This Is Wild

by Natasha Madison

  “Well, I’m here if you need me,” he says, putting on his suit jacket. “A couple of us are headed out to dinner if you want to join us.”

  “I’m actually going to go to a meeting not too far from here,” I tell him, getting up and putting on my jacket and beanie on my head. “But thanks for the offer.” Evan nods at me. I follow him but go in the other direction, calling Candace as I walk. We chat for thirty minutes, and I hire her on the spot. The only thing she said I should handle is Instagram just because it’s more hands on and people like the stories. I hang up with her and make my way to the meeting. I nod at the person who looks like he is in charge and sit down.

  It’s a little easier to go to meetings where I don’t see the same people all the time because I can let go of a little bit more each time. When it’s my time to talk, I take a deep breath.

  “I’m Viktor, and I’ve been clean for six months,” I say, and the people sitting in the circle clap. “I just finished step five,” I say and then look down at my hands. “Almost. I still have to tell someone.”

  “It’s not easy to find that person,” a woman in front of me says.

  “I know,” I continue. “The thing is, I know who I want to share it with. I just …” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m scared or, better yet, afraid she’ll realize I’m not good enough for her.”

  “Then she isn’t the person you think she is,” someone else says, and I shake my head.

  “That’s the thing. She’s the right person.” I sit up now. “She’s the only person really. The only one who really matters, if I’m honest.” I look around and see a couple of people nod. “She didn’t know who I was. She only knows who I am.”

  “But who you were is what made you who you are today,” the woman says. “You aren’t two people.” I nod at her. “You’re still the same person, just different. There will always be a Viktor; there is just going to be a Viktor now.”

  “Yes,” I say, agreeing with her. “There is the old me, who I’m not proud of, and the new me, who is starting to be worthy of people.”

  “You have to let go of the Viktor from before. Whatever or whoever that was, you have to let that person go. Leave all the defects from the old Viktor and start with positive Viktor, the new Viktor. Instead of looking at it as if she will see what’s wrong with me, you should be thinking she will see how much better I am. How far I’ve come. It’s the positive that is needed here.”

  “I guess being scared is never going to leave no matter how far we come. Fear is there regardless. Before the fear was people knowing I was high and trying to hide it. Now I fear that people think I’m still that person.”

  “That is what step six is all about.” She smiles at me, and I nod to the next person, and he starts to talk. I listen to everyone, and when it’s over, I’m the first one to leave. I walk out of there with my head just one touch clearer than it was when I walked in there.

  For the next couple of games, it’s almost like I’m more comfortable in my skin or on my skates. We head back home with three wins on the road and me with five points. We have one day to rest and then a big game on Saturday. I’ve stuck to my guns about not seeing or texting Zoe.

  I dress in a black suit and try to steady my heart, knowing tonight I ​will probably see Zoe. Saturday night games, we usually have a dinner afterward with most players and their families.

  Walking into the arena, I nod at Matthew, ​who is talking to Max and Evan.

  “Hey,” I say when I get close enough to them. They are huddled outside of the locker room. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” Evan says and then looks down. “M&M are a bit aggravated.”

  I try not to laugh at the way he says M&M, but it gets me every time. “Why? What’s the matter?”

  “Zoe is bringing a date,” Matthew says, and I try not to let my face change as my heart sinks. Just the thought makes my stomach ​burn. This is what I’ve wished for, for her to date and find that perfect guy for her. Keep telling yourself that.

  “It’s not a date,” Max says. “Allison says that she’s known him since forever, and they work out at the same gym.”

  “So what’s the problem?” I ask, and Evan just watches me without saying a word. “She’s a beautiful woman, so she’s bound to go on dates.”

  “Don’t talk about my sister like that,” Matthew says, and now Evan laughs. “You can’t call her beautiful. It’s weird.”

  “But she is.” I shrug my shoulders. “But if she says it’s not a date, then maybe they’re just friends.” I look around. “Anyway, I want to hit the gym before we have to warm up,” I say, walking away from them to the locker room. I change and head to the gym, but I don’t push myself too hard, saving the energy for the game.

  When I skate out for the warmup, I try not to let my eyes go to the box where ​I know she’s in. I try to force myself to look anywhere else but there. But I’m a glutton for punishment because I look up anyway. I spot her immediately, but she isn’t looking at the game or the ice. She’s standing there holding a glass of wine in her hand and talking to a man who looks like a grease ball. Okay, maybe he is clean cut and proper, and he looks like he works out, but he’s standing there, and all he's doing is talking while she looks at him with a fake smile. Anyone who knows her knows it’s a fake smile. I force myself to take my turn in the warmup and focus on the team and the game, and when I score the first goal of the game, I force myself not to admit that I did it for her to see me.

  We skate off the ice after a win of three to two, high-fiving some ​fans while we skate off. “It’s always good to win on a Saturday night,” Mark says, taking off his goalie mask.

  “It’s always good to win, period,” I tell him, sitting down. The coach comes in and does his whole good and bad speech. No one ​really undresses, knowing that the press will be coming in right after. Once the coach leaves, the press comes in, and after twenty minutes, they are ushered out, and we can finally undress.

  “Are you going to join us?” Evan says. “We are going to the pub.”

  I think about it for a minute. The choices are either go home to the darkness in my apartment, or go and sit down, watching Zoe and her boyfriend. “No, I think I’m going to pick something up to eat and just crash.”

  “Yeah, Zara already told me she wants to be in and out,” he says. “Did you get the email for Thanksgiving?”

  “I did this morning,” I tell him. “It sounds like a good thing.” I got the email this morning asking whoever didn’t have plans to think about spending the day giving back to the community.

  “It started a while ago when Allison was the PR. We all went to the hospital and celebrated. Last year was amazing. Most of the team and their families came out.”

  “Aren’t we traveling that night?” I ask him. “We have a game the night before, and then Friday, we are in Philly and then back that night, right?”

  “It’s going to be tight, but we’ll make it happen,” he says.

  “I’m going to tell Max to count me in,” I tell him and then go to the shower. When I finally finish dressing, I’m one of the last ones left since I ​have no need to rush.

  That night I eat standing up in the kitchen and when I finally crash, my dreams are of me smiling and happy, holding Zoe’s hand. But right before I kiss her, the blackness comes, and I’m down the rabbit hole. I fight off the blackness, trying to focus only on the light. I always focus on finding the light these days.

  When I slip on my black jeans and jersey to go to Thanksgiving, I’m feeling just a touch lighter on my feet. I know I’ll see her, but I don’t know if ​she’ll be alone. I have to be honest, I don’t give a fuck. I just want to see her, talk to her, even if it’s just to ask her how she’s doing.

  I look at myself in the mirror, which I’ve been doing a lot of lately. “It’s going to be a good day.” I’ve been taking the positive approach. “If she’s there with someone, you are going to happy for her.” The voice inside my head laugh
s.“No, you’re not. You’re going to just wish you were him.” I shake my head and walk out of the apartment with my bag for tonight.

  I get out of the car in front of the hospital, and I’m about to walk in when I turn and see her walking toward me. Well, she’s walking toward the hospital. I take her in before she knows I’m watching her. She’s wearing blue jeans and a white knitted sweater with a brown jacket open and a thick scarf around her neck. She must sense I’m watching because she turns her head. Our eyes meet, and it’s there. Her smile’s not a fake one, not one ​she has to put on, but one that fills her face. One that makes her eyes twinkle, and all you want to do is lean in and kiss that smile.

  “Hey there, stranger,” she says as she gets close to me. She gives me a hug, something that she’s only done once before. “Happy Thanksgiving.” I hug her with one hand since the other is holding my bag.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” I say. I don’t want to let her go, but she steps away from me. “Are you by yourself?”

  “Just little old me, why?” she asks me, and the wind blows her hair to the side. “Oh, God, is Matthew still going on about that date?” She shakes her head. “He’s ridiculous.” She turns and starts to walk into the hospital, and I follow her. “It’s good to see you,” she says. I look over at her, and I can’t help the smile that fills my face.

  “It’s good to see you, too.” I tell her the truth, and that’s all I’m able to tell her before the elevator comes and we are pushed in together. Then the madness of Thanksgiving starts.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Zoe

  I step into the elevator, and I can still feel his hand on my back from when I hugged him. I hugged him like a love-sick puppy. We’ve never hugged, I mean, one time we did, but that was the night I realized that I liked him. A LOT. It was also the night I told myself that I had to let him ​go and stop thinking about him.

  The elevator gets crowded, and I’m pushed up next to him. If I turned to face him and got on my tippy toes, I could kiss him—just a peck with some tongue—but I don’t. I form an invisible barrier between us and force myself not to even let our feet touch. When we get off together, we can hear the voices already. The nurses are decorating by hanging paper turkeys. “I think we should just follow the noise,” I tell him, and he nods as we walk past some of the patients’ rooms. Most ​of the doors are open, and the closed ones have turkeys taped to the door. “Is it always this loud?” Viktor asks, and I just smirk.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet. Wait till they decide who does the toast. It’s goes on like WrestleMania,” I tell him. “Last year, Matthew begged to be the one to talk. He’s never gotten to do it. Denise usually says something or Max, since it’s his foundation and her work. Max and Matthew tried to do rock, paper, scissors for an hour. ​In the end, my father ​was the one who said something as Matthew and Max both glared at each other.”

  We make it to the room where the tables are being set up. It’s half empty, and the only people I see are Zara and my mother. “Where is everyone?” I ask, looking around and hearing their voices.

  “They are making an executive decision on moving the dinner,” Zara says, sitting down with her hand on her belly. “Max thinks we should move it down to the cafeteria since it’s big, but Denise just wants to do it here in two sittings.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving.” I smile to my mom and go over to hug her.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, honey,” she says, smiling and then looks over at Viktor. “Happy Thanksgiving, Viktor. We are so happy you could join us.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” he says, then looks at Zara with a smile and then back at my mother. “I don’t think I would miss any of this,” he says, and then Matthew comes into the room with Max and my father following him.

  “Okay, we are going to do tables in this room,” Max says. “And then food in the other one.”

  “That is a great idea,” my mother says and Matthew groans. “Matthew Grant.”

  “But, Mom,” he huffs. “It’s just bigger downstairs.”

  “It’s just too hard to move some of the patients,” Denise says, and I look at her with her little baby bump finally showing. “It will be fine here. We’ve always made it work.” Her voice goes soft. “The main thing is that we are all together,” she says and hugs her husband and her stepson Jack. “Thankful that we have our health and that we can bring some joy if only for just this one day.”

  “Great,” Max hisses. “She’s the one doing the speech now.” I try not to laugh. Denise starts laughing, and then everyone else follows.

  “You were not kidding,” Viktor says next to me. “Does it get better?”

  I lean in to him. “Yes, they stop talking when they eat.” I turn and see the smile on his face. I’ve ​refrained from looking into his eyes, but I can’t help it. They are a lighter blue than normal. “Follow me,” I tell him and walk out of the room and then grab one of the bags from the table in the hallway. “These bags have stuff from the Stingers,” I tell him. “What we do is go room to room and give out a couple of things, usually you sign it, and then if they feel up to it, they sometimes ask for a picture.”

  I walk into the first open room I see. A little girl sits in the middle of the bed, already covered in New York Stinger merchandise. “Happy Thanksgiving,” I say to her, and then she says it back to us, raising her hands over her head.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Viktor says from beside me.

  “Let’s see what I have this year.” I open the bag and see we’ve got pucks. “I think I got the best bag I’ve ever had,” I say, taking out the silver Sharpie that is in there and handing it to Viktor. “This is for you.” His fingers graze mine, and our eyes fly to look at each other. My heart beats fast, and I try to swallow.

  “What do you have in the bag?” the little girl asks. “It looks heavy.”

  I blink out of my trance and reach into the bag. “I have pucks,” I say, bringing a puck out and showing it to her. “Did you want it signed or not?”

  She puts her hands together. “Signed please,” she says with glee, and her parents just laugh. “Then can we take a picture?” she asks, and I look over at Viktor who just blinks and looks at her.

  “You can have whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says. I see tears in his eyes, but he blinks them away. “What’s your name?” he asks her while he signs the puck.

  “Savannah,” she says to him.

  “A pretty name for a beautiful little girl,” he says, handing it to her, and she shrugs her shoulder smirking. “Now”—he turns to me, handing me his phone—“can you take a picture?”

  “I can take that,” Savannah’s father says. “So you can be in the picture.”

  I don’t have a chance to tell him no before Viktor grabs my hand and pulls me to the side of Savannah’s bed. He stands there and pulls me in front of him, putting one hand on my shoulder and leaning down a touch to be next to Savannah. “Smile big,” Savannah says, making us all laugh.

  “Thank you so much,” her mother says, and she blinks away her own tears. “Today is a good day.”

  “One day at a time,” Viktor tells her. “We can only go one day at a time. Slow and steady wins the race,” he tells them, and we walk out of the room. “I think I’m going to need a minute,” he says, and I just nod at him. “I didn’t expect …”

  “You didn’t expect for it to hit you in the gut,” I tell him.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I thought I had it bad.”

  I walk over to him, and I put my hand on his arm. “Everyone has their own struggles,” I tell him.

  “How old is she?” he asks me. “She’s, what, ten, maybe younger, and she is fighting for her life.”

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s why it’s important that we take the day to be thankful for what we have.” Walking to him, I get on my tippy toes, and I hug him, dropping the bag to my feet while I do it. Both of my hands go around his neck, and his arms wrap around my waist so naturally, like he’s always
been doing it. “I’m thankful that whatever happened led you here,” I whisper in his ear, and his breath hitches.

  “Zoe,” he says my name in a pained whisper, and I close my eyes. I take it in, the feel of me in his arms, and right when I’m going to let him go, I hear Zara calling me.

  I let him go and then hand him the bag of pucks. “You can do the rest without me,” I tell him and turn to walk away without looking into his eyes because I’m ​pretty sure they’d tell me something I don’t want to know right now. I avoid him the rest of the meal and make sure I sit far away from him. When the guys have to leave, I make a beeline for the toilet, and then when I come back out, my mother is there waiting for me.

  “Hey,” I say, drying my hand with a paper towel. “Is everyone gone?”

  “Yes,” she says coming to me and tucking my hair behind my ear. “My sweet and strong, beautiful girl.”

  I look at her, trying not to laugh. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing,” she says. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Why are you acting like this?” I ask. She looks around and sees that it’s just the two of us. Everyone else is cleaning up and putting things away.

  “He’s going to see it,” she tells me. “I can see it.”

  “Who is he, and what do you see?” I ask her, swallowing and knowing ​she’s seeing right through me. She could always see right through us no matter how much we tried to hide it.

  “He walks with so much baggage that he can’t stand up straight,” she starts to say.

  “Mom,” I say, looking down. “He’s a friend.”

  “Yet you can’t seem to stop yourself from being drawn to him. You can’t seem to look at him and not want to be next to him. You want to help him carry all his baggage.”

  “Isn’t that what you taught us?” I ask her, blinking away the tears. “Help people when they are down.”

  “Yes,” she answers. “And to carry the ones we love.”