Page 35 of The Other Side of Wild
Reed smirks, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “He’s not scared of carbs; he’s scared of commitment. Watch, he’ll order a salad with no dressing.”
Samuels’ arms go flying, “Oh, come on! I ordered a salad with no dressing once, and you’ve turned it into a personality trait.”
“Dude, you asked for a side of lemon so that you could ‘control the calories, ’” Warner cracks up, as does the rest of the table.
Before another word could be said, a girl walks over; she’s totally his type. Long brown hair, light brown eyes, curves in all the right places. I internally roll my eyes at the fact that I know what my captain’s “type” is. “Hey guys, I’m Selina, what can I.... Oh.” She stops, a blush creeping up her face when she meets Reed’s gaze. He has one eyebrow raised as if to ask her why she stopped talking; I’ve never seen him so still. It’s almost like he’s scared she’ll bolt if he does.
She pulls her lip in between her teeth, blinking at us a few times before continuing. “What can I get you guys?” Reed orders first, then clasps his hands under his chin and watches her with a ghost of a smile on his lips as she takes the rest of our orders. Her pen flies furiously across the pad she’s holding, eyebrows pulled tight in concentration. She is all kinds of flustered; it’s as endearing as it is awkward.
“Dude, are you going to propose, too?” Andrews asks with amusement. He gets a napkin thrown at him in response, but it seems to break Reed out of the trance he was in. The conversation quickly picks up to our game, what strategy we think might work best, and how the cold and the gloom of Washington might affect how we play. And so on.
Our food gets dropped off, and we all dive in like the bottomless pits we are. I’m about to take a bite when the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Setting my fork down, I straightened up, looking around the café for what could be causing the abrupt change. I see nothing, but I’m still unsettled. I can’t afford not to eat before a game. Despite the growing knot in my stomach, I push through until my plate is empty. I’ve withdrawn from the conversation; luckily, the guys have decided to gang up on the lovestruck fool, so my sudden change in demeanor isn’t noticed.
It's moments like this that I’m more than happy that I was physically removed from Washington. I don’t know that I would have gotten out had I not been. I let a woman into my deepest, darkest places, and she not only extorted it, but she turned our entire relationship into psychological warfare. Knowing my struggle, she did everything she could to keep me toeing the line between being okay and slipping into darkness, knowing I wanted to start a family, and then using that as leverage when I tried to break things off.
Sometimes, I wonder if I would have gotten better had I not landed myself in that situation. One that stripped me bare of everything I thought I was, everything I thought I knew about myself. I wonder if I would be lightyears ahead of where I am now in terms of getting stronger mentally. Instead, my already defunct brain was put through military-grade degrading. But here, at this moment, I feel lighter. The hold she had on me is a little less. I can trust myself and my judgment again. It feels good.
“Alright, pretty boys, it’s time to put our game faces on. Do what you need to do, go take a nap. Have a nice bath, watch a movie, foam roll, I don’t know. Whatever your pre-game routine is, go do it and come to the ice ready to kick some ass!” Monroe calls, pulling me from the dissociation I had slipped into. This is it; it’s game time.
Sitting on the locker room bench, I clench my hands until my nails dig into my palms. My leg is restlessly bouncing as I listen to my pre-game playlist. Right when my breathing starts to pick up, my phone vibrates; I smile as I read the first text.
Hannah: Good luck, Dozer. You got this! Abby and I are cheering you on from here. ??
Greyson: Thanks, Kitten. I got my collar and my gummy bears. Ready to roll.
Hannah: Ahh, you’ve got your battle gear. ??for good luck.
Greyson: Best pre-game text ever. My goals tonight are for you. ??
Hannah: You’re sweet, Wilder.
Greyson: Talk to you after, Kitten.
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My parents are here; they knew I’d need a bit of extra support. Anytime they come to a game, I feel like I get a proverbial kick in the butt. Additional motivation to do well, but knowing Hannah is home watching, it’s like someone put a jetpack on me and said fly. I put my left skate on first, wrapped the collar around my right ankle before putting my shin guard in place, pulled up my sock, and tapped it.
When we’re all dressed, sticks taped up, and ready to go, Coach Stevens comes in and gives us the usual away game pep talk. I find myself nodding along to what he’s saying; soon, he’s done, and it’s Captain Reed’s turn to hype us up. And boy, does he; I’m bouncing on my skates, adrenaline flowing through my body, and I’m honed in. I have a great feeling about this game; we’re going to crush it. This team, these guys, we’re a family. And we sure as hell show up as one.
A wide grin spreads across my face as the national anthem ends. My chest feels light, my vision tunnels and my mind goes quiet. It’s pure bliss, the real reason I play hockey. My opponents they’re my demons in human form. I work out my issues here, on the ice. Depression who? I just slam that sucker into the boards until it has no legs to stand on. Anxiety? Panic attacks? Nope, just a rubber puck I plan to smack as hard as I can, sending it away from me and into the net.
Coach Stevens calls our line, and Reed, Monroe, and I hop over the boards and skate toward the puck. The Cascades are putting on quite the show; unfortunately for them, I know the script. I anticipate the play they make when the puck gets into our zone and quickly swipe it from their center, shooting itdown the ice into the neutral zone.
Reed circles back while Monroe is at my left as we cross the blue line into Cascade territory. He grabs the puck, sending it into the boards. It slides right to Reed’s stick, and he fakes a pass back to Monroe but sends it to me at the last second instead. I almost missed it, the puck hitting my skate. I kicked my foot out, and the puck miraculously made it past the goalie's left foot into the goal.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” I hear right before I’m pushed into the boards by my teammates. Throwing my head back, I let out a belly laugh that shakes the last little bit of unease out of me. What a goal, a freaking lucky goal. I point at the camera and wink as I skate back to the bench, hoping Hannah knows that it was for her. I look behind me to see my mom jumping up and down frantically, clapping her hands while my dad has a smile on his face that screams, “I’m so proud of you.” It’s all the ammunition I need to make this one of the best games I’ve ever played in my entire career.
By the end of the first period, we’re up 2-0; we’re hoping we can win this game as a shutout. The locker room is loud; the entire team is wired. It’s our first away game this season, and we’re playing seamlessly; all the time we’ve spent perfecting our line changes is really paying off.
Quick on, quick off, allowing as little time as possible for the opposing team to get the upper hand. The 20-minute intermission goes by in a flash, and we’re back on the ice. Samuels ended up scoring one more in the second period, and I scored one more in the third. Taking our final score to 4-0, it’s something to celebrate.
After a quick shower, I got dressed in the game-day suit I had come here in and headed out to meet my parents. I ignore the press because I have zero desire to talk about my past in Washington and how it felt to play my prior team. Luckily, Coach doesn’t make me; with Monroe and Samuels scoring goals, too, they take over post-game interviews.
My mom eagerly waits down the corridor, and when she sees me, she takes off. Jumping at me like a spider monkey, I quickly drop my bag so I can catch her. “I’m so proud of you, honey; you played great!” She’s rubbing my back, and I’m aware of the camera shutters around me; I’ll be painted as a mama’s boy by midnight. I can’t find it in me to care right now, though. I’mhappy.
My dad comes up behind me and claps me on the back, squeezing my shoulder. His eyes gleam, and I feel like I can take a full breath for the first time since we landed in Washington. I don’t play for his praise or for his benefit, but I’d be a straight-up liar if I said seeing him proud of me doesn’t boost my confidence. I feel stronger and more satisfied when I get to share these wins with him.
He wraps one arm around my shoulder, the other around my mom, and we walk out as a unit, “That first goal was one in a million, son; that was some quick thinking. I’ll be showing that one off for the rest of my days.” He says it loud enough for anyone in the general area to hear it, the smug dude.