40. Arnaz
ARNAZ
“CPTSD”
Surviving yesterdays.
T here are more of us than I thought there would be as I pull in next to the cars filling Ty’s driveway in Topanga Canyon.
Ty lived here before he and Sid purchased their estate in Hidden Hills.
It’s kept for appearances for situations like this, where word got around about tonight and not everyone knows they’re a couple, or that Sid’s bi and Ty’s gay.
Killing the ignition, I call Salem for the second time today. It goes straight to voicemail again.
“Hey. It’s…um”—I clear my throat—“Blue. Call me.”
We’ve talked every night since Milwaukee, except last night when we missed each other.
I hang up.
Damn, I miss him. It’s been less than a week.
I didn’t know it could feel this way—like my lungs don’t have enough space to expand.
Sid rushes out, shutting the door behind him, as I step out of the car. “I saw it was you on the security camera.”
“And you felt like escorting me inside?” I tease.
“Good, good. You’re in a good mood tonight.”
“What’s going on?” I ask as he leans against the door.
“You know how I extended an invite tonight to everyone in the locker room?”
“Yeah…”
“Including the coaching staff…” He winces.
“Seriously?” I groan.
“My bad. He wasn’t there when I told everyone, but Wes and Jamie brought him. I can kick him out.”
We’ve already made practices tense by ignoring and avoiding each other. I rub my neck and stare at my car.
I’m not trying to bring that energy to Ty’s event.
“Don’t leave. I’ll make him go,” he says.
“Nah,” I grumble. “It’s whatever. Come on.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I step forward, forcing him back until the door opens.
He hands me a plate as we make a pit stop at the food table.
“Thanks,” I say absently, staring out at the view. Being this high up, it feels like I can reach out and touch the treetops and mountains.
It makes me think of the family of deer at our cabin.
I check my phone to make sure the ringer’s on.
“Thanks for coming through,” Ty says as I approach the patio, extending a dap.
“Thanks for having me.”
“Wassup?” I say to Ty’s Knights teammates, Idris, Tevin, and Malik, sitting around the circle, and nod to Wes and Jamie.
I slide into the empty seat next to Idris, avoiding the empty one near Aiden.
“Alright,” Ty says, “I think we can get started. The idea of creating a chill space for those of us in the league who struggle with depression and stuff came to me during a phone call with my uncle. When I told him about a friend I’d met, he said something like he couldn’t tell me how many times a conversation with a friend helped him or that friend off a ledge.
He’s a retired firefighter who’s seen some messed-up stuff on the job.
And then, Arnaz, when your article came out, and you talked about your depression, it helped me see that I’m not alone. ”
He pauses to acknowledge me, and I nod, feeling like an impostor. I came out because I couldn’t stay in the closet anymore. This is different.
“I’ve also had similar conversations with some of you here,” he continues. “We all know why we’re here. Thank you for showing up. Before I open up the floor?—”
The doorbell rings.
“I got it,” Sid says, hopping up.
Ty lays the ground rules, asking us to assume best intent when someone is sharing their experience, give the speaker the floor, step out if we need to take a call, and keep what’s discussed here private.
As footsteps approach, we all turn to find Ray, the other half of the Easton and Ray duo, trailing behind Sid.
“Still cool for me to join?” Ray asks, dapping Ty.
“You’re right on time. Want to grab some food?” Ty replies.
“Good lookin’, I just ate.”
Locking eyes with me as he passes, he arches an eyebrow, then backsteps to sink into the seat next to me.
“Nice ink,” he says, pointing to my arm tat.
It sounds like an invitation to pound town, but I learned from our face-offs on the court that’s just his vibe. Dude has more swag than he knows what to do with. Or maybe he does. He’s like Sid before Ty, always seen with a high-profile woman.
“None for you?” I ask.
“No, that was always East’s—” His eyes, that look permanently outlined with kohl, glaze over. “N-no.” He crosses his arms. “No tats.”
“Cool.” I tune Ty back in.
“… encouraged to share, but you don’t have to.
If you choose to speak, share only what feels safe and comfortable.
If someone asks you a question that you don’t feel comfortable answering, just say ‘pass.’ This is supposed to feel chill.
” He rubs his hands together. “Aight. I know that was a lot. Any questions?”
“Just a comment,” Tevin pipes up. “I’ve known my boy Ty for a minute, and he’s a hella private guy. It’s not a small thing for him to open up his home and life to us. How about we give a quick shoutout to him for setting this up?”
We all make noise for Ty, who waves it off as he takes a seat.
“I’ll go first,” Malik jumps in. “What’s up? My name is Malik, and the Knights are taking it all the way this season, suckas!”
I fire my middle finger at him, adding to the mix of laughter and boos as Sid balls up a napkin and wings it at him.
“For real, though. I’m curious.” Tevin raises his hand. “With a show of hands, how many of us struggle with depression?”
Everyone raises a hand except Malik and Sid.
Even Ray.
And then I see Aiden’s.
Hm.
“So, most of us. One more question.” Tevin lowers his hand. “How many of us are in therapy?”
Everyone raises their hands.
“Like you, Arnaz,” Tevin continues, “I’ve struggled with depression since way back. I’m talking as a teenager. I mean, everyone around me kinda seemed depressed in one way or another, but it took me leaving Chicago to realize it was me.”
“Do you know if something caused it?” Wes asks.
“For a long time, I thought it was just me,” Tevin answers, straightening the leg of his jeans. “My dad passed during surgery when I was seven.”
“Damn, man,” Wes cuts in.
“Remembering him in the casket still messes me up. Mom was depressed after.”
“That’s brutal. I’m sorry,” Sid says, and we all murmur in agreement.
“Growing up broke was definitely the villain in my life. It’s why I sometimes sit around my house, bugged out when I look around and realize I’ve made it. It’s still wild to me,” Jamie says.
“That kinda touches on what I struggled with for years,” Sid says.
“Besides grief from losing my best friend and my dad splitting, for me, it was impostor syndrome. I experienced this sorta cognitive dissonance when I entered the league. On the one hand, I knew I worked my ass off to be here, and even when I started making strides, putting up points and breaking records, internally I still felt like I wasn’t good enough, and it made me anxious all the damn time. ”
Ray, Wes, and Jamie nod their heads. I know this about him, and while I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to grow up poor, I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong in the room you’re in.
And I think I’m the only one here who knows what it’s like to grow up in the shadow of a famous dad—one who hates you.
“It’s like the external success didn’t matter because internally I felt like a fraud,” Sid finishes.
“There’s impostor syndrome, and there’s the struggle of finding your worth when your dreams don’t come true,” Aiden jumps in.
“A failed physical exam in college closed the door on my career in the league and sent me playing overseas. I was shattered. Some of my favorite players played overseas at least once in their careers. I knew that, but I hated it. After a few seasons in Spain and then France, I decided to call it quits and came back home. I hit rock bottom.”
“That’s tough,” Idris cuts in. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t made it.”
“To say I felt like an utter fuckup would be putting it mildly. I got piss-poor drunk every night. Things came to a head one night when I grabbed my father’s pistol and drove out to the woods with a pint of Henny. It was the single worst moment of my life.”
I suck in a breath, but it’s drowned out by the sounds of shock and disbelief.
He pauses. “By some guiding hand, I made it to morning. I’d been dodging calls to interview for an assistant coach position with an NCAA Division I team because I felt like even considering it would mean accepting the end of my basketball career.
But then something snapped in place, and I realized that if I didn’t find a new purpose for my life—and fast—I wouldn’t survive the year.
So, I begrudgingly took the interview and landed the job.
I figured finding purpose in the work would come later.
“And then—” he smiles, huffing out a breath—“my first year as a coach, I met this really talented kid who possessed all the underpinnings to not only make it to the league but to soar. He had a lot of anxiety, something I also struggled with in college. Only five years his senior, I saw so much of myself in him. He was so hungry to be great, we’d stay behind after everyone left and run drills.
Hours and hours, practice after practice. ”
My knee starts bouncing, and I can hear my teeth scraping against my nails.
“He was tenacious. He made me realize that if I couldn’t live out my dreams, I could at least take everything I knew and had learned to help him and others like him pursue theirs. That became my purpose,” he says.
“Did the kid make it to the league?” Tevin asks.
“Yeah, and he’s phenomenal,” he says, and goose bumps break out against my skin when his gaze darts my way quickly, then away.
Sid glances at me, silently asking if I’m good.
My knee stops bouncing when someone asks the question I knew was coming.
“Who is he?” Malik asks.
“Pass,” Aiden answers.
“I’m glad you’re still here today,” Ty says.
I think about him sitting in his car, drunk and armed with a loaded weapon. I think about what my life would have been like if he’d never entered it.
I push to my feet. “Bathroom,” I murmur.
Ty nods as I step away.