the male version of Pamela Anderson’s Baywatch posters. His chestnut brown hair was sticking out from the back of his helmet, and those eyes. They could give the Caribbean Ocean a run for its money. Stubble coated his cheeks in a way that accented his already sharp jaw. There’s a good possibility he could cut glass with that thing. What had me questioning my sanity was his smile. His teeth were so white and impossibly straight. And here I thought all hockey players were missing some teeth. I stand corrected.
Chapter 2 – Greyson
I didn’t think today could get any more frustrating when I left my house this morning. Yet here we are. It’s one of those days where I woke up feeling like I had a storm cloud following my every move. Sometimes, my dark days have no rhyme or reason. Today, though, that wasn’t the case. I got a text from Kara, my ex-girlfriend, last night. The one I haven’t heard from in the year I’ve been back in Florida. Just another reminder that I tend to obsess, fall a bit too fast, and ignore all the flaming red flags in the process.
Not only has my head been a mess since, but then we get hit with the news that we need to do an interview after practice. An overwhelmed Greyson doesn’t fare well for anyone. Before I could bite my teammates’ heads off in the locker room, I bolted out the door, determined to skate off my mood before they caught up. Instead, I ran straight into someone. Not only did I snap at the little woman, but I also knocked her over. It’s like the universe is conspiring against me.How can we get Greyson to lose all his marbles today?
Of course, Reed hasn’t shut up about it since. “You gonna take out all the reporters on game day too?” I roll my eyes and keep skating. On the ice is where I focus best; it’s where the outside world falls away, and I can simply exist as me. Where the darkness gets benched, even if it’s just for a bit. It’s what curbs the anger that comes out of hiding when I get overwhelmed or feel cornered. Today, that seems to be a bit more of a feat.
Grabbing a puck, I skate up the right side of the ice and slip it into the top left of the goal. Our goalie, Nate Andrews, lets out a stringof curses for not seeing that one coming. I shake my head and skate towards the bench where Coach Stevens just appeared with his clipboard. He runs us through four different drills before blowing his whistle and calling us back to the bench.
“Alright, children, that’s enough for now. Hit the showers before going to your interviews. Be kind, don’t be gross, and for the love of all that is holy, keep it PG. This is a family-friendly interview.” There’s a chorus of groans mixed with “Yes, coach.”
We know the media is part of the deal, but that doesn’t mean we have to like it. Most interviewers ask the same questions, and most of us have an arsenal of answers we’ve scripted over the years. We say a lot of words without actually saying anything, and most reporters only want the answer to one question: “What went wrong?” or “What’s next,” depending on the outcome of the game.
I shower, change my clothes then head to the owner’s box where the interviews are being held. Reed is already inside, sitting in a chair across from Hannah. He says something that makes them laugh; she leans into the arm of the chair she’s in and runs her fingers over one eyebrow. There’s a pull inside me like a fish caught on a hook; suddenly, I’m walking into the room before they’re done. Standing off to the side a bit, I take a moment to really look at her.
Her eyes held me hostage earlier. They’re hazel, mostly green, with a brown outer ring. The most captivating part, though, is the two brown specks in the middle of the green in her right eye. But what caught me off guard was her quick reaction time and witty sense of humor. And, of course, her commitment to saving her coffee. Because priorities, duh.
“Mr. Wilder,” she drawls, breaking me from the bubble I was in. I was totally checking her out, and she caught me. Busted. Reed walks out the door, giving me a quick clap on the back as he goes.
“Umm, Hi. How are you? Sorry for earlier.” She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest as she smiles.
“It’s fine, really. I’m doing well. Thanks for taking the time to meet with me. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to ask some random questions. It’ll give the fans a bit of an inside look at the personalities behind their favorite players. It’s a new angle my boss wants to try out between the local sports teams this season.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s a great idea. Okay, hit me. What’s Question One?” I settled into the large black leather chair that Reed had just been in. She grabs her iPad and a pencil-looking thing, tapping a few times before she asks her first question.
“When did you start playing hockey?” Smiling, I recall the picture of my dad and me sitting in my parent’s house when I first started to learn to skate, a pair of skates attached to my feet and my hands held in his to keep me balanced.
“My parents put me in skates when I was 2, but I didn’t start playing hockey until I was 5. My dad played for the league, so it was something we’ve done together for as long as I can remember.” Something that looked a lot like longing crossed her face, but as quick as it was there, it was gone.
“Okay, next question. If you could be any animal, what would you be?” She asks without looking up from where she’s writing.
“Hmm, a jellyfish. Sometimes, I wish I could just boundlessly float through life and shock people when they get too close.” She pauses her writing and puts the end of the pencil in her mouthas she looks up at me like she’s trying to connect the dots. But she won't. I'm far too jacked up to piece together.
“Hockey players are known to be a bit superstitious; do you have any superstitions?” I chuckle because she’s not wrong. We’re some of the most superstitious people on the planet. I could write you a book on all the superstitions teammates have had over the years.
“Yeah, I have to put my left skate on first, and I have to have three gummy bears immediately before getting on the ice. One red, one green, one yellow.” To me, it’s no big deal. It’s just the flow of things on game day—a habit at this point.
Her back straightens, and her head tilts slightly to the side, making her long hair fall in front of one shoulder. She asks, “Three gummy bears? That’s it? Why just three?” Her eyes locked on mine as she waited for my answer, and she raised her eyebrows when I took too long to respond.
I put my pointer finger up to my mouth, tapping it a few times to pretend like I’m thinking. “I’m not sure. Four seems like too many, and two seems like I’m selling myself short. Three is the perfect number.” She tries to hide her smile behind her wall of hair, but I caught it. And I’d be a damn liar if I said it didn’t inflate my ego a bit.
She asks several more questions ranging from “If you weren’t a hockey player, what would you be,” and “If you could have any superpower, what would you pick?” But my favorite was when she ended the interview by asking, “What do you want the fans of The Tampa Bay Hawks to know about you?”
It’s a question no other interviewer has ever bothered asking. “I’d like the fans of Tampa Bay to know that this is my hometown. I grew up here. This has always been my home team. To some, itmay just be hockey, but I’d like to use my position here to not only bring a cup back but to make a difference in the lives of those in our community.” Her megawatt smile and the gleam in her eye told me how much she appreciated my answer.
An hour later, I’m walking to my car when I hear “Hey Wilder!” called from somewhere behind me. I turn and see our physical therapist, Abby, walking towards me. Confused, I run through my schedule for the day, trying to figure out if I have an appointment I forgot about.
“Hey Abby, what’s up?” I hike my bag up higher on my shoulder as she gets closer. The last thing I want is to be on our medical staff's bad side, they can keep you off the ice for the smallest of things. Before my mind can spiral any further, she speaks up.
“Some of the guys, Hannah and I, are going to go grab burgers and a beer at The Tap Room. Would you like to come with us?” I should decline, but the idea of going home to wallow in self-pity sounds like an awful way to spend the day.
“Yeah, sure, I could eat. Meet you there?” It feels like this tiny blonde woman is looking into my soul at the moment. Trying to hide any part of myself that I can, I shove my hands into my pockets and clear my throat.
As she turns to leave, a slow smile crosses her face. She starts to walk to her car, throwing her reply over her shoulder as she goes: "Yep, see you there, Wilder."
Walking into The Tap Room, I spot a few of the guys in the back corner. They wave me back when they see me. “Hey, Bulldozer, want a beer?” Andrews asks with a smirk as I get to the table. Great, here come more jokes at my expense.