2. Mitch
CHAPTER 2
MITCH
THE NEXT DAY
M y life is basically one big checklist.
It’s not that I like it like that, but it’s what keeps me going. Wake up? Check. Take medication? Check. Go for a mental health walk? Check. Practice? Check. Healthy dinner? Check. In bed by eleven? Check.
It can get pretty repetitive, but with bipolar disorder, repetition is better than a depressive or manic episode, so in the grand scheme of things it’s not too bad. But every once in a while, I’d like to say yes when I’m invited out clubbing on a random night.
Like right now. I’m staring my teammate, Sam, right in the face as I try to get up the nerve to lie to him.
“So, I’m thinking maybe we head to that new spot and then just see where the night takes us,” he says.
“I, uh ...” I start.
Then I feel a hand on my sweaty back. “Greggs has an early massage therapy appointment,” my best friend, Thomas, says. “We’re laying low tonight.”
I breathe a silent sigh of relief. I hate lying, but with my bipolar diagnosis in this sport, I don’t have the choice sometimes. I also hate when Thomas lies for me, but he insists he doesn’t mind keeping my secret, so I let him.
“Ah, that’s too bad. It’s always more fun when you’re there,” Sam says.
Only when I’m hypomanic , I think. On days like today when I’m stable, I’d be pretty boring. And on days when I’m depressed, I’m hardly a good time at a café, let alone a club. But as fun as the mania or hypomania might be in the moment, I much prefer the balance stability has to offer as much as I can get it.
Once I’ve finished taking off my practice gear and shower the sweat from practice away, I dry off and pull out my change of clothes. When Thomas says we’re laying low tonight, he really means we’re going out to dinner with our friends. That means dressing like an actual adult, button-up and all, because Stacey Anderson will be there, and I’d never let myself be caught dead looking like a schlub in Stacey’s presence.
I slide my blue shirt over my arms and mindlessly fasten the buttons while my mind slips, like it has many times, to Stacey. I first met Stacey back when I hired her to help run my animal rescue non-profit. We raise money to support local no-kill shelters and rescue programs across the state, and as much as I wanted to run the whole thing myself, I’m pretty busy during the NHL season, so I had to hire some help.
Stacey busted into my life like a gorgeous, brilliant tornado, leaving nothing but spreadsheets and insecurity in her wake. When I say gorgeous, I don’t mean she’s kinda pretty. I mean she’s the most stunning, breathtaking person I’ve ever seen. And when I say brilliant, I don’t mean she’s a little smart, I mean she’s the most talented, thoughtful, prolific person I’ve ever met. The combination leaves a usually fairly confident me cowering mentally in fear as she walks through life kicking ass and taking names.
So, yeah. I have a little crush. But Stacey and I could never be together. Not just because my checklist of a life doesn’t leave a lot of space for dating. Every time I’ve tried to be in a serious relationship, I’ve wound up so depressed I’m unable to get out of bed or so manic I almost have to be hospitalized. My checklists keep me on track, and there’s no box to check that says, “Be a good boyfriend.” In fact, I’ve been a pretty selfish, shitty one historically. So, it’s better to just avoid that whole thing all together.
But also ... Stacey doesn’t exactly love me. In fact, I worry she might dislike me quite a bit.
My phone dings with a notification from the reminder app.
Take evening meds.
I glance around the dressing room and find that it’s just me, Thomas, and Caleb, left. They both know about my diagnosis, so I pull my pill container out of my leather backpack and find the compartment with my evening medication in it. I slide a pill out, put it on my tongue, and pour water down my throat to swallow it easily. I check the reminder off on my phone and put my dirty clothes in my bag. Once my pants are on and my shoes are tied, I turn to my mirror to comb my hair. I can’t be showing up to the restaurant with wild wet hair; that would be mortifying.
“Ready to go?” Caleb says from across the dressing room.
“Ready!” I holler, messing with my hair one last time.
I turn around to see Caleb and Thomas standing at the door. Caleb’s cheeks are still red from practice, and Thomas has on his dumb backwards baseball cap.
“You know we’re going to a nice place, right?” I motion to the hat .
“Yes, Martha Stewart. I’ll take it off when we get there, don’t worry,” he says.
I picked up the Martha Stewart nickname during a particularly intense argument about flowers last year when we were helping Caleb plan the first big event for his new non-profit. At least the argument wasn’t with Stacey that time. We’ve argued about things like flowers more times than I can count, and it’s all become a bit tiring. But I like things to be a certain way, and so does she, so it’s sort of just what happens.
“Alright,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
We arrive at the restaurant a few minutes before our reservation and I’m already nervous. I really don’t want to argue with Stacey tonight, not in front of everyone. But even when I go in with the best of intentions, I usually wind up saying something to piss her off.
Not tonight, I tell myself. Tonight is about friendship, not fighting . Caleb’s been even quieter than normal today so I hope he’s not too anxious and can still have a good time tonight. He’s such a fun guy, especially when he’s able to let loose a little.
I hear a loud laugh from around the corner and my heartbeat skyrockets. I’d know that laugh anywhere, even if I’m not usually the one making it happen. A few moments later, Stacey and our friend Hazel walk around the corner. Stacey looks as gorgeous as ever, and she’s giggling, which is unusual for her. Her laugh makes my hands all clammy and for a moment I pretend she’s laughing because of something I said, that I’m able to bring her this much joy. But then the laugher stops suddenly. I look up and she’s staring at me, eyes wide.
“Hey,” I finally say.
“Uh, hey,” she replies, shifting in her stance just enough that I notice. I wonder what’s making her so uncomfortable, she seemed fine a second ago. More than fine, actually. She seemed ... happy. She’s wearing a purple blouse and dark jeans that cling to her curves effortlessly. Her heels could easily be used in some sort of murder or human sacrifice, they’re so sharp, and her hair is flowing down her back, all silky and soft. I want to run my hands through it, which is never going to happen so I should probably stop thinking about it.
We check in for our reservation and the host guides us to a big round booth before Cassie arrives. Hazel slides in first, followed by Thomas. Caleb slides in on his other side leaving just enough room for Cassie. I slide in next to Thomas, our bulky frames budging into each other. Then, I look up. Stacey is staring at me again. I can’t tell if she’s annoyed that she has to sit next to me or if she’s nervous about something she’s not saying, so I pat the seat next to me and try to put a soft smile on my face.
“I don’t bite,” I say.
Her face wrinkles up and I feel a laugh creep up from my chest. What I don’t say is that there’s a small part of me that wants to sink my teeth into her neck before I pepper it with kisses as I move up to her ear. Just a little. Not that I ever will. Obviously.
She scoots over into the seat next to me and I’m immediately aware of everywhere we’re touching. Her shoulder is pressed into my arm and our legs are touching from hip to knee. I feel this tingling sensation everywhere we connect. When she shifts in her seat, momentarily bringing us even closer together, my stomach dives and flips. God, I have to get over this thing I have for her. It’s becoming unmanageable, especially for something that will never go anywhere.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “I’m a bit wide in the hips.”
I ... what?!
No. Absolutely not. I will not allow this powerful woman to apologize for taking up some space on a poorly designed bench. But I also don’t want to make a thing out of it in front of everyone, so I pull up my phone.
Mitch: Don’t say shit like that.
I feel her phone buzz on the bench and she looks down, pulling it from her purse. Her brows draw together as she types out a response.
Stacey: Shit like what?
Mitch: Don’t apologize for existing. I take up more space than you and Hazel combined on this dumb bench.
Stacey: Oh.
Stacey: Thanks.
I guess it’s better than Shut the fuck up and mind your own business, asshole , so I’ll take it. I put my phone back in my pocket just as Caleb’s girlfriend, Cassie, appears at the booth.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, holding her hands behind her back. “Carpool duty ran over and I couldn’t seem to get out of there.”
Cassie is a seventh-grade teacher, and she’s always running around doing the most she can for her students. That’s how we met Hazel, actually. Last year, Hazel’s son Ralph was acting up in school after his dad passed away, so Cassie had Caleb do some hockey training with him. We all took to Hazel right away and the rest is history.
Cassie sits down next to Caleb and he wraps both arms around her waist, pulling her close and kissing her temple. It’s so cute I could vomit. We each order our usual drinks, which means I pay too much for a glass of whisky, and take a look at the menu.
“Well,” Caleb starts, his cheeks already a rosy red from his beer, and probably from talking out loud. “We have some news.”
He and Cassie both glance at each other, dumb grins on their faces. These two have only ever had eyes for each other, and I’m so glad they finally got their heads out of their asses and figured it out last season. Cassie raises her hand up from her lap, flips it around and shakes it wildly.
“We’re engaged!” Caleb says.
I look closer at Cassie’s shaking hand and see a ring. It’s not a gigantic diamond, but I assume Caleb did exactly what Cassie wanted when he picked it out because she’s grinning from ear to ear. Then again, she’d probably be happy with duct tape if it came from Caleb.
“Ohmygodthisisamazing,” Hazel shrieks.
“Yeah, this is awesome!” Thomas adds. “Congratulations!”
“I’m so happy for you guys,” Stacey says warmly.
And then it’s my turn. But I don’t know what to say. It’s not that I’m not thrilled for my friends, but it’s a little reminder that I’m never going to have this. Still, tonight is about friendship and my friends are amazing. So, I plaster a grin on my face, nod, and say, “This is the best news. You both deserve the most amazing wedding ever.”
“Well,” Caleb looks at Cassie and she nods to him with encouragement. “We wanted to talk to you about that. Both of you,” he says, glancing between me and Stacey.
“What about us?” Stacey asks, looking between them and me with confusion.
“We want you to plan our wedding,” Cassie says. “Together.”
I hear a record scratch in my brain and I look down at Stacey. She looks up at me, her brown eyes wide. We both turn our heads back to Caleb and Cassie to accept their request, because this isn’t exactly something we can say no to.
That’s when she says it.
“Absolutely not.”
She says it like it’s final. Like I’ll agree. Or maybe she just doesn’t care if I agree or not? That’s probably what it is.
“But you guys know how to throw amazing events. It’s perfect!” says Cassie .
“It’s not perfect. We can’t plan a wedding together. We hate each other,” Stacey continues.
We ... do?
I mean I guess we kind of get under each other’s skin sometimes, and I had a feeling she might disklike me a bit, but I didn’t realize she hates me.
Ouch.
I try to shake off the hurt. Confidence, Mitch . I repeat it like a mantra.
“Yeah, I’m not sure this is the best idea,” I say, knowing it’s what Stacey wants to hear but not believing it myself. “Can’t you afford to hire a wedding planner, dude?”
“Of course I can. But where’s the fun in that?” Caleb, one of my best friends and our star defensemen, asks. “You guys know us. It’ll be better this way. Besides, we’re on a pretty tight timeline if we want to do this thing as soon as the season ends.”
I sneak a look at Stacey. God, she is gorgeous. I’m so intimidated by her, I can’t seem to find the words to try to convince her to help our friends.
Finally, after a drawn-out silence in which I try to think of any words I could use to be convincing, she rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she says. “But I get to pick my own bridesmaid dress.”
“Sold!” says Cassie triumphantly.
I’m not sure exactly what I did to make Stacey hate me. I guess we just really rub each other the wrong way. Well, I rub her the wrong way at least. A normal person would probably be concerned about someone they pay hating them, but Stacey is incredibly competent, and she clearly works hard for my organization. We had a record number of dog adoptions last year and have hit every single fundraising goal we set since she started. It’s hard to argue with those results, even if I find myself arguing with Stacey over stupid shit more than I’d care to admit .
I think it really all comes down to an unfortunate screaming match we got into about the invitation for my gala a couple of years ago. I guess I can be a bit ... intense sometimes. Other times I would have let Stacey walk all over me, but I was in an irritable place, and I let her get to me. It wasn’t my finest moment, and ever since then, she went from being mildly annoyed with me to outright disliking me. Or hating, I guess.
Despite all of that, as I’m sitting next to her at this dinner, I find my hands getting all clammy and my heart beating extra fast every time she glances in my direction. I don’t know why she has this effect on me. I’m a professional hockey player. I haven’t exactly had a hard time with women in the past. But from the moment I met Stacey, I haven’t been able to think about being with another woman. Which is really inconvenient.
I realize I’ve been zoning out—I do that sometimes—and tune back into the conversation. Caleb and Stacey are having an animated discussion about something related to colors for the wedding while Cassie’s eyes appear to have glazed over. Cassie will definitely be the opposite of a bridezilla, which means that at least Stacey and I really only have to worry about pleasing Caleb with our plans. That could prove to be more difficult.
“I don’t know, I guess I just want the colors to mean something,” says Caleb.
“I’ll pull together some options and we can talk about the meaning behind each of them. Don’t worry, there’s going to be so much symbolism in this wedding. It’ll be everywhere.”
“Yes,” I say. “ We’ll pull together some options for you.”
I’m not about to let Stacey push me out of this process fifteen minutes into it.
“Great!” says Caleb, completely oblivious to the daggers being thrown at me from Stacey’s eyes .
“How involved do you both want to be in the process?” I ask.
“If I could just show up at whatever time you two tell me to be there, get into a dress, and go, that would be great,” says Cassie.
Caleb lets out a chuckle and wraps an arm around her. “It’s a good thing I know you actually do want to marry me, otherwise I’d be worried.”
“I’m just not really a wedding person. But of course I want to marry you, baby,” she says.
Now they’re staring deeply into each other’s googly eyes. My heart swells for my friends. They deserve their happily ever after, and they’re trusting Stacey and me to give it to them. It’s a massive undertaking but also a huge honor. I can’t let them down.
The Next Day
Caleb and I are at our neighboring stalls getting changed, when Thomas appears from around the corner.
“So, did Stacey kill you?” he asks Caleb.
Caleb lets out a laugh while pulling his practice jersey over his head. “She wasn’t too thrilled, but I’m glad we did it.”
“Wait, you knew about this?” I ask Thomas.
“It was my idea,” he says with a shrug.
I’m going to kill this motherfucker.
“Dude, what the fuck?” I say.
“What? You know Caleb and Cassie can’t plan a wedding without help. And we both know you’re dying to spend more time with Stacey. It’s perfect!” he says.
“It’s a nightmare, actually,” I say. I couldn’t be with Stacey even if I wanted to be, not that I’d ever admit it, so I go with a partial truth. “She said she hates me last night. ”
“Ouch,” he says.
“Exactly,” I say.
“Well, you just need to figure out a way to get her to not hate you anymore,” says Caleb.
“Easy for you to say,” I say. “Cassie at least liked you as a friend when you decided you wanted to be with her.”
Our coach chooses that moment to walk past us and lets out a light chuckle before hollering at the whole room. “Gentlemen! Let’s stop gossiping and get moving.”
Well, that’s embarrassing.
Then Coach gives me a nod and says, “We have work to do, Greggs.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble. I grab my stick and waddle out of the dressing room.
The moment I step on the ice, a different man takes over. I feel like myself, my true self, when I’m skating. When I’m out in the real world, I seem to fumble and question my every move, but here I’m a force to be reckoned with.
I glide effortlessly from line to line, warming up and listening to instructions from our coach. Caleb and I are usually paired together on the defensive line, and while Caleb is by far the best defenseman in the NHL, I like to think it takes a special kind of player to be able to read him and be in sync with such a dynamic player. He was our MVP when the Blizzards won the Cup last year, and he deserved every bit of it. But I really love playing with him—he’s a good player and an even better person.
As we work on drills together, I’m reminded of how quiet Caleb used to be. He’s grown so much in the past year. He and Cassie are the best people, and as annoyed as I am that they’re forcing us together, I have to figure out how to work with Stacey to make this wedding work.
Even if it kills me.