Chapter 8 – Greyson
The cold air of the hockey rink nips at my cheeks as I skate a few warmup laps, the sound of blades slicing through the ice echoing off the walls of our practice facility. We’re passing the puck back and forth, my body on autopilot at this point, but my mind is bouncing between what needs to be done here and the chaos that has taken up camp in my brain for the past few days.
I had a stretch of really great days, and then came yet another text. Focus Greyson . I chastise myself; this is where I come to clear my mind. It’s one of my favorite parts of the game, being able to shut out the outside world. She can’t take that from me, too. I won’t let her.
I narrowly miss getting tripped up by the puck. Snapping me back to reality, Reed throws his hands up as if to ask, “You alright?” Nodding, I put my head down and focus on the drills we’re running. Passing the puck to Monroe, I feel the tension leaving my body. This is my game; this is my first love. Everything else falls away as we work through some of the plays we picked up from watching other team’s films earlier this week.
Coach blows the whistle, signaling the end of practice. I skate off towards the bench, as sweat rolls down my face. I take off my helmet and run a hand through my hair. Leaning back against the boards, I close my eyes, letting the cold air of the rink cool me down; I need the reset, the release.
The rink is my favorite place to pause; the chill cuts through the layers of darkness inside. The rhythmic sound of my blades cutting through the ice, sharp turns, and quick stops mimic the mess of thoughts swirling around in my mind. When I’m here, there’s no outside pressure, no expectat ions. There’s something so raw at the end of practice that it forces me to pause. When everyone files out, and it’s just me and the ice, I thank the big man upstairs for the gifts he’s given me, even if I don’t always feel worthy of them. I need those few sacred moments to remind myself that I’m not completely broken.
The noise in the locker room is loud, familiar, but feels miles away. Like I’m on the outside looking in, seeing but not really feeling. I grab my towel and head to the shower without saying a word. That caught the attention of my teammates because as soon as I got back to my locker, Reed shouted, “Earth to Wilder! You in there, buddy?” I blink, startled for a second as I pull myself back to reality.
“Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” My voice sounds foreign, as Monroe chimes in. “You took a trip to Outer Mongolia for a minute there. Did ya have a long night?”
I can’t help but smile. I’m not always in the joking mood, but it’s easy with these guys. They don’t push me when I’m quiet, but they don’t let me spiral into the darkness either. It’s like they have a sixth sense for knowing I’m not okay. They don’t know the extent of things, but they don’t treat me like I’m broken. They just let me be me. It’s one of the things I appreciate most about this team.
“You guys are worse than a bunch of yentas at brunch, you know that?” I clap back, the entire team cackles, it’s the good kind of noise.
“We’re just looking out for you, man,” Andrews says as he imitates my almost wipe-out. “If you’ve got a lady on your mind, we want to know, is she into hockey players or just mesmerized by your awful skating?”
Samuels continues the ruse . “Yeah, we should invite her out to our next home game. Test her to see if she can handle Wilder tripping all over himself on the ice. Did you see the puck almost take him out today?!”
Boisterous laughter erupts; I don’t even care that they’re laughing at my expense. My smile hasn’t left my face since they started. “First of all,” I raise my finger in mock protest, “my skating is flawless, thank you very much. Secondly, a lady? Nah, just trying to out-skate the noise.” Understanding crosses their faces; they don’t say much else.
It's only 11 AM by the time practice is over; we have dry land training at seven tonight when it’s not so ridiculously hot outside. Our hard work is paying off, though. It feels like we’ve got a real shot at the cup this year if we keep this up. Those guys may be a bunch of idiots, but I wouldn’t trade them for the world. I’m thankful to have people that can get me out of my own head, even with dumb jokes and awful advice.
With that in mind, I pick up my phone and call the one person who is always in my corner-even if he’s a grump half the time.
“Pizza planet.” The voice on the other end calls, casual and a little smug, like it always is when my brother, Tatum, answers the phone.
“Are you around today?” I ask; for a second, I almost laugh at the hum he gives me. Like he’s sizing me up through the phone, he knows me too well; he knows I’m not calling just to chat.
“Yeah, want to come over for lunch? Wait, you want to hang out with me? Are you dying?” His voice is just shy of mocking; I roll my eyes, and the heaviness lifts a bit at his jab. Did I mention he’s also insufferable?
I sigh, “You’re ridicu lous, Tate; I’ll see you in a bit. Want me to grab something?” He grunts his response, a man of many words. “See you then, little brother.”
Walking into Tatum’s apartment, I sit in the same spot on his worn-in, black leather couch as I have every time I’ve been here since he got it. He lives with his teammate, Zeke; they both got picked up by the Strikers right out of college. Their living room is a mix of sports memorabilia and books stacked neatly on the coffee table. The TV is on, turned to the sports channel of course, but we’re not paying much attention.
He’s in the kitchen plating the burgers I grabbed on the way here. Why we can’t just eat it out of the wrapper, I don’t understand but I’m not going to fight him on it. “Sparkling water for Prince Charming, or are you okay with plain water?” He yells from behind the fridge door.
“Plain is fine; I don’t need to be bloated for dryland later.”
“Good call.” He hands me my plated burger, a bottle of water, and a napkin before sitting down on the other end of the couch.
“I know that look; let's hear it.” Tatum’s voice cuts through the silence, his words casual but pointed, like always. He’s got a sixth sense when it comes to reading me- an obnoxious yet comforting talent.
“I’ve been having some darker days recently. And I’m having a hard time pulling myself out of it.” By the way his eyebrows shoot up and he stops his burger midway to his mouth, I’m guessing I caught him by surprise. That’s hard to do.
He takes a big swing out of his water bottle, puts his burger down, and wipes his hands on one of the napkins he brought over. Turning his body so he’s completely facing me, his eyes bore into mine. “Anything specific spur this on?”
I hesitate for half a second, the words burning on their way out of my throat. “Kara.” He freezes.
“Care to elaborate?” He bites out; patience is not his strong suit. There’s a reason he’s my confidant. He’s a man of few words, but when he speaks, people listen. He’s intimidating to the outside world, but he’s an ooey gooey cinnamon roll under all the gruff exterior.
“She’s...” Ugh, I hate this feeling. “She’s doing her usual thing. How awful I am, how sorry she is. We’re meant to be together. She’ll forgive me for leaving if I just come back. Same old bullshit.”
He barely reacts, but I catch the twitch in his hands. His eyes roll as he mutters something under his breath. I can hear the judgment in his silence. It’s whats I expected from him, though; he doesn’t indulge me when I spiral; he just calls it like it is.
He puts his food down, lacing his fingers before resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s not all though, is it?”
I’m caught off guard by the question, even though I shouldn’t be.“No,” I grumble, “I met someone. She’s stunning, kind, and driven. And she has a dog.” He plops against the back of the couch, arms crossing over his chest, and the signature Tatum Wilder scowl slides firmly in place.
“I don’t like it.” He huffs. I start to refute, but he cut me off. “No, I really don’t like it. You just got here, Greyson. Don’t throw away all the hard work you did to ge t back here for a woman you just met.” His voice hardens. “Is it worth getting shipped clear to the other side of the country again? Not to mention the she-devil, wonder if she ran out of money.”
“I’m not throwing anything away. And she’s not getting anything from me except maybe a restraining order.” Honestly, I should have changed my number the second she started. The idea of her worming her way back into my life is terrifying; she has this pull over me. This stupid ability to bring all my insecurities to the surface.
The aggressive force of his exhale gives away just how frustrated he is. His own issues with women have been a catalyst for his overly protective nature of me when it comes to them, even if I am the big brother. “Let me guess,” he mutters as he rubs the back of his neck, “this “someone” is a wounded stray, and she needs you to heal her?” His hands ran through his black hair, pulling it at its root before he sighed and leaned forward on his knees.
“No,” It comes out rougher than expected. “She’s locked up tighter than Fort Knox, and it’s driving me insane.”
His expression softens by the smallest fraction, “I say this with the most love I can, but I think you need to focus on hockey. This is your first full season here. Your relationship with Kara was a dumpster fire. Sure, she was a lying, manipulative prick, but look at what it did to you. You couldn’t get out of bed for weeks when you first got here. The person you were then was a stranger. I don’t want you to go back there.” I hear what he’s saying. I fall hard and fast; I’m well aware of that. And Hannah isn’t giving me any inkling that she wants to be more than friends.
In fact, I’m pretty sure she implied I was a distraction the other day. Which in turn sent me into a different kind of spiral. One where I questioned if I was good enough to be anyone’s ‘someone.’ I mean, women usually throw themselves at athletes. Not Hannah.
“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll let it go.” Knowing full well he won’t drop it unless I say I will. He’s been on an anti-woman campaign since his ex turned on full psycho mode and almost ruined his career before it started.
Three hours later, as I was about to leave, I remembered something quite important. “Hey, I almost forgot. I’m helping set up a charity carnival Tampa Today is throwing; it’s benefiting local youth sports teams. My friend, Hannah, asked for my help; I may have mentioned that you and some of the guys would donate some jerseys and a team-signed ball.”
“Hannah?... A carnival? Have you told Dad? You know how he gets about kids in sports.” I do. Our dad is such a stand-up guy; every year since he’s retired, he’s taken it upon himself to sponsor an entire youth hockey team, buying them whatever gear they don’t have or need to be replaced; he also covers their travel expenses. I can only hope I’ll be half the man he is one day.
“I haven’t yet; I figured that was a conversation for when we all get together next.” Nodding in agreement, he gave me a hug.
“I’ll get you whatever you need, and if you need help planning, let me know. But keep your eye on the prize; I really think that’s the best thing you can do. Especially if you’re having more frequent hard days, pour it out on the ice.” Pulling away, I smack his chest, smiling as I walk out.
Greyson: Who wants to get dunked in a dunk tank for charity?
Andrews: Can I wear a white T-shirt?
Greyson: This is a family-friendly event, it’s for youth sports. So I’d advise you not to do that.
Reed: When I had an NHL legend for a dad, I truly didn’t have a choice but to succeed. Don’t get me wrong, I love hockey, but as a freshman on a team with mostly juniors and seniors, I was the subject of a bit of bullying. Although the guys would tell you, it was “new guy initiation.”
I overheard our captain and a guy who had it out for me more than anyone else talking about me one day. It was the day I realized I’d rather get thrown into plexiglass than have hateful words thrown my way. “ He’s only here because his daddy paid off the coach. He doesn’t deserve to be here. The pipsqueak is weak as hell. He thinks he’s this big bad dude making varsity as a freshman; he just took a spot from someone who actually deserves it. He’ll be washed up before he graduates high school.”
It spiraled from there. I was ‘pipsqueak’ for two years until they all graduated, and I was made captain. But they didn't make it easier during that time. It was then that I started seeing my sports psychologist, Dr. Williams. With his help, I finally felt like I could take a stand. When I became captain, any of my guys I found bullying someone else had to skate sprints for half of practice. I knew what it felt like to be on the other end of it, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone else feel that way on account of the hockey team.
I remember when Dr. Williams told me, “ Son, you’ve got symptoms of depression. I’m going to ask you some questions; I need you to be honest with me. I can help you, but honesty is needed for me to do that well.” It was like a bucket of ice was dumped on my head. While I’m blessed in the sense that I have an outlet for that and don’t have to take medication anymore, the anxiety and bursts of anger that comes with it are sometimes worse than the disease itself. When the darkness fully comes, it pulls me under for days, sometimes weeks. Sometimes, there’s something that sets it off; other times, it just wants to cuddle up with no rhyme or reason. Wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
I live in Clyde Park. It’s beautiful, but it’s not as “upscale” as one would expect from a single NHL player. There’s no penthouse in these buildings, not that I mind. It’s just me; I don’t need a huge space. My two-bedroom apartment with a balcony overlooking a park across the street is more than fine. It’s cozy and homey. I can truly disconnect and relax here.
Turning the TV on, I sit on my couch with my favorite treat, a blueberry muffin. There’s an art to blueberry muffins; they need to be made just right, or it’s a complete heartbreak situation. It’s gotta be fluffy, not cakey. More on the light side, and the blueberry-to-batter ratio is a serious thing. It should have at least one blueberry in every bite I take. And Lord above, it better not be dry. I, however, won’t say the “M word” for wet, and you can’t make me.
I settle in and let my mind wander. What would my life be if things hadn’t hit the fan when they did? Tate’s right. My last relationship was a huge failure in more than one area. My bouts of anger aren’t conducive to any relationship, but Kara soothed that part of me, at least at the beginning. She could calm me down with a simple touch; her smile that started out as warm drifted into the crazed smile that she had towards the end. It was reminiscent of the Joker; a shiver rolled through my body.
Dr. Williams told me she w as a textbook narcissist. Appearing one way to get past my defenses, then allowing her true colors to show. I remember the first time I had a slip after Kara and I started dating. She was there for me in ways I never expected anyone to be. She played her part perfectly, wrapping me up in a false sense of security I truly believed would heal the darkest parts of me. I felt loved and cared for, like I had finally found an equal. Someone who would love me enough for the both of us when I couldn’t find it in me to love myself. She was patient and understanding of the darkness when it crept in every so often. What I didn’t realize at the time–what I couldn’t see–was how those early days of support were fading into something else.
Year one wasn’t awful. It would come and go, and when it came, she was there to pull me back to the light. But as time went on, things began to change. Slowly, insidiously. By year two, I began to notice it more. The dark days were more frequent, the self-doubt, the guilt, fear. I couldn’t shake it. More than that, Kara started to change too. Her focus shifted and transformed into something I couldn’t quite name. But I felt it every time she’d subtly push me away from my friends, from the people who made me feel like me. She even did it with my family. At first, I chalked it up to her wanting to protect our relationship, but it soon became evident that it was something deeper, darker, and more suffocating.
“You’re a hockey player, G. Aren’t you supposed to be strong?” The dismissive tone sliced me like a thousand papercuts. They fed right into my biggest insecurities. The one I could never quite outrun. As a professional athlete, you’re supposed to be strong, perfect even. The poster child for discipl ine and toughness. But what happens when you’re not?
I should have been yelling it from the rooftops when I got drafted. I was a first-round pick. It was my dream come true, the culmination of a lifetime of hard work. Instead, I felt small. Like I didn’t belong, like I was pretending to be someone I really wasn’t. The pressure hit in ways I didn’t know how to handle.
I remember walking to the lighthouse by my parent’s house as soon as I got home. The darkness was heavy, but the light pulled me forward. There was something calming about it, the way the waves hit the rocks, the light as it lit up the sea below. Like the light calling the ships home, it called me home, too. Almost like a quiet, guiding voice urging me to find a way to pull through. I sat there for hours, mind reeling, drowning in my own thoughts. The constant roar of the waves against the jagged jetty served as a reminder that life keeps moving. Ready or not, here it comes.
I decided right then I’d be Hannah’s lighthouse. Maybe not in the grandiose way I imagined when I was younger, the super hero that saved the damsel in distress. But in a quiet, steady sense. I can help her when the world feels too big. The one who will stand by her when the world feels like it’s crashing down around her. I’ll hold that space for her. I’ll be her friend, her safe space. I can do that. I can be that. When darkness comes for her, I’ll be there. And when the storm hits, I’ll be her anchor, holding her to what’s real, pulling her back, keeping her afloat.
I pull out my phone and open my shopping app. I order a small red and white lighthouse. One with a working light, nothing huge, but something that would serve as a reminder that she has someone in her corner, that I would always be there, no matter how rough the seas get.