22. Griffin

The visiting team locker room whirrs from the faint air filling inside, with the sound of a commentator rattling off the play-by-play of what’s happening on the ice.

This guy passing it to another guy, who’s somehow able to maneuver against the normally strong Stingrays defense and SCORE!

The Islanders take yet another goal.

It’s even more of a sting because we’re not on our home turf, so Islander fans are just basking in this rare victory, as they have one of the worst records in the NHL. And then the icing on the cake is that my parents and brothers are here. Way to make your family proud, Markey. They drive the hour and a half to go to this game, only for you to be kicked out within the first two minutes.

I mean, hopefully, the fight was interesting.

Fucking Nettles. We may both have attended Cornell at the same time, and at one point, I was proud to call him a teammate, but he showed me his true colors tonight.

“Your reign’s coming to a fucking end, Markey. You were never good at managing your emotions. Your girlfriend better run while she can.”

Why does everyone think that because I hurt someone, it means I’m going to hurt my girlfriend? That my anger management, or lack thereof, will transfer to beating my girlfriend if we ever find ourselves in an argument? I want to scream to the world how wrong they are, but people are just so focused on the bad things I’ve done in the past week that it feels like a marathon to try and get them on my good side again.

I can argue all I want with Coach, and with the refs, and promise that I won’t hit anyone again, or do something that will get me kicked out of the arena, that I just want to cheer on my teammates. But no. One outburst, one moment where I lost control, and a full-on line brawl led me to a game suspension.

The final buzzer blares over the TV mounted in the corner of the locker room, and I look at the final score. Stingrays, 1. Islanders, 6.

Everyone sulks into the locker room once we’re off the ice but I don’t meet anyone’s stare.

“This is all your fault!” Lindley points at me. “We lost to the Islanders because of your little spat. We’re fighting a wild card spot. We need every win we can get!”

I scoff. Rookies are always so melodramatic. Worst case we’re dropping from first to second. Vancouver just so happens to be on a winning streak.

“We’re doing just fine,” I grit. “Know your place before you talk back to your captain like that.”

Another player in my peripheral tsks. “Oh yeah. Great how our captain just happens to be in the headlines of every major news outlet as an abuser. You’re some role model.” He rolls his eyes and others are whispering in agreement around him.

“Enough!” Ross chimes in, and the room goes silent. “Before you go on bitching about who you’re forced to listen to, maybe you should know that this fight wasn’t unprovoked. Nettles made a comment that was uncalled for, and Griffin retaliated. Do not lie to me and tell me that you wouldn’t have acted the same way.”

Lindley hangs his head low and shuts his eyes. “Okay, I probably would’ve. I’m sorry for my comment, Markey. I believe you if it was warranted.”

“Don’t.” I shake my head. While I wish I could be appreciative of Ross defending me, I am not going to deny that I fucked up. “Look, I’m not condoning my behavior. I could have left it at one shove, but I didn’t. I don’t think I’m setting a good example right now for anyone, and I’m already planning to take preventative steps to ensure that this doesn’t happen again. I apologize for letting you all down. You deserved a win tonight and a captain to show up and help bring you there, but that wasn’t me. I wasn’t the bigger man, and I let my emotions ruin a game that we could have won easily. That’s all I have to say about this, and I’d prefer it if no one asks for any follow-up tonight.”

I gather my things, ignoring the outside noise, and brace myself to tell Coach I’m heading out of here before our post-game huddle. I wasn’t in the game anyway, so if Coach and I could just sidebar on what we need to talk about so I can go be alone, that’d be fantastic.

Coach storms in. One look at him, and you can see the invisible fumes coming out from his ears.

“Markey,” he barks and narrows his eyes at me. “You’re requested in the press room.”

Fuck. I thought that I only needed to make one vulnerable speech today. Who the hell knows the kind of vitriol that’ll get spewed at me from the press? All they want to see is trouble, and I can’t wait to have my words somehow twisted so I look like an even worse human.

“Alright,” I get up and meet him at the entryway. He doesn’t speak a word to anyone else before we head down the hallway to the press room.

Before I step inside to face the wrath, he holds out his hand to grab the door handle to stop me.

“Look, Markey. Just...don’t divulge too much if you don’t want to. We’ll handle any damage control ahead of the next game. Don’t get yourself into deeper water than you’re already in.”

“Yes, Coach,” I reply. He’s already had to sugarcoat shit to make me look better and try to comb up reasons for why we lost or why I had my outburst in the first place. He probably made up some shit about how we’re working on my anger management and reassured everyone it won’t happen again.

“Did you, um, did they already ask you about the brawl?”

“Yes,” he nods. “They did.”

“Can I...know what you said?”

He doesn’t meet my gaze. With his eyes fixed on the floor, he just lets out a long sigh.

“I tried to make you sound as innocent as possible, Markey. That you’re going through some things. But at some point, I can’t justify your actions when you chose to make your private life public.”

I want to scream, “It’s not fair!” Like a kid who didn’t get what he wanted from the store. But it’s my fault. I chose to go outside of my comfort zone after playing it safe. I could have asked for security, but I didn’t think I’d need it. I thought I would be strong enough to face my fears, that the power of love could counteract any fear that I had of strangers intruding into my personal life.

“Yeah, I know,” I whisper. “Well, thanks for giving some kind of sugarcoated response. We’ll see how it’ll go over with me.”

He squeezes my shoulder. I’ve been a Stingray for so long, and this might be the first time that I’ve had an actual intimate moment with Coach about something other than hockey. This moment makes me feel a bond with Coach, stronger than any bond that I’ve felt with my family in a long time. Hell, I don’t even know if they’re waiting around to talk to me or if they feel embarrassed to be related to me after the kerfuffle.

“Whatever happens doesn’t take away from how good you are as a hockey player. And it never will. You’ve accomplished a lot, Griffin. This isn’t your legacy. Your performance on the ice will be, even if this one mistake may carry more impact.”

I try not to let my tears spill. “Thanks,” I nod. With that Creed-esque speech, I feel like I’ve got enough in me to tackle anything these reporters hurl towards me.

Or so I thought.

When I walk into the press room, camera flashes blind my vision. I can barely see my way up to the stage area, where there’s a table and microphone. After me will be members of the Islanders, probably gloating about how well they performed tonight, and Nettles will say something about how he just said those things to rile me up for the game, but he didn’t think that I would react the way that I did. That I’m the one who is going to need help. And he’ll get off clean like he has all his life.

I take a seat, and everyone’s shouting my name, trying to wiggle their way in to ask me a question. I don’t know how else to kick this off other than to point at one of the reporters sitting in the front row. A woman wearing a blazer and a frilly red silk blouse.

“Mr. Markey, what can you tell us about the fight at puck drop between you and Mr. Nettles?”

I sigh. “What I can tell you is that Mr. Nettles made some inappropriate comments about me and my personal life that struck a chord. As other news outlets have publicized, it has been a difficult week for me, and I can truthfully say that I overreacted. But this fight wasn’t unprovoked. I want that to be on the record or whatever journalists say.”

I point to another person, raising their hand and holding their recording device towards me. “Mr. Markey, due to your recent behavior, Stingrays fans, as well as hockey fans in general, are saying that you have an anger issue. Would you agree?”

I sigh. “Yeah. I will admit that I have an anger issue.”

“And what are you doing to combat that anger issue?”

I blink back at him. Jeez, do you think that I have a plan yet for what I’m doing about this? I mean, sure, I’ve contemplated therapy. But I haven’t made the appointment yet.

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Maybe therapy? I...everything just happened. I haven’t really had the chance to call to make an appointment.”

I gesture to another person. “Have you spoken to your girlfriend, Lydia Goh, since the incident?”

Huh, that question kind of came out of left field. I saw that Lydia had left me a text not long ago, just a kind message, something along the lines of wanting to be there for me, but I had to warm up before I could respond. She’s probably at work now, and I don’t even want to imagine what kind of scrutiny she’s been dealing with if news has already traveled to her. Shit, now I’m wishing that I was closer to her to play damage control if she’s trying to fend for herself.

“No,” I shake my head. “I haven’t. Why do you ask?”

“Because she just shared to her Instagram story a post from Los Gatos University about you.”

“What?” My jaw drops. “What kind of post?”

“I would check your phone,” is all the reporter tells me, and I quickly end the press conference to race back to the locker room and grab a hold of my phone. Skipping through the hundreds of missed calls and text messages from my family, I open Instagram. Lydia’s profile photo is the first one next to mine, signaling that she posted a new story, just as the reporter said.

All the post has is a Los Gatos University Department of Student Life letterhead and one sentence below it.

“We have deleted the photos of San Jose Stingrays player Griffin Markey from our page. We do not condone violence amongst our students and faculty and do not agree with the actions Mr. Markey has committed in the past week. We apologize for previously promoting Mr. Markey as a patron to the LGU community.”

“What the fuck,” I whisper. Who posted this? And was Lydia forced to repost this or did she decide to of her own free will? Is she in trouble? Like her job was hanging by a thread, so that’s why she had to share this?

My head is spinning with anxiety, and I need to know if what Lydia did was her own choice and if she’s doing it as some sort of retaliation towards me. When you think that being in love with someone means that you’re going to be there for them through thick and thin, something like this makes you question it. But it’s also making me realize that I did fuck up, and maybe Lydia needs to be with someone who doesn’t have so much baggage weighing them down right now.

Before I race to pull her contact card, my phone screen pops up with an incoming call from “Gordon Markey.”

God dammit. I’ve avoided my family all night and their frequent calling and texting showed me that maybe they might care about me, so I should reciprocate whatever feelings they might have.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Griff.”

Gordo’s greeting lacks any sort of enthusiasm to be talking to me for the first time in almost a year, so now I’m not so sure what he might want.

“Um, hi. What’s up?” I return similar levels of weariness.

“Um, are you still at the arena by chance? We wanted to know if we could see you.”

“Oh,” I sit up straighter on the bench. “Yeah. I’m still here. Let me pack up my things. Who’s all here?”

“All of us. Me, Graham, Mom and Dad. We couldn’t leave your game without taking the chance to see you in person.”

I scoff. “Even if I barely played in it?”

“Well, yeah. Shit happens, Griff. I’m not going to press more about it.”

“Okay.” I can be appreciative of that. “Thanks. I just need to gather my things and I’ll meet you...near where the visiting team enters? You know what, I’m going to let my coach know and we’ll see if you can come in here.”

“Sure thing. We’ll see if we can find our way to the player entrance. We just say we’re here to see you?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell a guard you’re my family and stand with him. See you in like...five minutes.”

“Sure thing,” Gordo’s tone lightens a bit, like he might be excited to see me. Gordon’s always been the favorite of the three Markey boys and embraces it by touting his successes any chance he gets. That also includes the occasional snarkiness around me, emanating some sort of jealousy every time I’d talk about my success. But I’m eager to see if that’s been turned around.

I walk to the player entrance, and next to the guard, there’s a group of four people huddled together, dressed in warm clothing appropriate for the crisp New York winter that I don’t miss much.

“Hey guys,” I sheepishly wave.

My mom moves forward first, a petite Japanese woman with a full head of grey hair now. She used to color it when we were younger, but now looks like she’s embraced her inevitable aging.

She envelops me in a bear hug.

I wobble backward a little bit; Momma Markey is a force and probably where much of my strength comes from.

“Hi, Mom.” I wrap my arms around her, giving her a light squeeze. “Dad, Gordo, Graham. Um, thank you all for coming. I’m sorry that I didn’t get to play as much as you were expecting. Or really, at all.” I allow my vulnerability to absorb into my bones. “I feel like I’ve disappointed you all. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, Griffin.” My mom starts rubbing circles on my back. “It’s okay,” she tells me. “We’re not disappointed.”

“You should be.” I shuffle between each word, fully accepting that I’m a snotty mess in my mother’s arms again. I feel like I’m a child again, crying after I’d lose a game or miss a goal, and my mom would be there in a snap to comfort me. It’s actually kind of nice, feeling like I’m loved again.

“I didn’t want to fight him,” I confess. That sounds pretty dumb for a hockey player. Hockey fights are an essential part of the game, and I’ll partake in a fight if it’s the most strategic move to make. But never to the point where I’d get ejected from the game. “To that level, anyway. But he said something that involved Lydia...and I just snapped.”

“Lydia’s your girlfriend, right?” Graham asks. “She seems very sweet. You two look really cute together.”

“Yeah, you think so?” My face drops when I remember the post she reshared, basically alluding that she wants nothing to do with me so she can protect her job. I don’t blame her; she’s worked so hard to get to a point where she’s respected by her peers. It still hurts, though, the realization that if I want what’s best for her, I’m going to have to set her free. “I don’t think that she’s very happy right now. After everything that happened.”

“Have you talked to her?” My dad asks. “If she really loves you, she’ll stick with you no matter what.”

“It’s not that I don’t think she loves me,” I counter. “It’s that...I think she deserves better than me.”

“Wait,” Gordon holds up his hand to stop me. “You’re not thinking of breaking up with her, are you? Just because of one fight?”

“It’s more than a fight, though! I thought that I could take on a relationship in the public eye, and I’ve failed. Twice. I need to take a step back and work on myself before I’m worthy of being with anyone. Especially Lydia.”

“Well, if you want to take some time off...I know you really can’t because of the season, but we’d love it if you’d come home. Or hey, maybe Dad and I will stay with you in San Jose? Help out where we can?”

My eyes widen. “You’d...you’d come and visit? But I’m so far away.”

“We haven’t made as much of an effort as we should’ve to be there for you, Griffin,” my mom continues. “But we want to. We want you to get better. And if that means coming to San Jose and helping around the house a little, we’ll do it.”

“Yeah.” My dad places a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll be there for you.”

I wipe any remnants of tears on my face. “Thank you, guys.” I might be feeling a lot of emotions right now, but what’s taking over is the feeling of compassion my parents are giving to me when I’m feeling my lowest.

I know that I’ll need it when I make the worst and hardest decision of my life, even though I know it’s the right thing to do. Because I need to work on myself, before I can be the man Lydia needs.

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