Chapter 2 – Greyson
I didn’t think today could get any more frustrating when I left my house this morning. Yet here we are. It’s one of those days where I woke up feeling like I had a storm cloud following my every move. Sometimes, my dark days have no rhyme or reason. Today, though, that wasn’t the case. I got a text from Kara, my ex-girlfriend, last night. The one I haven’t heard from in the year I’ve been back in Florida. Just another reminder that I tend to obsess, fall a bit too fast, and ignore all the flaming red flags in the process.
Not only has my head been a mess since, but then we get hit with the news that we need to do an interview after practice. An overwhelmed Greyson doesn’t fare well for anyone. Before I could bite my teammates’ heads off in the locker room, I bolted out the door, determined to skate off my mood before they caught up. Instead, I ran straight into someone. Not only did I snap at the little woman, but I also knocked her over. It’s like the universe is conspiring against me. How can we get Greyson to lose all his marbles today?
Of course, Reed hasn’t shut up about it since. “You gonna take out all the reporters on game day too?” I roll my eyes and keep skating. On the ice is where I focus best; it’s where the outside world falls away, and I can simply exist as me. Where the darkness gets benched, even if it’s just for a bit. It’s what curbs the anger that comes out of hiding when I get overwhelmed or feel cornered. Today, that seems to be a bit more of a feat.
Grabbing a puck, I skate up the right side of the ice and slip it into the top left of the goal. Our goalie, Nate Andrews, lets out a string of curses for not seeing that one coming. I shake my head and skate towards the bench where Coach Stevens just appeared with his clipboard. He runs us through four different drills before blowing his whistle and calling us back to the bench.
“Alright, children, that’s enough for now. Hit the showers before going to your interviews. Be kind, don’t be gross, and for the love of all that is holy, keep it PG. This is a family-friendly interview.” There’s a chorus of groans mixed with “Yes, coach.”
We know the media is part of the deal, but that doesn’t mean we have to like it. Most interviewers ask the same questions, and most of us have an arsenal of answers we’ve scripted over the years. We say a lot of words without actually saying anything, and most reporters only want the answer to one question: “What went wrong?” or “What’s next,” depending on the outcome of the game.
I shower, change my clothes then head to the owner’s box where the interviews are being held. Reed is already inside, sitting in a chair across from Hannah. He says something that makes them laugh; she leans into the arm of the chair she’s in and runs her fingers over one eyebrow. There’s a pull inside me like a fish caught on a hook; suddenly, I’m walking into the room before they’re done. Standing off to the side a bit, I take a moment to really look at her.
Her eyes held me hostage earlier. They’re hazel, mostly green, with a brown outer ring. The most captivating part, though, is the two brown specks in the middle of the green in her right eye. But what caught me off guard was her quick reaction time and witty sense of humor. And, of course, her commitment to saving her coffee. Because priorities, duh .
“Mr. Wilder,” she drawls, breaking me from the bubble I was in. I was totally checking her out, and she caught me. Busted. Reed walks out the door, giving me a quick clap on the back as he goes.
“Umm, Hi. How are you? Sorry for earlier.” She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest as she smiles.
“It’s fine, really. I’m doing well. Thanks for taking the time to meet with me. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to ask some random questions. It’ll give the fans a bit of an inside look at the personalities behind their favorite players. It’s a new angle my boss wants to try out between the local sports teams this season.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s a great idea. Okay, hit me. What’s Question One?” I settled into the large black leather chair that Reed had just been in. She grabs her iPad and a pencil-looking thing, tapping a few times before she asks her first question.
“When did you start playing hockey?” Smiling, I recall the picture of my dad and me sitting in my parent’s house when I first started to learn to skate, a pair of skates attached to my feet and my hands held in his to keep me balanced.
“My parents put me in skates when I was 2, but I didn’t start playing hockey until I was 5. My dad played for the league, so it was something we’ve done together for as long as I can remember.” Something that looked a lot like longing crossed her face, but as quick as it was there, it was gone.
“Okay, next question. If you could be any animal, what would you be?” She asks without looking up from where she’s writing.
“Hmm, a jellyfish. Sometimes, I wish I could just boundlessly float through life and shock people when they get too close.” She pauses her writing and puts the end of the pencil in her mouth as she looks up at me like she’s trying to connect the dots. But she won't. I'm far too jacked up to piece together.
“Hockey players are known to be a bit superstitious; do you have any superstitions?” I chuckle because she’s not wrong. We’re some of the most superstitious people on the planet. I could write you a book on all the superstitions teammates have had over the years.
“Yeah, I have to put my left skate on first, and I have to have three gummy bears immediately before getting on the ice. One red, one green, one yellow.” To me, it’s no big deal. It’s just the flow of things on game day—a habit at this point.
Her back straightens, and her head tilts slightly to the side, making her long hair fall in front of one shoulder. She asks, “Three gummy bears? That’s it? Why just three?” Her eyes locked on mine as she waited for my answer, and she raised her eyebrows when I took too long to respond.
I put my pointer finger up to my mouth, tapping it a few times to pretend like I’m thinking. “I’m not sure. Four seems like too many, and two seems like I’m selling myself short. Three is the perfect number.” She tries to hide her smile behind her wall of hair, but I caught it. And I’d be a damn liar if I said it didn’t inflate my ego a bit.
She asks several more questions ranging from “If you weren’t a hockey player, what would you be,” and “If you could have any superpower, what would you pick?” But my favorite was when she ended the interview by asking, “What do you want the fans of The Tampa Bay Hawks to know about you?”
It’s a question no other interviewer has ever bothered asking. “I’d like the fans of Tampa Bay to know that this is my hometown. I grew up here. This has always been my home team. To some, it may just be hockey, but I’d like to use my position here to not only bring a cup back but to make a difference in the lives of those in our community.” Her megawatt smile and the gleam in her eye told me how much she appreciated my answer.
An hour later, I’m walking to my car when I hear “Hey Wilder!” called from somewhere behind me. I turn and see our physical therapist, Abby, walking towards me. Confused, I run through my schedule for the day, trying to figure out if I have an appointment I forgot about.
“Hey Abby, what’s up?” I hike my bag up higher on my shoulder as she gets closer. The last thing I want is to be on our medical staff's bad side, they can keep you off the ice for the smallest of things. Before my mind can spiral any further, she speaks up.
“Some of the guys, Hannah and I, are going to go grab burgers and a beer at The Tap Room. Would you like to come with us?” I should decline, but the idea of going home to wallow in self-pity sounds like an awful way to spend the day.
“Yeah, sure, I could eat. Meet you there?” It feels like this tiny blonde woman is looking into my soul at the moment. Trying to hide any part of myself that I can, I shove my hands into my pockets and clear my throat.
As she turns to leave, a slow smile crosses her face. She starts to walk to her car, throwing her reply over her shoulder as she goes: "Yep, see you there, Wilder. "
Walking into The Tap Room, I spot a few of the guys in the back corner. They wave me back when they see me. “Hey, Bulldozer, want a beer?” Andrews asks with a smirk as I get to the table. Great, here come more jokes at my expense.
I haven’t been here in years. It wasn’t The Tap Room before I left for Washington when I first got drafted. It used to be a gourmet mac and cheese place. Being here in its newly renovated space is strange. I left as one person and came back a different one, demolished and rebuilt, kind of like the change in its interior before compared to now. It’s comforting in an unexpected way.
Before the guys can take the jokes any further, I’m saved by two five-foot-something giggling ladies. Turning to face them, I cross my arms over my chest and ask, “Care to share the joke with the rest of the class?”
“Look, Bulldozer, I found you a bell.” Hanging on Hannah’s long, slender finger is a pink cat collar fully equipped with a bell. I take it from her and clip it around my wrist like a bracelet. It jingles every time I move.
“This is the best gift I’ve ever been given,” I say, smiling down at the slack-jawed woman in front of me who is staring at my bare forearms, eyes trailing from my elbow to my wrist. Taking my pointer finger and placing it underneath her chin, I push up until her mouth is closed. “Don’t want you catching flies, Kitten.”
“Kitten?” She asks as her eyebrow arches. Maybe I’m crazy, but I freaking love that it’s raised in my direction for the second time today. The clear challenge in her eyes as she waits for my answer.
I roll my arm back and forth, making the bell ring repeatedly, drawing out my response time. She gives me a little huff. “Yeah, you got me a cat collar. You’re now Kitten,” I say with a shrug.
“Whatever you say, Bulldozer.” Winking at me over her shoulder as she walks to the bar to order her drink.
I catch Abby staring with an expression I can’t quite read. “What's that look for?” She stares for a minute, then shakes her head with a smile.
“You’re screwed, Wilder.” I wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but before I could, Hannah walked back up to the table with three beers placed perfectly in the palm of her hand. She hands one to Abby, one to me, then takes a sip of the other, smiling at me over the rim. Color me impressed. If I tried to hold two beers in one hand, we’d have a clean-up on aisle 12 situation.
“Where’d you get this so fast?” I raise my wrist and watch as she takes a sip, her eyes never leaving mine. Her glass meets the table with a quiet thud before she swallows and darts her tongue out to the side of her mouth, catching a stray drop of beer.
“The pet store, when I walked past it on the way here, I couldn’t help myself.” She shrugs as she breaks eye contact, not saying anything else before she sits on the chair Monroe pulls out for her.
One beer turns into four, and I’ve learned more useless information about three of my teammates in the last hour than I probably ever needed to. Like the fact that Andrews listens to “Call Me Maybe” in the car before coming into the locker room for every game. Or that Reed would switch lives with The Rock because he’s so charismatic.
I also learned that Monroe wishes he could teleport because one time during a game, he was on a breakaway with seconds left in a ga me and caught the edge of his skate. Tripping and ending up on his back spread eagle, he got up, but not before the other team could clear the puck out of their zone. He said he would have done anything to zap himself anywhere else at that moment.
It’s not the guys I’m itching to learn more about, though. It’s the auburn-haired beauty to my right that my gaze keeps returning to. A playful grin grows across her face as she answers a question about the most embarrassing interview she’s ever conducted.
“Do I have something on my face, Wilder?” She asks with a booming laugh when she realizes she scared the crap out of me. I’m captivated, and I know I shouldn’t be. I’ve been burned, and I need to stay out of the kitchen. Who are you kidding, buddy?
“No, ma’am. I’m just trying to figure you out.” I say as I stretch my arms above my head, effectively popping my back. She leans into me and crooks her finger, beckoning me closer.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not that interesting. I work and work out, play with my dog, read my books, and go to sleep. That’s it.” Then she straightens herself back up and tunes back to the conversation the others are having. She says that, but I don’t buy it. She’s like a puzzle I want to piece together, one where I don’t know what the big picture is until I finish it.
It’s not until Hannah gets up to go to the bathroom that I realize two hours have gone by. It felt like thirty minutes. I’m enjoying getting to know my teammates, our physical therapist, and the journalist, who I’m going to be seeing a lot more of this season. When Hannah gets back to the table, she and Abby start talking amongst themselves when a male voice calls loudly across the bar. “Hannah, I knew that was you! Hey! ”
Hannah’s back goes completely straight as the color drains from her face. Abby’s morphs into one of pure rage. For some reason, I don’t understand, my own anger flares to life. I’m off my chair and standing behind her with a hand on her shoulder before I can even think about it. To my surprise, she places her hand on top of mine and gives it a soft squeeze. I’m not sure who the heck this guy is, but I already don’t like him solely based on her body’s reaction to his voice.
“Hannah, it’s been forever. How have you been?” The guy in question asks as if they’re long-lost friends.
Before she could answer, Abby jumped in. “Listen here, you have some nerve coming over here acting like everything is fine and dandy. Take a hike.” Ten points for Abby. He, however, doesn’t take a hike.
“Is your name Hannah? Because the last time I checked, it was Abby, and I was not speaking to you.” A humorless sound leaves Hannah at that comment. She turns her body to face the dude in question, leveling him with a glare I pray I am never on the receiving end of.
The fingers of her free hand drum on the table. If her other hand weren’t on top of mine, I would think she was completely indifferent. But it’s shaking, whether from anger or fear—I don’t know—and I don’t like it regardless. “Kyle, you need to leave. I have nothing to say to you. I’ve had nothing to say to you for more than four years now.”
Kyle. Kyle? I’ve decided I hate all Kyles now. He rolls his eyes and what he says next has me seeing red. “You think you’re all high and mighty like it’s a hardship to have a conversation with me. You’re nothing special, Han. You weren’t then either. I was doing you a favor by coming to say hello. ”
That does it, I snap. “Wait a damn minute.” It comes out gruffer than I intended; Hannah flinches next to me, drops her hand from mine, and curls in on herself a bit. I feel bad, I’m too far gone to reel it back though. “Who talks to someone like that? She didn’t approach you; you came over here, then decided to talk crap about the person you sought out. Doesn’t work like that, buddy.” My jaw clenches. I recognize this behavior all too well. My body tenses as I think about my own past. “It’s time for you to go.” I grit out, not taking my eyes off him.
I see Hannah’s eyes widen; she shrinks back a bit more as she watches Kyle’s face turn a violent shade of red. “Screw you, Han, you’ve always been weak. It’s no surprise you have yourself a little guard dog.” Jutting his chin in my direction, I squeeze the hand that's still sitting on Hannah’s shoulder a bit too hard, and she hisses through her teeth. My free hand is clenching and unclenching, trying to get some kind of handle on myself.
Kyle turns on his heel and stomps out the door before anyone can get another word in. I watch as the fight bleeds right out of her. She closes her eyes as her chin lowers towards her chest. Abby is glaring a hole in the back of his head as the door slams behind him.
It’s hard to miss the fact that she’s now folded into herself, trying to make herself small, invisible. Her eyes darted around the room, I’m assuming, to see who was paying attention. But it was the flinch when I yelled that made my heart drop to my feet. It was like she was waiting for the next blow to land.
As the adrenaline fades, the pounding in my ears subsides a bit; we could both use some air. Holding my hand out to her, she looks up at me with an emotion I can’t quite name before her hand slides into mine. I pull us toward the patio doors, dodging people as we go. Once we’re outside, I lean against the building wall and put my hands in my pockets to hide the fact that they’re twitching. “You okay?”
“I will be. Being out here is helping. Thanks.” A small, forced smile crosses her face but is gone as quickly as it appeared. Her throat bobs as she swallows. Something about the softness of her voice out here calls to me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She huffs, looking at the ground, and for the second time today, I find it impossible not to touch her. Bringing my hand to her cheek, I angle her face up until she’s looking at me. Those eyes are going to do me in, I’m sure of it.
She smiles a watery smile; it wobbles a bit at the corners. The compulsive fixer in me wants to find this guy and give him a piece of my mind. “Kyle and I dated for 2 years in college. It didn’t end well.” The tips of her ears turn the prettiest shade of pink.
She turns her attention back to the ground and takes a deep, shaky breath. Her arms come around her chest like she’s giving herself a hug before she speaks again. “I was looking for attention in all the wrong places. I had a bit of a rebellious stage in college. I was one of those hands-off girlfriends. I didn’t really care; I just wanted someone to fill in the emptiness at the end of the day.”
A long, low sigh passes through her lips. It’s one I recognize all too well–guilt and shame. She licks her lips; my eyes track the motion. It’s a movement that has no business being sexy, given the conversation we’re having. “He told me he had an out-of-town basketball game one weekend. I didn’t care enough to verify it. I didn’t even think I needed to. I worked with the sports teams; I knew there wasn’t a game that weekend. Abby called me ou t on it, so we showed up at his house, where we found him in his underwear with another woman next to him in just his shirt.”
She clears her throat and wipes her hands down the front of her pants. “Needless to say, that was the end of that.” I would certainly hope so. No one deserves to be cheated on. If you aren’t happy, just leave. Common sense isn’t so common these days, apparently.
I lose the battle of keeping my hands to myself and end up pulling her into my chest. Her cheek finds my chest, and mine finds the top of her head. It’s hard to ignore how well she fits pressed up against me. That is the absolute last thing I need to be thinking about right now.