“Where are you?” he asks right away. For the past three weeks, he’s been by my side every single time I wanted to talk about Zoe, even if it was about nothing.
“I’m standing in the middle of the street kicking myself for not going after her. For not running after her and begging her to give me a chance to stick it out. Letting her know that I made the decision not to go down that road before she walked in,” I tell him, my chest hurting as I say it. “Letting her know that I’m stronger than that.”
“Well, then, why didn’t you?” he asks, and I give him the answer that hurts the most.
“Because fear got me. The fucking fear that she didn’t care that I didn’t do it and that it wasn’t good enough,” I tell him, and I just shake my head.
“You stupid son of a bitch. How about you come over here and let Becky fawn all over you?” he says sarcastically.
“I think I’ll hit up a meeting first, then maybe I’ll come over,” I tell him and walk toward the meeting. I don’t talk during this one, and when I get out, all I want to do is go home and chill. I open the door, and the place is as quiet as can be. Sometimes it’s too quiet, and I play music just to make it a bit livelier.
The next day, I hit up the gym knowing that no one will be in since it’s Evan and Zara’s baby shower. They both invited me, but I kindly declined and sent a gift anyway. There was no way I could take being in a room with Zoe and not going to her to make sure she was okay. To make sure she knew she didn’t have to love me for both of us, and I would do everything and anything in my power to do that for her. But it wasn’t time yet. I have to do it right. I have to do all the steps right, and then I hope that, in the end, she accepts me with all my pieces put back together. Will they all ever be fully back together? I fucking hope so.
That night, I scroll through Instagram and see that Zara put up some pictures from today. There is one with all the girls and then one of her and Zoe. Like the creep I am, I zoom in on Zoe and her smile and save the picture.
I get a text from Zara, and when I open it, my heart stops as I read it.
Zara: Thank you so much for the Gucci diaper bag with matching outfits. The baby will be styling. Thought you would like to see a picture of her smiling.
Then she attached a picture of just Zoe looking at something, and her head is thrown back and she’s laughing. I smile and rub my finger on it. “Soon.” I turn off the light and head to bed, leaving her picture on my phone.
The nights are getting easier; the pull toward the darkness dimmer every single day. It’s a cycle, everyday getting up only to cross off another day on the calendar. We will be on the road for twelve days. Our longest one to date.
Getting to the arena for tonight’s game, everyone is in high spirts. I laugh to myself because three days into the road trip and everyone will be bitching to each other about not being home.
The road trip is even worse than I thought. It only took two days before everyone started to get irritated. And it didn’t help that we lost the first two games on the road. I spent most days either on the ice or in the gym.
Two days before we head home, everyone is hurting. “Can we just play a game without it becoming a wrestling match?” one of the rookies asks.
“That’s what happens when you’re in the run for the playoffs. Every single point counts,” I tell him, walking up the stairs to the plane and sitting in my seat. Next stop is LA. Before, I would be nervous and anxious, and I still am, except this time I’m nervous that I’ll fuck up by killing one of those fuckers on the ice. I’m not nervous that I might slip this time. No, this time I know I won’t slip. For once in my life, I have something good—something that no amount of money or getting high can get me—and I’m not going to lose it.
I sit in my seat, not expecting anyone to sit next to me only because we usually spread out, but Matthew sits in the chair next to me. I look over at him, but he doesn’t say anything, and the plane takes off.
“So what’s going on?” Matthew starts the awkward conversation. There is a lot to be said about Matthew but beating around the bush isn’t one of them.
“You should just come out and ask what you need to ask or say what you need to say.” I laugh. “For both our sakes.”
“Karrie says I need to be more approachable,” he says, scratching his neck. “This is me trying.”
“Don’t tell Karrie, but you suck at it,” I tell him. “Now what do you really want to ask?”
“Is being in LA going to be a problem?” he asks me, and I look at him, turning in my seat.
“That’s a loaded question,” I tell him. “If you are asking if I think I might slip and it becomes a scene like it was in New York, the answer is no. Without a second thought.” I look at him straight in the eye. “If you’re asking if I’m going to bring my A game, the answer again is yes.”
“That’s good to hear.” He puts his head back on the rest and crosses his hands.
I lean back in my seat and turn to look at him. “I also won’t hesitate to drop the gloves if one of them even looks at me sideways.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he says.
“Just laying it all out there for you,” I tell him, laughing, and I feel like something has lifted from my shoulders. “I have too much to lose.”
“That so?” he asks with a smirk.
“Yeah, that is so. And I’ll be damned if I throw it away for them,” I tell him and look around, then lean in. “Bottom line, at the end of all this, I’m planning on making Zoe mine if she’ll have me.”
“What makes you think she’ll want you?” he asks me seriously, and I think about how I should answer this.
“I pray that she will want me,” I tell him honestly. “Every single night, it’s the first thing I ask for, and I know I don’t have any right to ask for or expect anything, but if I get anything in my whole life, it will be her love.”
“What if she’s in love with someone else?” And the pain is there again, the pressure pushing down on my chest like a herd of elephants stomping their feet.
“If she loves someone else and she’s happy, then I have to give her that.” I swallow, and it feels like I have a whole mouth full of nails. “I want her to be happy, and if it’s without me, when she deserves that, then I just walk away and give it to her.”
“How hard was that to say?” he asks me.
“I felt like I was swallowing nails,” I answer him honestly. “Is she dating?” I finally ask him about her. I don’t even know I’m holding my breath while I wait for him to answer. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes out his phone and turns it to me, and I see that it’s him in the middle of his sisters.
“That was taken at the baby shower,” he tells me, and I know because I have the picture saved on my phone of her in that dress. He swipes to the side, and then she’s there again, this time with Alex on her hip. “She puts on a good front,” he says, looking at the picture again. “So to answer your question, no, she isn’t dating.”
I nod and slowly let out the breath I’ve been holding, my heart starting to beat semi normal again. “Can’t say I’m sad about that news.”
He lets out a huge laugh. “Well, said,” he says, and for the rest of the plane ride, we talk about all the teams trailing us in the standings. It’s nighttime when we land but when we get off the plane, it’s hot and just a touch muggy.
When I get dressed to go to the arena, I do it with my head held high and my shoulders back. It’s the first time I’ve been back since I’ve been traded, and I honestly don’t know what to expect. It’s always weird coming back to the arena that made you into that hockey player and then made you into the drug addict. It’s where I started to do most of my drugs while I chased the high. I think back to the times I played high, and I’m still shocked that it took them that long to figure it out. I step onto the bus on the way to the arena, and all I can do is look out the window and replay in my head everything that has happened since I left. It’
s not as scary as it was the first time or the second time; it’s easier, and the road is lighter.
I walk off the bus after Matthew and Max. Evan is behind me, and I spot the reporters right away with their cameras rolling. I know this will be playing on SportsCenter for the next twenty-four hours, but I’m not walking down the dark concrete by myself, no not with this team. I walk down next to Matthew on my right side and Evan on my left and Max beside Matthew. A united front, a team, a family. “Hey, Viktor.” I hear one of the camera guys say, and I just look ahead to the brown metal door that I’ve walked into a thousand times before, but this time, when I walk in, I walk to the opposite end of the hallway.
When we walk into the bleak dressing room, I look around. “My room in rehab was nicer than this,” I joke with Evan, who laughs. I take a deep breath in and let it out slowly and go to my seat. Taking off my jacket, I start getting my exercise shit out. “I need to run,” I tell Evan who is on his phone.
“Whatever you do, don’t fucking wear yourself out,” he says, looking up for a second and then down again. “We need to win.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” I say and get ready to run on the treadmill. I’m by myself for most of it and then a couple of the guys come in while I’m walking to cool down. The music blares as we get dressed, and Matthew has closed off the room for reporters. The only one allowed in has a three-minute slot to walk in and just do a camera shot. Not surprisingly, the camera stayed on me as I was getting ready. I blocked it out, I blocked it all out, and the only thing I had in my head was going out there and winning.
When I slip the jersey on and pull up the sleeves, I bounce on my skates. “I can’t wait to get this shit over with,” I tell Evan, and he grabs his gloves.
“I’m ready to go home to my wife,” he says. “I swear her stomach got so much bigger, and I’m scared she’s going to have the baby while I’m not there.” He shakes his head. “Knowing my luck, that kid is going to come early and shock us all.” I laugh.
When the door opens, we start to walk down the hallway, and I know we will come out on the other side of the ice as LA. This is where I called home for four years, coming out of the other side is weird as fuck. “Guys, don’t fuck this up for me.” I smirk at the team. “Everyone else who has been traded has lost their game once they come back, and I don’t want to fall in that category.” I laugh, and everyone just shakes their head.
The doors open, and I skate on with the team, the booing already starting. “Welcome home,” Evan says, laughing beside me. “Fuck, when I went back to Dallas, they had a shrine of me,” he jokes and pushes my shoulder. I warm up by skating around a couple of times and then shooting the puck. When we leave the ice for the Zamboni, I have my skates sharpened just a touch and then take my place on the ice as they do the national anthem.
When I skate to center ice, I’m expecting to see Kevin, but it’s Mika. “Hey, douchebag,” he says. One look at him, and I can tell he’s high. How did no one on the bench notice? Oh, wait they probably did and didn’t say anything. “Ready to get your ass handed to you?”
I laugh. “Who is going to hand it to me?” I ask him and see Evan look over at us, Chris in the front of him chirping.
“Look, it’s Larry and Curly,” Evan says. “Where is Moe?” he asks him, laughing at his own joke.
“Pretty boy has a big mouth,” Chris says, and it makes me chuckle because Evan is a pretty boy.
“Yeah, the difference is my mouth can deliver,” Evan says, and Chris does what I know he’s going to do.
“You know who else has a mouth that delivers?” Chris says, and now Evan stands straight.
“If you want to keep any of your teeth, I suggest you don’t fucking finish that sentence,” Evan says, advancing just a touch over the line, and the referee pushes them away.
“Save it for the game,” he says, and Chris just laughs.
“Pussy ass bitch,” he says, looking over at Mika. “Let’s make it rain.”
“Seriously, you fuckers still doing code words?” I shake my head and now crouch down as the puck comes out of the referee’s pocket. “Just one thing wrong with that.” I look over at Mika. “I’m the one who created the code words,” I say, and the puck drops, and I’m already away from Mika.
Evan and Chris battle for the puck, but Evan is faster than Chris and sends it to Andrew, the right winger, who gets it on his stick and then sees me waiting at the far left. He crosses over the line, and I can see Mika charging for me, but I move to the right just as he comes crashing into the board, leaving me in the center of the ice right in front of the goalie.
Andrew passes it straight to me, and I tip it right over the goalie, hitting the back of the net. I’m about to throw my hands up and celebrate when I’m hit from behind. I have a split second to look to the side and see that it’s Mika. The defenseman comes over, trying to stop him, but he shakes him off. I look over at Evan, who is pushing Chris and saying whatever when Mika pushes me again, and I snap. The sticks go flying and then the gloves come off, and Mika does the same thing. No one is going to stop this; everyone is backing up as they see us skate. I grab him by his jersey with my left hand, and I swear my knuckles are white for how hard I’m holding him. I hit him once and then twice in the head, and he ducks down. His right hand tries to swing, but his movements are a touch slower. And when he’s mid punch, I knock him from under, and my fist connects with his jaw. He falls to the ice, and I hit him one more time before the referee comes out and breaks us apart.
One of them pushes me away, and the other tries to get Mika up, but he looks confused as to how he got there. I see the trainer come on the ice, and the referee tries to get him on his feet, but he loses his legs again, and they have to hold him up. I look over at Chris, who just glares. “Pussy ass bitch can’t even make it rain,” I tell him, then the ref pushes me toward the penalty box. “He cross checked me,” I tell him, and he laughs.
“You knocked his ass out cold. Get in the box,” he says, and I get in the box, and they finally announce my goal and then my penalty. Luckily, the two minutes go by with nothing going on. Chris smashes Evan’s stick, and he hits it so hard, the stick breaks, and Evan tosses it to the ice and then blocks the puck once it’s passed in our zone. He kicks it over to me, and I take it on my blade and skate up the ice, the defenseman one on one with me. I look around to pass it and don’t see anyone. I’m almost to the goalie so I try my luck and shoot it over his shoulder, and to everyone’s surprise, it goes in. I kick up one of my legs and scream out in celebration. Some of the fans are on their feet celebrating, but none more than Evan, who jumps up once he gets to me. I skate to the bench and give everyone a high-five and then get on the bench. Evan sits next to me, and then they announce my name. I look up and then see that they are doing one of those video montages of all the times I was here.
The fans stand and clap, and I get up and raise my hand. I ignore the ache in my hand, and I ignore that my fist is getting bigger and bigger in my glove. I don’t say anything to anyone, and when we start the third period, Mika is still not back. Word in the dressing room is that he’s being looked at for a concussion. I don’t give a rat’s ass. I’m ending this game with another goal.
The third period is a joke. It’s just hit after hit, and it’s to see what they can get away with and what they can’t, and we don’t play that game. The hits keep coming, but we are ready for them, and when one of them tries to hit Evan in the middle of the ice when he doesn’t even have the puck, he’s had enough at this point. He throws his stick and his gloves down and grabs a hold of the other guy’s shirt, punching him. Evan grabs him in a headlock, and they both fall to the ice. The referee tries to break them up, but Evan flips the guy on his back and knocks him two more times before they get him off him. “Pussy ass bitches,” he says, smiling and wipes the little trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Who’s a pretty bitch now, cocksucker?” He skates bac
kward toward the penalty box, smirking the whole way and chirping.
I get to the bench, and the coach comes over. “Matthew says stop fucking around and get that fucking hat trick.” I just nod at him and look up at the replay. It’s 2-0 for us with four minutes to go. “They are going to pull the goalie any minute, boys,” he says, walking behind the bench. “Get the fucking puck into the back of the net, and let’s get the fuck out of here with two points, yeah?”
I don’t listen to him as I pick up the water bottle. When I squirt some into my mouth, I can’t help but wince at the pain. I look around to make sure no one has seen me, and when it’s my turn to get on the ice, I jump over the bench at just the right time. The goalie is leaving the net, and I intercept the pass and shoot it down the ice, scoring my hat trick. Right before the goalie gets on the ice and they have six men on the ice.
Evan stands up in the penalty box and hits the glass when I skate by. The last ten seconds of the game, the LA coach decides to put on his fourth line to start trouble. He then puts on the fighter of the team who starts to comes for Evan and me.
“You guys think you can come into our building,” he starts chirping, and I have to look up because he’s huge.
“And fuck you in the ass, Donnie,” Evan finishes the sentence for him, and the referee comes over.
“Knock it the fuck off. You start something, and I’ll throw your ass out of here,” he tells us all.
“We’ve just fucked him in the ass,” Evan says. “You might want to be gentle on him.” I laugh, but Donnie doesn’t, and he tries to grab Evan, but he doesn’t get a chance to. We skate to the center ice and then they switch the center man for Donnie. And you know shit is about to go down. When the puck drops, the gloves drop everywhere. The horn sounds, and the referee throws up his hands.
“It’s over,” he says, pushing Donnie away from Evan, and then everyone skates off the ice.
“Well, that was fun,” Evan says, walking into the room, and I put my stick there and slowly peel off my glove.
This Is Wild Page 22
