The Other Side of Wild

Chapter 11 - Greyson

“Do we have a deal?” I ask, ignoring how that last statement sliced open my heart a bit. She reaches her hand out to shake on it; I wrap my hand around hers and notice how perfectly it fits in mine. I don’t have time to dwell on it, though, because my phone rings. It’s my dad. I answer it and put it on speaker before I even think about what I’m doing.

“Hey, Dad, what’s up?” I ask as I uncap Hannah’s water and push it towards her.

“What’s this I hear about you and Tatum being part of a carnival? Did you give up your day job to join the circus?” Hannah’s eyes go wide before they close, and her shoulders shake as she fights off a laugh. I walk behind her and pull her into my chest; she squeaks. Immediately, she slaps her hand over her mouth.

“Was that a young lady, Greyson Wilder?!” My mom yelled from somewhere in the background, and Hannah buried her face in her hands.

“Mom, hello, so wonderful to talk to you. I’m great, thank you for asking.” I give Hannah an apologetic glance before my mom’s voice comes in clearer and way louder over the phone.

“Greyson, honey. Is there something you need to tell us?” My mom asks hesitantly.

Rolling my eyes, I look down at Hannah, who has a full-body blush going on at the moment and whisper, “I’m so sorry”.

“Yes, Mom. Her name is Hannah; she’s the one who is leading the planning of the carnival Dad was asking about.” I barely get the full sentence out before sh e’s sighing in relief on the other end of the line.

“Oh, so this isn’t a date?” I groan as my head falls back behind me. You’d think my mom would be a bit less intrusive at the age of twenty-eight, but nope. Not the case.

“Amy cut the man some slack. He’s leaving hockey to be a carney.”

“I’m guessing you talked to Tate, and he didn’t give you the full context of the situation.” That grade-A jerk wad. We agreed we’d talk about this over family lunch. I’m sure he laughed as soon as he got off the phone. In fact, I’m almost positive he had that smile that rivals the Grinch before he stole Christmas stretched across his face.

“I did, yes. He said you two were going to be sitting in dunk tanks and running sports-related games at a carnival.” My dad’s voice a mix of confusion and disbelief. Ridiculous, this family.

“Okay then. Yes, that is accurate; however, he left out the most important details, such as the fact that it’s a charity event put on by The Tampa Today Magazine to raise money for youth sports. Their goal is to fully sponsor at least two hundred kids next season for whatever sport they choose to play. The dunk tanks are happening, yes. However, you only get to dunk athletes if you purchase game tickets, which also goes toward their goal. The sports games are going to be set up as ‘beat the pro,’ it gives the kids a chance to try out multiple sports and see which one they like best if they don’t have a favorite already.”

I can practically hear his eyes bug out through the phone. There’s an audible inhale, I brace myself because I know what is coming.

“You two are part of a c harity event that benefits youth sports, and you didn’t think to tell me about it?! That’s my bread-and-butter, Greyson William. What were you thinking?” If I could get my hands around Tatum’s throat right now.

“Dad, I figured this was a conversation better suited for our next get-together. And I told Tatum that when I spoke to him about it.”

He sighs, fingers tapping against whatever surface his phone is on, “While I appreciate the sentiment, there’s a lot I could have been doing to help.”

Hannah pulls out of my hold and places her hand on my shoulder. “Hi, Mr. Wilder, Mrs. Wilder. My name is Hannah, and I work for Tampa Today ; I’m covering the Hawks this season. Greyson here kindly offered to help me plan this event. He told me that you sponsor an entire hockey team every year; I think that’s amazing. The world needs more people like you.”

“Well, this one certainly seems polite.” My mom says under her breath, not as quiet as I’m sure she thought she was.

“Amy, leave the kids alone.” Dad chimes in, “Thank you, Hannah. It’s a blessing to be able to help kids play the sport that has held such a big part of my heart for a very long time. Is there anything I can do to help you reach your goal?”

Hannah doesn’t miss a beat, “We could use auction items as that’s what will drive the most donations. However, we could always use more help getting the word out. The more people we have talking about it, the more buzz it creates, hopefully driving more attendance.”

Her calm demeanor as she speaks conflicts with the tension I see in her shoulders. As soon as my dad started talking to her, her shoulders made their way up toward her ears. The light grip she had on my shoulder tightened just a bit. Interesting.

“I’ll call some buddies, and we can get some signed jerseys from the geezer crew.” We nod as if they can see us and thank him.

Hannah and I fill my parents in on some of the smaller details of the event. My dad oohs and awes every so often as Hannah explains the different businesses that will be in attendance.

Most of the booths are small local businesses, from food to gifts to artwork and so on. She basically brought a farmers’ market to the carnival. A carnival that professional athletes will be participating in, giving these small shops a huge chance at getting marketing they’d normally have to pay thousands for. Athletes draw crowds, and bigger crowds mean more exposure; more exposure means there’s a possibility for increased sales for these businesses. Which, in turn, helps support their families. It’s a win for everyone.

Finally, we get my parents off the phone when the pizza gets here. I grab her a slice, put it on a plate, and hand her a napkin and some parmesan cheese before taking a seat on the barstool next to her. “Sorry about them, they can be a bit...Much.” She was mid-bite; I got the cheesiest, pun absolutely intended, smile around her pizza. I can’t help but stare as she chews.

“They seem awesome. I wish my parents were more like that.” She winces as she says it, almost like she didn’t mean to.

“Tell me about them?” I hold my breath as I wait; I pushed too far, didn’t I? Dang it, Wilder. Dial. It. Back. But to my surprise, she answers.

“My mom and I are close now; we weren’t until I moved out here. I have a brother, Eli, who is five years younger than me. He and my mom were always inseparable growing up.” She’s playing with the edge of her plate to distract herself.

“And your dad?” She freezes.

Clearing her throat, she straightened herself out a bit, still not looking at me. “He died before I left for college.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” Placing my hand over where hers has resumed picking at the side of her plate. She scoffs.

“Sorry. I’m um—I’m not sorry.” Scratching her forehead with her other hand, she finally looks at me. “He wasn’t a good man. At least not to me. His literal last words to me were, “I’d hate to be you.” And that’s Dennis Lowery in a nutshell.”

I’m sorry, what? Hold the phone. “He said what? I’m going to need some context here because there’s no way that wasn’t a joke. Right?”

She looks over at the couch with a longing expression. “Want to go sit?” I ask, hoping it doesn’t break the circle of trust we’re currently in.

“Please.” She whispers

She’s quiet as she sits down on the far end of the couch; I gave her the blanket I bought after I saw one at her house. Figured if she ever came over here, she’d appreciate it. I smile as she grabs it and wraps it around herself, snuggling into the softness of it. I may or may not have sprayed it with my cologne over the past few days: the good one, Sauvage.

I don’t know how long we sit in silence, but I don’t like it. It’s reminiscent of Kara and I’s relationship. Any time I wanted to talk about something deeper than surface l evel, I had to drag it out of her. It was like pulling teeth. The feeling I’m getting here is eerily similar. I can’t take it. “Are you okay?” I finally ask.

There’s a tear running down her cheek; it takes everything in me not to brush it away. But I don’t out of fear she’ll stop completely. “I’m fine.” Clamming up, got it. I know this well.

Trying to curb my growing frustration, I pat my legs and stand up. “I got you something.” I’ve clearly surprised her; her eyebrows rise as her lips part slightly.

“You got me something?”

“Yeah, it’s only fair. You got me my new favorite bracelet; I needed to return the favor.” The brows that had been raised are now pulled tight; a lightning bolt-looking wrinkle pops out between them.

Before she has the chance to say anything, I grab the lighthouse off the shelf by the front door. Walking back to where she is, I sit down next to her and hold it up.

“A lighthouse?” She inspects the small figure in her hand, turning the light on and off as she turns it over.

“Yes.” I clear my throat. “I played for a team in Washington, The Cascades. I’m from Tampa; it’s always been my goal to come back here. Back when I was a freshly drafted player, I was naive, to say the least. I wanted everything that came with being a professional athlete.”

She cocks her head to the side, her gaze never leaving mine as I speak. The lighthouse rolls back and forth in her hands, fingers running absently across the smooth surface. “When I started dating Kara, she was nice, kind, and beautiful. The whole package, so it seemed. The longer we were together, the more she tried to dictate what I did, where I went, and who I could hang out with. It got to the point that she was trying to control my every move.”

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet there, Dozer.”

“I did, but there’s a reason I got that for you.” This could effectively ruin any chance we have before I even know if there is a chance, but I refuse to start any sort of relationship on anything other than the truth. I’m too tired of that.

I take a deep breath before diving into the part of my life I try to keep under wraps. “In high school, my parents started to notice my mood swings; at first, they thought it was just hormones, but it wasn’t. I started to get unreasonably angry when I got overwhelmed. I’d lash out, then I’d be riddled with guilt so bad that I’d stop eating, and they’d have to physically drag me out of bed. It took us a while to figure out I was fighting depression. There’s a lighthouse by my parent's house that looks just like this one.”

Her eyes meet mine with nothing but compassion. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t look away. She just listens.

“What I didn’t realize in Washington was coming back to Tampa would be my lighthouse. When shit hit the fan at the end of that relationship, I was drowning. I didn’t know up from down. Coming home gave me clarity, peace, and a safe place to dock in the midst of the storm. I want to be that for you. I want to be your lighthouse, Han.”

She’s still for a second, and I think I may have broken her, but a second later, she’s in my arms. Her head buries itself in the crook of my neck as she takes some deep breaths. I feel my skin get wet, and I realize she’s crying. My chest tightens, my heart hurting in places I didn’t even know were there.

“Oh shoot. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” I whisper, running my hand gently through her hair. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, voice muffled against my neck. “No, these are happy tears.” Her breath is warm against my skin and the weight of her in my arms makes it seem like the world has slowed to a stop, like it’s just the two of us and nothing else matters.

Eventually, she pulls back, wiping at the tears sliding down her face. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bloodshot, but her gaze holds mine as she looks into my soul. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Her voice comes out shaky and uneven, “I know it seems silly, but I felt like I was drowning when you brought up my dad. Like I had been pulled under the water with no way to resurface, and this is the perfect reminder that I have a lifeline. You—you offered an ear and a judgment-free zone when we first met, and you have every day since. I really appreciate it.”

She places her hand on my forearm, and I put mine on top of hers, giving it a little squeeze. “Thank you for telling me that; I really appreciate your willingness to be vulnerable with me.” She looks down at where her hand is on my arm, as she chews on the inside of her cheek.

She looks up at me for a fraction of a second before her eyes find a spot on the floor. “I.. I grew up being told I didn’t matter. Women were only meant to look pretty, not have opinions.” Her voice trembles as if she lets the words ou t; it’ll destroy her all over again.

“Anytime I made a mistake, even when I was in high school, my dad turned it into a spectacle. Shaming me into silence and submission. Emotions were pretty much an off-limits topic. It’s like I was a robot for eighteen years. And now, well, I still can’t voice my own feelings half the time. So instead, I suppress it, wading deeper into the water until I get pulled under and have to go cry to my therapist, who tells me to stop doing that.”

I wrap my arms around her shoulders and drag her closer to me, resting my cheek on the top of her head; it’s becoming my favorite resting place. I rub small circles over her shoulders with my thumbs, hoping to convey the comfort I wish I could articulate. The crack in her voice cut deep; how could I possibly compare her to anyone else?

“She’s right,” My voice is rough with an emotion I’m not sure how to handle. “You should stop doing that. If you can’t talk to her right away, you can always call me. I mean it. I want to be your lighthouse. I want to know everything about you. The parts of you that you’ve hidden from the world, the parts you’re convinced make you unlovable. Give them to me, Hannah. I can tell you’ve never had someone be there for you. I want to be the one who does just that.”

Her breath hitches, and I think she might cry again; instead, she tucks her face into my chest, creating a barrier between us and the rest of the world. “I think I’d like you to be my lighthouse, Bulldozer.” She whispers. “Can we make a deal?”

I pull back, lifting her c hin so I can meet her eyes; her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them, but it’s the vulnerability that stirs like a hurricane in my gut.

“Depends,” I murmur against her forehead, “What are your conditions?”

“Can we heal together?” She blushes and tucks a fallen piece of hair behind her ear. “I mean. Can we lean on each other when things get rough? I–I haven’t had a support system outside of Abby and my therapist. For some reason, you feel safe.” She lets out a nervous chuckle and shakes her head as she finishes her thought. “That’s horrifying.”

Her words come fast, but full of truth. The way she’s looking at me right now–like she standing on the edge of something, hits like a physical blow. This is dangerous, I know it, but I also can’t stop myself.

I don’t think I’ve ever agreed to anything so fast in my life. “Absolutely we can.”

I run my fingers lightly down her spine, and she shudders; the tension between us pulls tight like a rubber band waiting to snap. I want to hold back, but I can’t. While we sit in comfortable silence, I run through the mental checklist of the ways she’s different from my ex. I can’t remember a single time during Kara and I’s relationship that she simply sat like this with me. It’s nice, something I could get used to if I'm not careful. Clearing my throat, I pick my head up off the top of hers. I know I'm on a slippery slope, one slicked up with baby oil, and I’m not entirely sure she’s willing to catch me at the bottom yet. This could crash and burn faster than a NASCAR wreck. But is it a risk I’m willing to take?

Yes.

“Alri ght, boys, we’ve got our first road trip of the season. Shipping out to take on The Cascades this weekend. Wilder, do you have any inside info you’d like to share with the group since that’s your old team?” Coach Stevens asks from the middle of the locker room. I hear him, but it’s like he’s on the other side of a wall. It’s distorted and muffled, and I struggle to get my bearings. My heart rate shot up the second he mentioned Washington.

“Wilder? You alright, buddy?” Reed asks as his elbow meets my ribs. My eyes track to his, but I don’t really see him. He’s just a shadow, a hologram of my captain. “Hey, snap out of it.” He starts to snap his fingers in front of my face.

Shaking my head, I try to pull myself together. “Sorry. They have one defenseman, Callaghan, who plays with a chip on his shoulder. Always looking to push the envelope to see how close to illegal he can make a play. But other than that, they play fair. I don’t have bad blood with any of them.” My chest is heaving; those dreaded white spots are popping up in my vision like stars twinkling in the night sky. I don’t say anything else; I just get up and walk to the showers.

Way to go, Wilder. You can’t even hold yourself together long enough to get through practice. Damn it. I hate the stupid inner voice that picks the most inopportune times to pipe up, like an annoying parrot sitting on your shoulder, constantly reminding you of all the things you believe about yo urself, digging the hole of self-doubt even deeper.

Turning on the water, I leave it on the coldest setting and step under it. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let the icy spray seep into my pores. Grounding me to the moment, pulling me back from the slide I started down. The stars that dotted my vision minutes before slowly disappeared. I thought I was past this; it’s like I’ve taken 10 steps forward and 100 back.

The lies, the manipulation, the utter disrespect that I associate with Washington. Who would have thought an athlete would be brought to his knees in a locker room full of his teammates over the crap he went through with his ex? Grabbing a towel, I dry off my hair, take my shirt off, and then wrap the towel around my waist. Getting myself dry enough to walk to where my other clothes are is an unexpected feat.

“You alright, man?” Monroe asks as he leans against the wall on the other side of the room. The dude is my roommate for away games this season; there’s no point in trying to hide it.

“Honestly? My brain and my body are at war with one another. I’m exhausted.” My hand moves from the back of my head down my face; I’m so disappointed in myself.

“Need someone to listen?” Crossing the room, he sits on one of the benches in the middle. He’s decked out in Hawks gear. Black sweatpants with our logo on one of the legs, a windbreaker-type jacket with that same logo plastered on the back, and his hair is pushed back with one of those elastic headband things. He leans forward so his elbows rest on his knees, looking up at me with eyes that remind me of a begging puppy.

I let out a breath and sit on the bench across from him, leaning back against the lockers. “I dated this girl.” He chuckles.

“It’s always a girl.” His face becomes more somber when I don't laugh with him.

Looking up at the ceiling, I try to focus on the freedom I feel now like Dr. Williams told me to, but man it’s humiliating. “She was the perfect picture of what an athlete's wife should be. She had a good job nice friends. She was independent, didn’t party much.” Scoffing, I let my head slam back into the lockers. “Man, she had me fooled.”

It wasn’t always bad. There were times I swore she loved me for me, scars and all. There were times when she was attentive and caring, and she didn’t make me feel like a burden. Like when I’d come home from practice and she’d have dinner waiting so I didn’t have to cook. Or the times she took days off to spend with me just because I had a day off for once.

Maybe one day I’ll understand why I stayed for so long. Looking back, I don’t even know who I was before her. She’s made me doubt everything I thought I knew about myself.

I filled him in on the multitude of ways this woman sunk her claws into me until there was nothing left but a shiny Ken doll that she could pose however she wanted. She always knew exactly how to make me out to be the bad guy; no matter what happened, the blame fell on me. Some days, it feels like a dream, like I didn’t actually live it.

“Dang dude, that’s rough. Does she still try to reach out to you?” There’s no judgment in his voice, just genuine curiosity. It doesn’t feel as heavy as it did twenty minutes ago. Maybe Dr. Williams is on to something, and I should be talking about this.

“She hadn’t for a whil e. But she started texting me from random numbers every couple of days for the last month. But I don’t have anything to say to her. There’s nothing she could do that could pull the wool back over my eyes.” That’s the dang truth. She may have gotten away with making me feel like my only worth outside of being an athlete was waiting on her hand and foot, but on the other side, I see her for what she was—an opportunist.

“Let me see a picture; I’ll make sure to punt her to Alaska if I see her.” A gruff bark of laughter makes its way out of my throat; I’d pay to see that. “Do you still suffer? With depression, I mean, or was it a one-off thing?”

“Nah, it’s never been a one-off, sadly.” I run the towel over my hair as I continue, “Panic attacks or me lashing out are more common than a full-on depressive slip. If I don’t get a handle on it right away, it can get really bad really fast.”

This is the part where my brain and body duke it out. Sometimes, I crave the dark; I crave the pain—the bone-crushing, soul-torturing, unexplainable sorrow. What I’d really like to figure out is what the heck is wrong with me because I don’t know anyone who struggles with this beast and actually craves it.

“What can I do to help? What are the signs other than the ones we just saw.” My eyebrows shoot to my hairline; this is new. Someone wanting to help, who wants to know the signs? I can’t stand to be inside my head most of the time; why would anyone else want part in that?

My hand meets the back of my neck, and I give it a harsh squeeze. “Usually, the first sign is that my breathing picks up, and I need something to keep me anchored to the present. It’s why I stay back on the ice after practice. Col d usually works; dump water on my head or something, I don’t know. If I get irritable, just slap me on the back of my head. I feel guilty every time anyway, and that leads to a different kind of suck.” A humorless chuckle breaks the beat of silence before I look back up at my teammate.

“I got your back, Wilder. Just let me know what you need. And seriously, I’ll kick your prick of an ex in the teeth if we see her.” His hand comes down hard on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before walking back towards the front of the locker room.

Letting my head fall back against the lockers again, I take a few deep breaths. I don’t need to be worried about Kara; I’ve got a good team behind me. I’ve got a solid family and a pretty redhead with a killer smile in my corner. I don’t have the energy for this again; it’s time to put the past behind me. This is the absolute last time I’m letting that woman affect my life.