This Is Wild

by Natasha Madison

  “Asshole,” I say to him and then take a bite of pizza. “I’ll be there tomorrow only because I love my job.”

  “You’ll be there tomorrow because you know the commission is going to be sweet.”

  I shrug. “This is also true.”

  “And can you make sure you dress properly?” he finally says. “Nothing too revealing and shit.”

  “I always dress properly,” I point out. “I’m going to tell Zara you said that.” My sister is a personal stylist to some of the biggest stars out there. She even started her own company called Zara’s Closet. Most of my clothes come from her, and most are the ones that Evan doesn’t want her to wear.

  “Later, squirt,” he says, disconnecting, and I spend the rest of the night watching Netflix.

  The next morning, I’m slipping on my lace thong when my phone rings, and I see it’s Zara.

  “Hey,” I say, putting it on speaker while I finish dressing.

  “Hey, yourself,” she says, and I know she’s in the car. I grab the white cotton button-down blouse that is tight on the chest and then hugs my waist. “Do you have plans for dinner?”

  “Not as of right now,” I tell her, slipping on my gray suede Louboutins. “Why, what’s up?”

  “I have to join Evan and one of his teammates, and I don’t want to have to pretend I understand what they are talking about.” I shake my head. We have grown up with hockey in our lives, yet we both hate it. From the time when we were little, we would cry when we were put on the ice. There are pictures of my dad trying to coax us up, and all we did was lie on the ice. When my mother had enough of the tears and tantrums, she would only allow us on the ice as punishment when we did something we shouldn’t have. I can say it really didn’t work because we would just kneel there on the ice, which would get my father trying to tell us how much fun hockey was. It was not. I went to every single hockey game I could, but it was always to socialize more than watch the game. I don’t know icing from offside and neither did Zara before Evan.

  Our younger brother Justin, now he is the opposite of us. He lives and breathes for the sport and was just drafted this summer, and Matthew is trying to move heaven and earth to get him to New York, but Edmonton is holding strong.

  “I’m already spending the afternoon at the rink,” I tell her, grabbing my light gray jacket.

  “Good. I’ll see you there,” she says. “This whole captain’s wife thing is getting a bit out of hand. I swear I call Karrie seven times a day.”

  I laugh at her. “You love it.”

  “No,” she says. “I love him, and I’ll do what I need to do for him, but—”

  “But nothing,” I interrupt. “Fine, I’ll go to dinner, but I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”

  “Deal,” she says. “See you soon.”

  I shake my head and slip on the jacket, finally looking at myself in the mirror. “Presentable,” I say with just a twinkle in my eye because the minute I move, you see my full long leg. “This should be fun.”

  I hang up and meet the Flanerys to go over the listing that I had, and in one hour, they fell in love with the house that was emailed to me yesterday. I get back to the office and draw up a contract. When my phone beeps, telling me my driver is here to take me to the rink, I wrap up everything and grab my bag. As soon as I sit down, I shoot Matthew a text.

  Me: On my way, where do I meet you?

  Matthew: I’m in my office. See you soon.

  I tuck the phone away and look outside at the leaves slowly changing, not knowing that the leaves aren’t the only thing changing this season.

  Chapter Three

  Viktor

  I watch the clock turn 6:00 a.m., the alarm ringing and my hand coming out to slap it off. I lie in the big king-size bed, looking out the windows all around the room. I’ve been up since 3:30. I tossed and turned most of the night, but I’m used to that. My longest time asleep, according to the Fitbit I wear to bed, is six hours and forty-seven minutes. Another thing recovery gave me was sleep. Instead when I was high I would just snort a couple more lines to stay awake, sleep was never a necessity.

  My eyes focus outside on the rising sun as my mind wanders back to that day four months ago and how much my life has actually changed.

  No one ever intends to overdose. No one ever intends to do so much cocaine that they are hanging onto the ledge by the tips of their fingers. No one ever wants to be so fucking far gone that all we can do is watch ourselves from above.

  For two years, I pretended I was just having fun. Hey, I was riding the fucking wave. I had just won the Stanley Cup at nineteen as a rookie. Hockey was in my blood from the minute I was born. My father was a star in his own time. Though he was not as lucky as me to be drafted, he did play in the States. He met my mother at one of his hockey games. After he picked her out of the crowd, they dated for a whole three weeks, and then he married her. Nine months later, I came into the world at the same time my father’s hockey career was taking a nosedive, at least for American standards.

  He then took on teaching roles and coaching, which had us going around the globe and never staying in a city longer than a few years. Teams switching up coaching staffs often.

  When I was seventeen, the KHL in Moscow drafted me twenty-fifth. My Russian father was pissed that I was drafted so late, especially after I had spent the year in Chicago and was drafted first into the Ontario Hockey League. I didn’t care where I played; I just wanted to fucking play. He worked my ass to the bone. Skate harder, push faster, move your feet, feel the puck. No one likes a quitter, Viktor. It was every single day. Not just when we were on the ice and not just when it was the two of us. No, he would tell me in front of whoever was there. He didn’t care. He thought it would make me better and make me stronger, but I just resented him.

  One year later, the NHL drafted me third overall. At eighteen years old, I was living in Los Angeles with no one looking over my shoulder telling me what to do or how to do it. I knew I was going down the wrong path, but I did it anyway.

  Four years later, my drug problem was out of control. If I’m honest, toward the end I didn’t even try to hide it. We didn’t even make it to the playoffs, and on the last game of the season I was high on the ice. I cringed when I saw the replay in my room a month into rehab. Watching myself skating around and around the fucking puck and then falling, was embarrassing to say the least.

  Coach benched me for two periods, and I still didn’t give a shit. That night, I pushed too far and did too much. When I finally woke up or came down from my high—whatever you want to call it—they gave me the ultimatum. It was either go to rehab or never play again. So I went to rehab, but it was for them and not for me. Then I got traded. I didn’t even understand after everything that I did, why any team would want me, but apparently, Matthew Grant fought for me.

  When we walked off the plane last night, I expected him to nod at me, say, “Don’t fuck up,” and then take off. Instead, Matthew got into the car and drove me to my new place. I didn’t even look around last night before I dumped my carry-on and went to bed.

  I roll out of bed now, trying to forget yesterday. Think about today. I remember what the therapist said. Tomorrow is not something you can change, but today, today is the day to change what you would have done differently yesterday. I used to groan inwardly when he said it and think it was a crock of shit. But each day the fog would be lifted just a touch. The days got clearer, it made more sense.

  As I pull on a pair of shorts from my bag, I’m thinking with the time change, I should still be asleep, as I walk out of the bedroom and head to the kitchen.

  I walk into the spacious kitchen right off the living room. The island is stark white with black countertops and stainless-steel appliances. I open the cupboards, looking for anything that will make me coffee. Another thing I do now is see things differently. Whereas before I didn’t give a shit, now I have to fill my mind with other things or I’ll go crazy. Filling the gap of emptiness ke
eps me from thinking about the drug that still lingers at the back of my mind and almost made me lose it all. I’m stronger than the pull.

  I finally find the pods to go into the coffeemaker, and when I open the fridge, I see it’s fully stocked. Taking out the milk, I make my coffee and go sit on one of the stools at the island. As I take a sip of the hot coffee, I feel the burn go down my throat. I look around, and my hands tap the counter. I know what this means; it means I’m bored and need to get up and move. Take my mind off the pull of scoring my next fix. I walk to the couch and turn the television on. My phone rings again, so I go back to the bedroom and turn off the second alarm.

  Looking down, I see I have a couple of texts. The first one is from my mother.

  Mom: Good luck tomorrow.

  The next one is from my little sister, Natalia.

  Natalia: God, it’s good being the favorite child. Just kidding. Good luck, bro.

  I smile and shake my head. The next is from the therapist I worked with in Arizona.

  Alain: Here are the names and numbers of the sponsors I found in New York. Don’t give up on yourself. No matter how much you think you don’t deserve it, you do. We all do. Yesterday is gone, so make today count.

  Going through the names, I send a text to all the numbers he sent me. I take a deep breath and sit down, looking out the window while the television plays in the background. I have to be at the rink at noon. I lie down, trying to shut off my mind and tune out all the noise. All the doubts, all the shit that shouldn’t be in there.

  I doze off, and when the third alarm sounds at eleven, I get up and get ready. The bathroom is right off the walk-in closet that is empty except for my little bag in the middle. Walking to the shower, I open the glass door and step inside. The shower walls have the same marble as the counter, and the white tiles on the floor blend perfectly. When I turn on the shower, two waterfalls start over me. Leaning my hands onto the wall, I let the water wash over my back.

  After I dry off, I grab a pair of dress pants and a white button-down shirt. They are the only clothes that fit me besides the jeans I wore yesterday. I need to go shopping, and I need a house, so that should be enough to keep my mind busy.

  I grab my jacket and head down to the waiting town car. The driver stands beside the car with a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Petrov.”

  “Morning.” I nod at him as I slide into the open door. I look out the window while we make our way to the arena. He makes his way to the underground garage, and when we come to a stop, I get out and meet him at the back of the car.

  “If you go through that door”—he points at the blue metal door—“you will be near the locker rooms.”

  “Thank you,” I mumble and make my way into the new locker room. I pull open the door and walk into the back hallway. The small corridor leads to a wider hallway with blue carpet, and as I walk down, I pass huge pictures of Matthew hoisting the cup. Another of Matthew and Max celebrating said cup win, and a picture of the whole team in front of the cup. Another picture of Matthew taking his last skate around the arena and another one of Max. The team legacy hangs down the white walls of the hallway. I finally walk past an open door and peer in, seeing it’s the locker room.

  Looking around, I spot my name and sit down on the wooden bench. Since it’s still summer break, no one is here, and I just take a deep breath. “There you are.” I look at the doorway and see Matthew. “I see you found your spot,” he says, coming into the room. He’s dressed pretty much the same as I am, except his shirtsleeves are rolled up.

  “Just getting the lay of the land.” I smile at him, putting my elbows on my knees.

  “I know how that feels,” he tells me, and I just look at him, thinking he’s talking out of his ass. “I walked in here with the biggest bubble over my head.”

  “I doubt it’s as big as the cloud following me around,” I finally say to him softly.

  “The only way they would sign me was if I had a chaperone with me,” he says, and I’m shocked. “Luckily for me, she was hot, and well, let’s just say … four kids later, it was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

  “Really?” I hear another male voice, and I look over to see Max come in the room. “I thought I was the best thing to happen to you.” He slaps Matthew’s shoulder, then turns to me, sticking out his hand. This guy is a fucking beast even without equipment. “I’m Max. I was the one who tortured him and pushed him to be better.” He laughs while Matthew just shakes his head.

  “He also dated my sister under my nose,” Matthew hisses.

  “Guilty.” Max holds up his hands. “Also eloped with her.” He looks at Matthew. “Might as well get it all out there. There are no secrets in this family.”

  “Jesus,” I say, laughing for the first time in ninety days because something was funny.

  “Oh, these two are a riot.” Another voice cuts in, and I swear it’s a group meeting; something we only had on the other team when shit was getting bad. “Hi there, I’m Evan, team captain,” he says, coming in wearing a blue suit and holding his hand out. “I see you’ve met M&M.”

  “That fucking name,” Matthew says. “What are you doing here?”

  “I asked him to come,” Max says. “I figured it was a good time for us to get to know each other.”

  “Good idea,” Matthew says to Max and then looks back at me “Let me show you around.” I nod at him and get up.

  “Jesus, you’ve been hitting the gym,” Evan says. “Good. I need to know the guy next to me can hold his own,” he jokes. “I’m going to go say goodbye to my wife while she talks to Oliver about what she wants to do with the foundation.” He turns and walks away.

  “Stay away from my sister!” Matthew shouts at him.

  He turns back and walks backward. “Not a chance in hell. Besides, it’s a little late for that since my child is in her.” I try not to laugh when he winks at Matthew, who just throws his head back and groans.

  “It’s a battle I lose every single time. Thank fuck, Zoe is a hard ass and too busy building her empire to care about guys.” I hear him mumble under his breath, knowing I’ll meet her soon.

  “That’s what she has you thinking,” Max teases him. “She was out the other night with that reality guy.” He snaps his fingers. “What’s his name?” Matthew has a vein in his forehead that looks like it’s going to pop when Max points at him and teases him. “Fucking with you,” he says, laughing and turning around to walk away.

  “Asshole,” he hisses at Max’s retreating back. “Be in the conference room at one.”

  “Is it always like this?” I ask Matthew while we walk down the hall, and he points out things like the kitchen and the gym.

  “You will come to see that we’re not just a hockey team,” he says, beaming with pride. “We’re a family.” I nod. I thought the guys on my team in LA were family, but when push came to shove, they all dropped me. I mean, some still talk to me, but it’s on the down low. No one wanted to be associated with the guy in rehab.

  I meet all the coaching staff, and the head coach and the assistant are both happy to have me on their team, or so they say. The equipment manager and I go over all the how I like and want my equipment set up, and he already has my equipment shipped over from LA.

  When we finally get into the conference room, Max and Evan are already there sitting down. I sit down on one of the empty chairs right next to Evan, facing Max, and I notice they left the seat at the head of the table empty. Matthew sits in it and looks around the table.

  “Well, let’s get this started,” Matthew says, and I almost hold my breath.

  “I, for one, am happy you’re here,” Matthew says.

  “I’m not going to lie and sugarcoat shit for you,” Max pipes up. “I did not agree with him at the beginning.”

  “We know you can play hockey,” Matthew interjects.

  “No shit,” I say.

  “Now you have to earn the trust to play hockey,” Evan says. “No one is going to want to have yo
ur back on the ice if they think you don’t have theirs.”

  “I always have my team’s back,” I say, my throat suddenly dry.

  “Really?” Max says. “Because after Matthew showed me those two games where you played your heart out, I showed him the last game of the season you played.” I sit up straight now, and Max must see it, but he just leans back into his chair. “We want to make sure that guy doesn’t follow you here.”

  “I’ll fight for you,” Evan says, “because I’m your captain. It’s my job, and that is what we do.”

  “Bottom line,” Matthew says, “I want to fucking win. I want my team to win. I want them to hold up the cup. I want to give that to them, and I know with you as a piece of the puzzle, it just may happen.”

  “I know this means nothing,” I finally say, “since I have to prove it to you, but I want to be that guy who holds up the cup. I want to be the one who fights with a team and not just myself.”

  “Then,” Max finally says, “you are at the right place. We aren’t just a team as you can see. We are a family. If one of us is hurting, the rest of us help carry that burden. But what we don’t do is go down with someone who isn’t willing to fight.”

  “With your speed, your build, and your hands, I’m betting that you are going to take pretty boy’s spot on the leader board this year,” Matthew says, pointing at Evan, who just throws his head back and laughs.

  “I’d like to see him try,” Evan says. “I’ve held that title for three straight years.”

  “That’s only because I hung up my skates,” Max says, shaking his head.

  “Delusional,” Evan says.

  We are almost done with the meeting when a knock sounds on the open conference room. I look up, and I stop and just stare.

  “So, this is where the party is at,” the woman says. Her long reddish-blond hair sways as she walks in, the slit in her skirt giving a nice view of her long, toned leg. My eyes watch her every single fucking move. She walks into the room, knowing she owns it and that all eyes are on her, including mine. “Sorry to interrupt. Did you want me to come back?” She looks at Matthew and smiles while he glares at her.