Page 36 of The Other Side of Wild
I drop my bag off at the team bus and tell the team I’m going to skip out on tonight’s celebration in favor of hanging out with my parents. They bust my balls a bit, considering they live fifteen minutes from me, and I see them on a weekly basis. I’m just not in the party mood; I haven’t been in years. A nice, quiet dinner with those close to me is my favorite way to celebrate. Plus, we have another game in two days, and my almost thirty-year-old self doesn’t need or want to be nursing a hangover tomorrow.
––––––––
Hopping in my parents’ rental car, I don’t even get my seatbelt on before my mom starts firing off questions. “Did Hannah watch this game? Is she actually supportive of you?”
“Mom.” I pinch the bridge of my nose as I take a deep breath. This is not how I wanted to spend my night. Celebrate with a nice dinner? Yes. Listen to my mom doubt the woman I can’t stop thinking about. No. “I called Hannah in the middle of a panic attack last night; she talked me through it. If you don’t consider that supportive, I don’t know what to tell you.” She sighed, and my dad met my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“But she just left the other day. She didn’t say bye, not a single thank you. That’s not what a considerate, supportive woman would do.” There are lots of things I can look past in my family; this, however, isn’t one of them. I throw my hands in theair, letting out a frustrated groan.
“What we aren’t going to do is talk about someone who isn’t here to defend themselves. You have your other son to thank for her running. If you thought Kara was bad, you don’t know half of what she’s been through. It’s convenient that you completely glossed over her helping me through a panic attack. Had that been Kara, she would have left the house and told me to grow a pair. I’m tired of you and Tatum comparing Hannah to her; they aren’t even on the same playing field.”
She turns around in her seat to face me; concern etched into the corners of her eyes. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay. I don’t want you to fall for someone who isn’t going to catch you this time. It’s nice she helped you through it; I’m glad you have someone you can call during those times.”
“I get it, Ma. I do. But I’m almost thirty. I know my tendencies; I fought it the best I could. But there’s something about her, call it a gut feeling, but I know she’s it for me. I’d appreciate it if you could be supportive of that. I want her in my life. In my heart, she’s already mine. I’mhappywhen she’s around.” I can’t wipe the smile off my face; it’s not just happiness, it’s comfort. It’s the way she gives me a safe space to exist. It’s gratitude for the way she’s shown up in my life and fit in as if she’s always been a part of it. Like a piece of me has always been missing, and I found it in her.
My mom nods and turns back towards the front. I know it’s hard for her to let go of her boys, but she’s going to have to at some point. We can’t stay her “babies” forever.
Back in my hotel room, I take my suit jacket off and sling it over the back of a chair. The rest of my clothes follow suit. I pull on some black Hawks sweatpants and sit on my bed. It’s nine o'clock at night here, meaning it’s midnight back home. Too late to call my girl. Well, my soon-to-be girl. I close my eyes and lean my head against the headboard; there's a lightness to me tonight that catches me off guard. I just want to sit here and sink into the relief I’m feeling.
Kara didn’t show up today, and there haven’t been any text messages. While I should be wary of that, all I feel at this moment is relief. I get to play the sport I love. I have a damn good team. My parents are here to support me. And I got a text message twenty minutes after the game ended from a sweetheart back home. Life is good. And damn it, I’m going to soak it all in.
The bathroom door opens, and Monroe walks out with a cloud of steam following behind him; his face is covered in green goo, and a towel wrapped around his waist. Raising an eyebrow in his direction, he holds up a white container and shakes it while what I assume is supposed to be a smile crosses his face. “Your turn, Wilder.”
“What in the ever-loving heck is on your face?” I lean over to touch it; it feels like the desert after a drought.
“It’s a green tea mask! Come on, buddy, it’s spa day.” This can’t be happening; I don’t respond or move fast enough because a cold, wet substance coats my cheek. I gasp at the sensation. My arm shoots out and smacks my teammate in the chest. The most diabolical grin takes over his face as he tries to swipe another line of goo on my other cheek. My head jerks back just in time, but that doesn’t stop him from trying again and again. Eventually, I gave in and let him put the stupid mask on me.
We sit on each of our beds in the bath robes that we’re in the room, face masks on, drinking water with lemon. I can totally get behind the self-care train. “You good Man?” I look over at Monroe, who is lying flat on his back with his eyes closed and arms behind his; he cracks one eye and looks my way.
“Yeah, I’m good. Why?”
If there’s one thing I've learned about having friendships with teammates, it’s that the friendship you have with the guy you’re sharing a room with is the most important one. “Just checking in, it’s the first road game. Hits everyone differently. Did you leave anyone at home?”
“You asking if I have a girl, Wilder? Nah, but not to worry, you’re totally my type.” He smirks as his eyes close once again.
I lean back against the headboard, settling in for however long we have to keep this goo on our faces. “You have family in Tampa other than your mom?”
“It’s just her. She has siblings, but she doesn’t talk to them anymore. She really is just a shell of the woman she used to be. It’s so hard to watch.” His voice takes on a hint of sadness.
“Did you learn this spa day stuff from her?”
He nods absently, “She suffers from PTSD after seeing my dad die. Doing stuff like this was a way to get her out of her own head. I’d always pretend I was a spa attendant. My name was Ricardo.” He smiles at the memory, his neck taking on a pinkish hue. “She used to love it; she had a bell that she’d ring when she was ready for her cucumber water. It was the one time she’d actually play with me. I was so young when he died that I craved companionship. So, I turned it into a game to get her to hang out with me, I guess.” I honestly don’t know what to say to that, so I hum instead.
“Now, it’s a way to feel connected to her. She’s still in town, but she never comes to games, and we only really see each other around the holidays. Not for my lack of trying. I miss her, you know? And maybe it’s not even her since she’s been this way for most of my life; maybe it’s that I crave the connection that should have been there.”
Before I can register what’s happening, my vision blurs, and my throat all of a sudden feels like there’s a rock stuck in it. I wonder how much of his personality is a cover for what’s underneath, similar to the way mine is.
“I’m sorry; I’ll gladly be your spa customer any time you need one, Ricardo.” Turning to him, I look at his face, and the longing there is heavy. He doesn’t look like the joker of a guy I know, even from behind these hideous masks, which is the only possible reason for what comes out of my mouth next. “You look like the Hulk, Monroe.”
“And you look like Shrek.” We laugh like two cackling hens, people-watching at an old folk’s home.
Time for Game 2, andthen we get to head home and pop off at the carnival. The crowd is loud; even from the locker room, the energy is more chaotic than it was on Tuesday. I pop my headphones in, start my pre-game playlist, and begin to get all my gear on. I smile when my hand lands on the pink fabric in my bag. The bell fell off last game, but I still snap it around my right ankle.
I take my three gummy bears, pop them in my mouth, and head out to the ice for warmups. As soon as my skates hit the ice, I looked up, and a smile took over my face. My eyes searching for my parents behind the bench, my jaw dropping at the sight of Tatum sitting next to them. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, glaring daggers at Cascades fans, but gives me a smug look when our eyes meet.
He had a soccer game yesterday, so he said he wouldn’t be able to make it, but surprise, surprise, he’s here. A bark of laughter leaves me, my head shaking as I skate to the glass and hold up my glove; he fist bumps it, and then I skate off. Giving them a curt nod, once we get on the bench, I put my head down and focus on the game. My muscles tighten in anticipation, ready to give this team my all. I want to make my family in the stands proud and prove to myself that I deserve to be here despite the little annoying gnat of a voice in my head that tells me otherwise.
Sitting on the bench, my leg bounces as I watch Samuels chase the puck out of our territory. The Cascades have a chip on their shoulder tonight. In fact, they might even be unnecessarily aggressive. “Go, Sammy, Go! On your left.” He hears me and slides to a stop, changing directions faster than the defensemen can register. He spins around him, shooting the puck to Chase Graham, who snags it between the legs of a defender. Lifting up his stick, he fakes out the goalie. He drops down as Samuelspicks up the puck and dumps it in the net in a flawlessly executed play.