This Is Wild

by Natasha Madison

  “I don’t love him,” I say, rolling my yes. “I might like him a bit, but love is a big—”

  “Step,” she finishes the sentence for me, and I’m saved by my father, who comes looking for her.

  “There you are,” he says. “We’re almost done.” He leans down to kiss her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” my mother says. “We were just talking about Christmas and New Year’s.”

  “You going to come with us, right?” my father says, and I look at my mother.

  “The team is going to be on the road again this year,” my father says, and I groan.

  “Again?” I tell him. “It’s been four years in a row.”

  “Now, here’s the good news,” he says, smiling. “They play in the afternoon and will be back by seven p.m., and then Oliver is transforming the whole arena into a supper club kind of thing.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I say to them. “I was so not wanting to spend it in a hotel.”

  “Doug also rented rooms for anyone who wants,” my mother says. “But it makes sense for you to go home.”

  I help everyone clean up, and my parents drop me off at home before taking the drive all the way back to Long Island with Zara in the back complaining about having heartburn. When I wave to them, I walk into my house. I don’t bother turning on any of the lights before I get undressed in the dark and slip into bed. Hoping that somewhere in my dreams, it’ll give me the answers I’m searching for.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Viktor

  My fingers tap on the steering wheel with the beat of the song. One hour ago, we finished our last game before the Christmas break, and I took the six-hour drive home instead of waiting until the morning. We are off for five days, and it’ll be a good break, so there was also no excuse ​to stay away from my family.

  The drive to Canada is dark, and ​not many cars are on the road. I stop once to fill up and grab another cup of coffee from a twenty-four-hour diner. When I pull up to my rental property ​I got for the holidays, only the porch lights are on. I get out and feel the cold right away, my breath puffing out in front of me. Opening the back door, I take my bag and walk up the steps, entering the code on the door ​I was given.

  When I open the door and step in, there is a light on in the hallway so I can see. I kick off my shoes and take the stairs on the right, going straight up to look for a bed. I slip my suit jacket off and toss it on the chair in the corner of the master bedroom. Or it could be the guest bedroom. I didn’t ​really look. I just walked into the first room I saw. When I finally slip into the bed, my body finally relaxes just a touch, and I fall asleep.

  When I get up, I see it’s almost noon, and the sun is trying to peek into the room around the closed curtains. Grabbing my phone, I see that my sister texted me this morning asking me where I was. Instead of texting her back, I call her, and she answers after one ring.

  “Hey,” she says, and I hear Christmas music playing in the background. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at my rental house. I decided to drive after the game instead of this morning.” I turn in the bed.

  “Mom said you could have stayed here with them,” she says, and my body gets tense.

  “It’s easier this way,” I tell her softly. “I’m going to get up, shower, and make my way over. Do you guys need anything?”

  “Mom,” Natalia says, calling my mother. “You need Viktor to get anything?” I hear my mother in the background along with pots banging. “She said just her baby boy,” she groans.

  “I’ll see you soon,” I tell her and then disconnect, tossing the phone on the bed and getting up. My body starts to tense just thinking of going over to my parents’ house.

  When I finally walk up the steps to the house I spent maybe two years at, I don’t know whether to knock or just walk in. My hands are already clammy as I anticipate our dinner. It’s the first time I’ve seen my family face-to-face since I left rehab, actually since the day I entered rehab. The front door opens even before I ​decide whether to ring the bell, and my sister comes flying out the door, calling my name. She jumps into my arms, and her hair flies in my face. I laugh and catch her. “Crazy nut, I could have dropped you,” I tell her, and she moves her face back, and I see her. We do look ​alike in some ways. It’s mostly our eyes that are the same.

  “You would never let me fall,” she says and slaps my shoulder as I let her down. “Come on. Mom has been cooking for the past two days.” She grabs my hands and pulls me inside. The smell of apples and cinnamon hits me right away.

  “Mom, Dad!” Natalia yells. “He’s home; he’s here.” She pulls me through the house that still has the same décor as when I lived here. A couple more pictures have been added to the wall, but overall, it’s the same furniture. We walk past the winding staircase toward the French doors that lead to the kitchen and family room. Walking through those doors, my heart speeds up just a touch more than I want it to.

  My mother stands just behind the counter, and when she spots me, she smiles, taking off the oven mitts. “There he is,” she says, coming to me and grabbing my face in her hands. “Look at you.” She looks me in the eyes, moving my face side to side. “Look at you.”

  “Hi, Mom,” I tell her, taking her in my arms and smelling her. She’s always worn the same Chanel No. 5 perfume.

  “Let the boy go.” My father’s voice breaks up the smile on my face. “You coddle him too much,” he says, coming over to us. He walks over, and we have the same build, and our eyes are the same. The only thing different is that his hair is now salt and pepper and his stomach ​a bit more protruded.

  “Dad,” I say, walking to him and having the most awkward hug in my whole life. He tries to pretend, but when he taps your back like a stranger, you step away from him.

  “Glad you could grace us with your presence,” my father says sarcastically. “How long has it been since you’ve come home for Christmas?” he asks me, then looks at my mother. “What is it now, five years?”

  “Well, living on the West Coast, it was hard.” I try to come up with an excuse.

  “Is that what you’re blaming this shit on? The West Coast? It’s ’cause you were too busy snorting shit up your nose.”

  “Andrei,” my mother hisses at the same time my sister yells at him. “Dad.”

  “That’s fine. You’re right. I was too busy getting high to care or come home,” I tell him, and he nods and just turns away, shaking his head.

  “He doesn’t mean it,” my mother says, and I look at her.

  “Yes, he does,” I say under my breath.

  “Come and tell me all about New York,” she says, trying to defuse the situation.

  “Yeah, tell me all about living in New York City and make me jealous,” Natalia says, and I walk over to the counter, pulling out one of the stools.

  We talk about New York, and I show her some pictures of my apartment. “Betty.” My father calls her name from over his shoulder. “The Hendersons will be dropping by for a drink later.”

  “Great,” my mother says and goes about getting the plates out. “Help set the table.” She smiles at me, and I grab the plates and follow her into the dining room. She puts on the same red tablecloth she uses every year.

  “I’m going to go over and say Merry Christmas to Ilyana’s family. I’ll be back in an hour,” my sister says and then ducks out.

  I go about setting the table the way my mother taught me when I was younger. “You look amazing,” my mother says, her voice quiet and her eyes down.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, keeping my voice down as well.

  “Your eyes, they are almost back to when you were …” She tries to come up with the word to describe my eyes.

  “You mean when I wasn’t high,” I tell her, and she looks up now. “It’s okay to say it, Mom. I’m a recovering addict.”

  “I don’t mean to push you or anything,” she says, and at that moment, it’s almost like an elephant in the room trying not to w
alk on eggshells.

  “It’s okay to talk about it,” I tell her. “It’s healthy to talk about it.”

  She sits down in the chair and looks at me. “I was so scared that you were going to die,” she says to me and then looks out the bay window to blink away her tears. “I would pray every single night.”

  I reach out and hold her hand in mine. “I’m …” I start to say, and my father comes into the room.

  “What’s all this?” he asks, looking at us.

  “We were talking about how good he looks,” my mother says, smiling at me. “Dinner will be ready as soon as Natalia returns.” My father nods at her and doesn’t say a word to me. “He worries about you too.”

  “I bet he does,” I say, getting up. “What else can I do?” I help my mother prepare the plates. She tells me all these little cooking tips, and I’m about to laugh since I don’t even know when I would ever cook all these foods. My mind goes straight to Zoe, and I wonder how her Christmas is going.

  When Natalia comes back, my mother declares Christmas Eve dinner ready. She lights the two red candles in ​the middle of the table, and we say a little prayer before digging in and eating. Natalia fills the awkward silence by telling me about all her trips she’s taken this year for modeling.

  “Wait a second, have you met Zara Stone? She has this Zara’s Closet online,” my sister asks me after cutting into her piece of apple pie.

  I nod at her. “Zara Richards now.” Smiling at her. “Yeah, she’s the captain’s wife.”

  “I am dying to get on her list. Do you think …?” She smiles at me and bats her eyes.

  “I’ll see if she is taking anyone new,” I tell her, and when I leave the house a couple of hours later, I realize I have never been more uncomfortable in my skin. The night is awful, and sleep doesn’t even come. I walk around the strange house, trying to keep my heart from beating out of my chest. I take two showers since I keep sweating through my shirt.

  When I drive back to my parents’ the next day, my father is the one who answers the door. “Merry Christmas,” I say to him, and he steps back to let me in the house. I give him a hug, and he grumbles something and then takes off up the stairs.

  “Merry Christmas,” my mother says, coming out of the kitchen and wiping her hands on her white apron. “I’m just putting the bacon in the oven.”

  Walking into the kitchen, I see that she has already started cooking. “Go sit and watch television,” she says to me, and I walk into the family room and sit down on the chair. This is supposed to be my home, yet I feel like a stranger. I take the remote and turn the television on, but then I get up and walk to the wall of hanging pictures. My father ​is in all of them in his coach’s uniform with different players.

  I stop at the one in ​the middle of me and him. It was taken right after we won the state championship. “You were one of the best,” my father says from the entrance of the living room.

  “Some people would say I’m better now,” I tell him, turning.

  “Well, you definitely are much better this year.” He steps into room, and I shake my head and laugh. “This is funny to you?”

  My eyes snap to his. “Nothing about this is funny to me.”

  “Did you use your drugs last night?” he asks me, and I look at him, hoping he sees the hatred in my eyes. “You come over today eyes all dark like you didn’t sleep. Your hair all over the place and the scruff on your beard.”

  “You think I used last night?” I ask him, my voice raising in pitch. “Do you think if I used drugs, I would even be here?” I put my hands on my hips and shake my head. “Jesus, I don’t even know why I try.” My voice gets just a touch louder, and now my mother comes into the room with Natalia next to her.

  “Watch your voice in my house,” he says.

  “Yes, heaven forbid I have a voice,” I tell him. I wasn’t coming here for this, but the opportunity is right in front of me. “Do you know what it was like growing up?”

  “Don’t you try to turn this around on us,” he says.

  “Oh, yes.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Heaven forbid we point out your flaws. Do you know there was not one time that you came to me after a game and said ‘good game, son.’” I look at him, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “No, everyone else got it. I got a rundown on what I fucked up on. How I could be better. Whatever I did,” I start to say and then take a deep breath, “it was never good enough.”

  “Oh, please,” my father says, and I laugh now, shaking my head.

  “Yeah, I know you’re the perfect one in everything you do. Meanwhile, how many Stanley Cups did you hold over your head?” I hit him where I know it hurts him most. “I was always the first one on the ice and the last one off. I had to skate faster, and I had to shoot harder, but it just was never good enough.”

  “It’s because I pushed you like that that you held that cup over your head,” he tells me. “Why settle for second place when you can be number one?”

  I look at my mother, who stands there with tears running down her face. “I’m sorry that when I came to Christmas four years ago, I was high the whole time. I don’t even remember the weekend, but you know what I do remember?” I look at my father. “How you brought out the DVD you had made with all my fuckups of the season.” I look up. “Every single one of them, and you sat there for four hours going over everything you would have done differently. Everything that would have made it perfect.”

  “I was trying to make you better!” he shouts. “Everything that I did was to make you better so you would have it better than me. So you could achieve the things I couldn’t.”

  “Well, you didn’t. Instead, you pushed me to bury my head even more.” I take a deep breath. “I think I’m going to go.”

  “You can’t go. It’s Christmas,” Natalia says. “You have to stay.”

  I look at my mother and then at my father, whose face is pulled tight with anger. “Let him go.”

  “Andrei,” my mother says. “Don’t you dare let him go off angry like this.”

  “He wants to come in here and blame us for him taking drugs. He wants to point fingers. I didn’t snort that cocaine; he did that.”

  “I did,” I admit. “That’s all my fault, and I take responsibility for my actions.” I walk to my father. “But when are you going to take responsibility for yours?” I walk past him and hug my mother.

  “I’m sorry I’m leaving like this,” I tell her. “I’ll call you when I get home.” I hug Natalia who tells me she loves me.

  I pack up my car with my stuff and drive away from my hometown with a weight lifted off just a touch.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Zoe

  * * *

  My phone buzzes on my dresser, and I walk over.

  Zara: We will be outside in ten minutes.

  I walk back to the mirror and take one last look at myself. I don’t even know what look I’m going for. It’s been a month since I’ve actually been out. After Thanksgiving, I put my head down and ​pretty much avoided everyone. When I showed up for Christmas, everyone gushed about how they missed me.

  I use my job as an excuse to skip most of the home games, claiming that everyone wants their house on the market in time for January. I wasn’t lying, but I wasn’t honest either. I closed ​a couple of deals and just laid low at home or in the office.

  I have lunch with Zara at least once a week, but no one brings up Viktor, or at least I don’t. ​I know he is at a record high with scoring. I secretly watch the hockey games from home but avoid going to the rink, claiming that I need to close deals. Meanwhile, I’m on my couch with my blanket as I watch them either win or lose. I’m ​starting to get some lay of the land, and I’m ​starting to understand more calls.

  Matthew gave me a headlock when he finally saw me at Christmas Eve and rubbed my head, trying to get me to tell him what was bothering me. I couldn’t come out and tell him ​I had fallen for Viktor, so I lied. ​It was good to be surrounded by the
family. I just need to clear my head, and once that’s all done, I’ll be back.

  I made the mistake of telling Zara I wanted to wear something to knock everyone’s socks off, and well, she did not disappoint with that request. I look at the one-piece dress ​she got me. It’s rose gold and sparkly. The sleeves are long, the front goes down in a V, and it’s so tight it’s stuck ​to me. A belt of the same colored sits at my waist and then the dress falls down straight. It’s the slit right down the middle that makes it drop-dead sexy. Every single move I make, you see my long, toned leg. I have my hair tied up in a high ponytail. Slipping the white cashmere cape over my shoulder, I grab my purse and phone and walk down the stairs to wait at the door.

  When I see the car in front, I turn off the lights and lock the door, making my way to the car. The driver opens the door for me, and I get in, seeing that it’s just Zara. “Hey,” I say, sitting next to her. “Where is everyone?”

  “They are meeting us there,” she tells me. “I was just not ready, so I left a little after them.” She smiles at me. “You look amazing.”

  “I love your blue dress,” I tell her and see that her little stomach is sticking out. If you look at her from the back, you would never know she’s pregnant.

  “Yeah, well, wait till the mister sees it,” she says. “I don’t know if he’ll like it as much as I think.”

  I shake my head because Evan likes Zara to be covered from head to toe. If she could walk with a bag covering her, I think he would love it. We get out, and I’m not surprised to see him waiting for her. He opens the car door, and I get out first. “Happy New Year.” I smile at him and go and kiss his cheek to block his view of Zara getting out of the car. He rushes me out of ​the way to see Zara.

  “Hey, you,” he says, kissing her lips, and he hasn’t seen her outfit yet. “You look …” he starts but then looks down at her. “Why is there a missing piece in your dress?” he asks her, and I have to roll my lips. There is a little keyhole under her boobs and right before the belly. I don’t think he knows it’s off the shoulder either.