Page 8 of The Other Side of Wild

Greyson: Brilliant idea #2

Greyson: Thanks for my new lucky charm, Kitten.

Hannah: You did not. I’m honored, Bulldozer.

Greyson: You should be. If we win, this is my new superstition. Look out, gummy bears.

Hannah: Oh no, not the gummy bears! Make sure you meow in your victory speech. ??

Greyson: Meow-velous idea, Kitten. See you later. ??

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Popping my three gummy bears in my mouth, I toss my phone in my locker and head out, with extra caution this time, of course. I don’t need any more laid-out journalists.

I smile as I step onto the ice; the arena is magnetic, and the crowd is loud for a pre-season game. The ice is fresh and shiny, the air is crisp like it should hurt to take a deep inhale, but instead, it lights a fire in my bloodstream. Putting my head down, I run through our stretches and warm-up shots, skate some laps around the net, crack some jokes with the guys, then hop on the bench, ready to kick some Tennessee Patriot ass to the curb.

The game is scoreless at the end of the first period, which doesn’t sit well for Coach Stevens. He gives us what he calls a pep talk, which is just a bunch of “get your damn heads in the game.” “I’ve seen toddlers work better as a team.” And my personal favorite “You’re notpolar bears, you don’t get paid to lay on the ice, get the puck into the net.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re back, and Coach is calling our line to get ready. Reed, Monroe, and I are up and ready to hop the boards. We do so at such a well-timed moment; the puck slides past our bench seconds before Reed’s skates hit the ice. He snatches it up and sprints toward the Patriot’s goal.

Cradling it in his stick, he moves around a defenseman before passing it back to Monroe. I see another defender coming up behind him, and I tap my stick on the ice to let him know I’m here and that I have an opening. With one of the cleanest backhanded passes I’ve ever seen, Monroe delivers the puck to the middle of my stick. With a wind-up, I hit the puck hard, making a slapshot right in the middle of the goalies’ legs. “Five hole!” I shout right before I’m being pushed into the boards by my celebrating teammates. All traces of this morning have been forgotten; this is what I do best.

Once that first goal went in, we gained some much-needed momentum. It’s easy to score and then get sloppy or too confident. Yeah, we get slammed into the boards, and yeah, we get in fights, but the hardest part, in my opinion, is keeping my thoughts on the future plays and not the scoring drives we’ve had already. We ended the game 2-0. Maverick scored the second goal in the third period, sinking the puck in the upper right corner from behind the net; the goalie’s blocker was half a second too late. It was a beautiful play.

Well, well, well, I have some meowing to do.

Chapter 5 – Hannah

“Yes!!” I shout as Greyson scores the first goal of the game. Being in a hockey arena is unlike anything else. In high school, I’d often find myself at the local ice rink on Thursday nights, watching every game on the schedule. There’s always been something about it that calms my soul. Whether it’s the smell of greasy food, the bite of the cold once you step inside, or maybe it’s the sound of the puck as it hits the boards, whatever it is, it’s always felt like home.

I remember one specific Thursday, my brother Eli needed to be dropped off at my dad’s office. Once we were there, I grabbed a soda before saying, “I’m leaving. See you later!” Good ole’ Dennis popped out of his office to ask where I was going; his eyebrows were pulled low over his dark brown eyes. It was one of the first times I remember thinking they looked cold.

“Cole has a game tonight. Then we’re going to stay and watch The Monarchs game after.” I said as I spun on my heel, walking towards the door. The sound that followed sounded so evil it sent chills through my body. I froze on the spot; I didn’t turn around, though I wasn’t strong enough to look him in the eyes when he went on a tangent.

“Why anyone wastes their time on you, I will never know—chasing men with potential athletic ability. One day, they’ll see through your scheming. Enjoy it while it lasts; your appeal will wear off eventually, and you’ll be all alone—nothing to show for your time and effort. Trust me, no one in their right mind would ever bring a girl like you along. You’d only hold them back, just like youdo for this family.” He chuckled as he walked back into his office.

This was the first time my brother witnessed our father’s less-than-desirable behavior; his eyes widened, and his lips parted in surprise that our dad was speaking to me like that. Eli had never been on the receiving end of it; I did my best to be a buffer so that he never would be.

The thing was, my father never asked why I went to the games. I genuinely loved the sport and the atmosphere it provided. But hey, what can you expect when you have a narcissistic parent who knows everything about anything and anyone?

The goal buzzer snaps me out of the movie reel playing in my head, and I see that the Hawks are now up 2-0. With 25 seconds left on the clock, Markus Samuels steals the puck and skates around the back of the net, sending it to the other side of the neutral zone. Brett Wilson picks it up, and they play keep away for the next 15 seconds until the final buzzer sounds.

That’s my cue; grabbing my iPad, my phone, and my favorite game day drink, hot chocolate, I head to the media room for post-game interviews. Once inside, I take my seat on the right side of the room by the door. Coach Stevens walks in first; I immediately open my voice memo app and start recording. The beautiful thing about my job is that I don’t have to edit videos, and I can listen to the interviews from wherever I want.

It makes it easier for me to write my articles in spaces that give me more inspiration and freedom, like the beach or Beautiful Pour; I sometimes even write my interviews in the stands at whatever arena I’m working at. It’s one of the things my inner introvert loves about my job. I don’t get my energy from people like an extrovert would, but I do get energy and inspiration from places.

A woman a year or so younger than me asks the first question, “Coach, it was a slow start to the game today; what did you say during the first intermission to get the guys in gear?”

Coach shakes his head a bit before he responds. “The usual coaches motivating speech. Get your heads out of your asses; toddlers work better together than you do, and so on.”

There’s a variety of questions before a man I really can’t stand asks, “Do you think this is the way these boys will play when the season starts?”

My eyes roll at the way he calls these grown men “boys,” and it looks like Coach is trying hard not to do the same. “The point of preseason games is to work out what works best for the team, which players work best together under pressure, and so on. But honestly, guy, we’re just out there to have fun. The men on both teams work hard in the off-season, just like they do during the season. If there’s no time to just play the game for the fun of it, what’s the point?”

That effectively shuts Condescending Carter up; you go, Coach Stevens. As he wraps up his portion of this interview, Reed, Monroe, and Greyson come in and take a seat behind the table.

Greyson catches my eye, giving me a small, knowing smile and a wink before looking over at ugh. No, not again. “Wilder, it looked like you guys were struggling a bit in the first period; how did you rectify that issue during the second?” Does this guy haveanythingpositive to say? I’m starting to think his life mission is to be a human raincloud.