Chapter 36 – Greyson
One month later
Today is my first game back on the ice. I’m pumped. Abby and the team doctor cleared me two days ago, and I feel strong both mentally and physically. Kara finally crawled back into the hole she came out of after I changed my phone number and threatened a restraining order. Apparently, that wouldn’t look good for her. She only cares about appearances; some things never change. The only downside of this day is that Hannah has an event she can’t get out of, so she won’t be here.
Last night, I took her back to the spot where I asked her to be my lady, and we danced for hours on the beach with no one else around. She and Abby tried to teach Tate how to line dance this past Wednesday. He was not having it, but I love any excuse to put my hands on my girlfriend. We finished our book and, much to Tate’s dismay, started another one. This one is about a hockey player, which he claims is the less superior sport, and we should be reading about soccer players instead.
We agreed to let him pick the book next time. The sucker didn’t stand a chance at the puppy dog eyes Hannah turned on him after he said he was done with book club. It’s the best; I can get her to do all my dirty work now that he’s warmed up to her. Insert evil laugh and hand wringing.
He secretly enjoys it, though; I saw a copy of Hell or High Water at his house last time I was there. Even though he never brings his book over, he just listens to the girls read it out loud, which is a hoot and a half because they end up hollering and squealing when we get to certain parts. Plus, they have different voices and accents for each character, which is more enterta ining than TV. Hannah was jumping up and down on the couch while Abby was on her back, kicking her legs in the air when we got to the end. It was hilarious. And he smiled. I have photographic evidence.
The locker room atmosphere is electric; the guys are happy to have me back, but I’m pretty sure I’m happier. I’m hoping I’ll be able to prove my worth tonight. Getting traded would really dampen the things I’m building here.
“Heyyyy buuuuuuddy!” Monroe calls as he claps me on the shoulder pads. He plops himself down next to me, “It’s good to have you back, dude. We missed you.”
I roll my eyes as I set my gear down, “Don’t get soft on me now, Monroe. I’m taken in case you didn’t get the memo.”
He drops his head in front of him, faking a pout, “Dang, are you telling me I missed my chance? I thought the green tea masks would have made me the front runner.”
“You’re insufferable, you know that?” I ask as I lace up my left skate.
“What’s the deal with that, by the way?” Samuels asks as he watches me clip the pink cat collar around my right ankle.
Reed’s deep chuckle sounds from somewhere behind me, “Go ahead, Wilder, let’s retell this story...”
“I knocked Hannah over when I first met her; I ran out of here a little too quickly and didn’t have time to hit the brakes before I knocked her over.” His face freezes before he snickers. “She told me she was going to get me a bell so she’d know to watch out next time. She showed up with this; there was a bell on it, but it fell off. I’ve worn it every game since she gave it to me.”
I smile at the memory; it seems like such a long time ago. But in reality, it was only a few months. It’s crazy how fast your life can change. I came here a year ago, fresh out of my stay at the manipulation station. Came back home for the first time in eight years, and I have no intention of ever leaving. If I get traded, I’ll just retire. I don’t want to leave my family again; everything and everyone I love is here.
It isn’t worth it to up and leave the life I’ve built. There are so many other things I could do besides hockey. However, Kara would have liked me to believe otherwise. That’s a benefit to the work I’ve been doing with Dr. Williams. I know I could do something besides smack a puck around if I wanted to. My worth isn’t tied to my career. Maybe I’ll help my dad start and run the charity he’s been wanting to start for years now. Maybe I’ll start my own. Give some more thought to this idea I’ve been turning over in my head. But there’s no way I’m leaving. I’ve got more in me, though, so tonight, I’m giving it everything I have.
“A little birdie told me you started a book club; I’m a bit salty. My invite seems to have gotten lost.” Andrews wiggles his eyebrows, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.
“Book club?! What the fudge, Wilder? You’ve been holding out on us. I’m a sucker for enemies-to-lovers tropes!” Samuels calls from across the room, where he’s taping the blade of his stick.
“Okay, okay. Every Wednesday, we meet at Hannah’s and read. We just started a hockey romance; if you read up to chapter three, you can join us next week. Bring your own food. Oh, and don’t tell her you’re coming.” The laughter echoes off the walls, quickly followed by all the food they’re going to bring to an unsuspecting Hannah’s house next week, further boosting th e mood.
Coach Stevens walks in, clapping to get our attention. “Alright, ladies and gents, we’ve come a long way this season, but our work isn’t done, and we certainly aren’t in the clear for our playoffs run. Let’s play like we're right on the cusp of making it. Get going.” With that, we’re making our way to the ice. My anxiety slowly starts to creep in; luckily for me, Monroe is right behind me and notices my shoulders pull up toward my ears.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and applies enough pressure for them to drop. “You’ve got this, Wilder. You’re a damn good player. Don’t let your head get in the way; shut it out and let your body do what it knows to do.”
I nod and shake my arms, easing some of the tension. The second my skate hits the ice, it all falls away. Every negative thought, every ounce of doubt, it’s gone. I’m flying in circles around our half of the ice; it’s now that I remember why I love this game. It’s right this second that I realize just how important this sport is to my mental well-being. Everyone has something; for Hannah, it’s books and music. For my brother, it’s losing himself lifting weights in the gym or riding around on his motorcycle for hours on end. For me, it’s being here.
It's the noise from the crowd, the bite of the cold. It’s the speed at which we move around, the mental focus it takes. You can lose a puck in half a second if you lose focus, and that half a second could cost you a game. There’s no room for thoughts of anything other than hockey while you’re on the ice. And I love it. I was meant to be here. I deserve to be here. My negative Nancy of a brain can take that and shove it where the sun doesn't shine.
The puck drops, and Reed gets possession, pa ssing it to Monroe, who brings up the right; I’m fighting off a defenseman on the left. He’s a big, burly dude; even worse, he’s got a mouth on him. I’m not one for chirping, but this guy clearly is. Every low blow he thinks of, he throws at me. Unfortunately for him, there’s not a person on this planet who could hurt my feelings more than I can myself. I quickly stop and switch directions, catching chirping Cheryl off guard.
It gives me enough time to set up a clear path to the goal. I slap my stick on the ice, letting Monroe know I have an opening; he passes the puck in my direction. I scoop it up, skating around the sluggish defenseman, and pop the puck in the goal, barely making it past the goalie’s skate. The cherry lights up, and my stick goes up in the air as Reed and Monroe crowd me into the boards. “Heck yeah, buddy! Look at you, first shift, first game back, and you freaking get it done!”
I can’t wipe the smile off my face for the rest of the first period. Walking into the locker room, I see my phone light up. It warms my heart that even while she’s working, she finds a way to support me.
Hannah: That was beautifully done, Grey.
I’m so proud of you. Get 'em, Baby!
Greyson: Thanks, Kitten. I love you. ??
She hasn’t said it back yet, but I don’t mind. She shows me daily with her actions. The other day, she had KT tape, a blueberry muffin, and my vanilla iced coffee delivered to the rink as soon as practice ended. I may love spoiling her, but she gives it back as good as she gets it. I never have to wonder if she cares. From the random texts during the day to let me know she tried a new restaurant and wants to go back with me. Or the random deliveries she sends to my house. She even sends my mom flowers. I sit in the locker room smiling like the love-drunk fool I am.
Before I know it, twenty minutes is over, and we’re headed back to the ice. I’ve gone two laps around the net when an auburn head of hair catches my attention. She’s standing at the glass with my parents and Tate, holding a sign that reads, “I love you, Bulldozer.” She’s not looking at me, though; she’s deep in conversation with my mom. Picking up speed, I slam myself into the glass; she jumps with a squeal as she jerks her head in my direction. Hand flying to cover her mouth while Tate and my dad have twin expressions of amusement, my mom shoots laser beams at me. I point to the door we came in, and she walks over to the side of the stands.
When I meet her at the door, she’s hanging over the railing. In my skates, we’re almost an even height; her eyes look gorgeous today. “Say it,” I whisper, eyes bouncing between hers. “Say it, Hannah.” The most beautiful smile stretches across her face; she leans in and presses her lips to mine; the crowd goes wild, and we pull apart at the noise. It takes a minute to notice we’re plastered on the jumbotron.
She presses her forehead to mine, “I love you, Grey.”
“How are you real?” I give her one last kiss and head back to the ice. She’s here, in my jersey, with a smile that both stopped and started my heart at the same time. She’s here, and I can’t wipe the big goofy smile off my face. She’s here, she chose me too.
A fire ignited when I heard those words. Those three words fill me with so much hope that I am actually enough for someone just the way I am: faulty thinking and all. I can just be me, knowing she’ll love me on the good days and, even more importantly, she’ll love me through the bad ones. I carry that f ire through the next two periods; it’s a shut-out game at 3-0. I had the first goal and one assist.
Normally, I’d be all about the press coverage, but Hannah isn’t the press anymore. And right now, I’ve got a one-track mind. Luckily, she’s standing beside Abby when we exit the locker room, and I don’t have to send out a search party for my girl. I drop my bag and walk straight for her, wrapping my hands around the back of her thighs; I pick her up. She shrieks and quickly wraps her hands around my neck to keep from falling backward.
“Say it again.” Those hazel eyes flare with heat, and she beams at me. The world could swallow me whole because I have never in my life been happier than I am right now.
“I love you, Greyson Wilder.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, I spin us both in a circle; she throws her head back, letting go of my neck, her arms go out wide, and she laughs. My hand moves from one thigh to support her back so we both don’t go toppling to the floor. She looks so free, so angelic, so mine. I let her go long enough to answer a few stray reporters’ questions, and when I’m done, she’s nowhere to be found.
Pulling out my phone, I pull up her contact, “Wanna grab dinner?” Tate asks with a smack on my back. “Mom’s dragging Hannah out for Lasagna. I figured we’d go keep her from planning your entire wedding and scaring off your girlfriend.” Oh, good lord, yeah, that’s not happening.
Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I call out, “Mom!” And we take off down the hallway.