Chapter 23 Theo
Theo
I wake up in my Vegas hotel room feeling uneasy.
I didn’t sleep great either. I knew being back in this town would feel weird, but I didn’t realize how surreal it would be.
I’m not going to the house I called home for five years.
I’m in a hotel room on the strip, which is not something I’ve ever done sober.
Everything about Vegas is boozy. From the way they let you walk around anywhere with an open beverage, to the free booze in casinos, to the way they decorate the hotel rooms. My current room has purple-and-gold wallpaper, which makes it feel like I’m inside a Crown Royal bag, which reminds me of whiskey.
There’s a faint itch to drink, which is a lot more than I’ve had since getting out of rehab, so I get up early and head to a meeting.
I wasn’t sleeping anyway, and it’s better than staring at the walls of a room that reminds me of whiskey.
The closest meeting I can find is at a community center off the strip, near the old Hard Rock Casino.
So after a stop at Starbucks, because the coffee at these things usually tastes like motor oil, I hop in an Uber and ten minutes later I walk into the center as they’re setting up the last of the chairs.
“Theo?”
My head snaps around, and I see Mila from rehab, standing by the snack table holding a box of donuts. I grin. “Holy crap! Hey!”
She drops the donuts on the table and rushes toward me with open arms. I accept the hug. I don’t think I’ve ever hugged her, but it feels nice. Like she’s one of my million cousins. When she lets go and steps back, she smiles at me excitedly. “This is crazy! I thought you moved.”
“I did. I live in Maine now,” I say, and realize I said I would stay in touch but didn’t. To be fair, I gave my email out to a few people in rehab, including Mila, and I haven’t heard from anyone either. “I play for the team there, but we’re on a road trip.”
“You’re still in hockey! That’s so fuck—freaking—great!” She claps her hands, and one of the people who was setting up the chairs looks over and frowns. Mila throws her an apologetic smile. “And you’re still working the program, which is also great. No slips?”
Her smile disappears, and she looks almost anxious. I shake my head. “None. It’s had its overwhelming moments, because I underestimated how new every little thing would feel, but I finally feel like I’m in the new normal, and I like it.”
She reaches out and squeezes my arms again. She seems really pleased for me.
“And you? How are things? Any bumps? Why are you in Vegas? I thought you were going back to Los Angeles when you got out?”
“I did for a few weeks, but a friend of my dad’s had an opening here at one of the shows,” she says. “I’m a coordinator on Cirque. Well, an assistant coordinator. Still learning. But it’s great.”
“Working on the strip isn’t too tempting?” I can’t help but ask. “I’ve been in my strip hotel twelve hours, and I’m a little on edge.”
She shakes her head and waves a hand in the air. “Nah. I mean, I do come here a lot. I had a slight stumble back in LA when I first got out. It’s probably better being here honestly. I work so much and have no life, so no chance to slip.”
People are filing in now and taking their seats. She glances over her shoulder and smiles at me again. “I have to finish setting up the refreshment table. But let’s catch up more later. After the meeting.”
“I have to leave right after for team breakfast and morning skate, then I play later tonight,” I say, and an idea hits me. “You wanna come to the game? I can get you tickets.”
She looks defeated. “I work. But maybe we can meet up after your game? Let me give you my number.”
She gives me her number, and I call her so she has mine ,and then she walks back to the refreshment table, and I find a seat at the back of the rows of chairs.
The meeting goes well, and I even share a bit, which I haven’t done since rehab.
I talk about the shift recently, how I found pieces of me that I used to think only existed when I was drunk.
After a quick hug to Mila, I leave feeling pretty good.
Back at the hotel, I join the team for breakfast and sit at a table with Callan, Landon, and Grady. Everyone is upbeat, including me. It was a surprise to run into Mila. She looked great and seemed so happy. If she could finally beat her demons, then I could too.
A bunch of guys are walking to the arena for the morning skate instead of taking the team bus.
It makes sense because the strip traffic is always a nightmare, and our hotel is just half a block down on the opposite side of the street.
The weather, as almost always, is glorious.
So I join the rest of them and walk with them.
Callan is regaling us with his adventures from last night.
He and some of the other guys went out and ended up at White Castle with a bachelorette party at one in the morning.
Apparently, they were this close to convincing the maid of honor to marry Redov, and they all almost got wolf pack tattoos, even the girls.
The story sounds almost familiar because I’ve spent many a night doing stupid shit on this road as well. I don’t miss it.
“How do you seem so fresh after all that?” Grady wants to know.
“Because I drank two light beers the entire night,” Callan says, grinning proudly. He slows his gait, and we all do too, so Redov can catch up, and then he leans over and declares in a voice that’s way too loud, “Didn’t want to be puking on the ice at morning skate!”
“My god, does he have a mute button?” Redov groans and winces. He’s wearing sunglasses and his skin is pasty. Not to mention his posture is horrendous. He’s slumped over like his spine is made out of a gummy worm. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Once I finish this Powerade and the Advil kicks in.”
Callan laughs.
After morning skate and a quick strategy meeting with the coaches as they go over plays on a whiteboard, we strip out of our gear in the locker room. I head to see Bryan, the conditioning coach who came on this trip. “What’s up, Theo?” he asks as I knock on the open door to the small triage room.
“I’ve got some pain in my shoulder,” I say.
“The new rebuilt shoulder?” he asks, and I nod. “Take off your shirt.”
I do, and he walks around behind me and palms my shoulder blade and puts a hand on my elbow. “I’m just gonna move it around, okay?”
“Yeah.”
After a few moves and twists, I wince. “That hurt?”
“Yeah. But it doesn’t last, it’s fleeting.”
“When we get back, I’ll send you for an X-ray just to get a better look, but honestly, Theo,” he looks regretful, “I just think it’s overuse. It’s a lot of new parts in there, and your body is adjusting still.”
“Well, I can’t stop using it,” I say, and he laughs.
“No, not when it’s your job to hit guys and take hits and make those killer slapshots,” he says, coming to stand in front of me while I reach for my shirt. “I think you’ve gone really hard, and that fight last night probably didn’t help.”
“Worth it though,” I mutter, and he chuckles. “So what do I do? More ice? Any stretch that will help?”
“Sure, more ice after games will manage the pain.” He nods.
“I’d say ask the doc for a script. Nothing too strong, but something with a little more kick than Advil, and take that after games for a week or so.
See if it settles. And also lay off the arms in weight training for a week or two.
Stick to resistance training and yoga for a bit. ”
“I can’t ask for drugs.” He looks confused, and I wait for him to put the pieces together.
“But you didn’t have a drug issue, right? It was alcohol,” he says quietly.
“Yeah, but it’s all the same. I’m just not gonna risk it if I can at all help it,” I tell him. “So I’m not doing prescription drugs.”
“Okay. Sure. So the ice and the limited exercise.” Bryan nods. “And we’ll get the X-ray back home just to be sure.”
“Okay, thanks.” I head out.
Am I being ridiculous? I mean, he’s right, I didn’t have a drug problem, and if it’s just a week on painkillers, it’s not a big deal. But still… I don’t want them. I’ll figure out something else.
The shoulder bothers me during my nap, but not as much as my brain, which I can’t shut off. I pop two extra-strength Advil as I get ready to head back to the rink.
I’m sitting at my cubby, reading a text from Palmer Hudson, who plays for the Vipers and was one of my closest friends when I did, too.
He wants to meet up with a bunch of other guys from the team, including me.
I say yes because maybe it will be good to reconnect.
I never got to say a proper goodbye to those guys.
“Richard!”
“You’ll do the pre-game interviews, okay?
” Kendra says, popping her head into the locker room, but staring at the floor.
She’s ridiculously worried about one of us being naked.
“And before you say, ask someone else, they want to talk to you. It happens now or after the game, but it happens either way.”
I sigh. “Yeah, okay. Where?”
“End of the hall to the left. I’ve set up an area. Can’t miss it.”
She disappears, and I swallow down a groan and get up.
It makes sense they want to interview me.
I left the team abruptly and in a scandalous way.
I was also a huge part of the team, an alternate captain, and a fan favorite.
I roll my shoulder, bite back the discomfort, and head for the interview area.
There are three journalists there, and I recognize all of them since they’re regular reporters for the Las Vegas Vipers.
My brain scrambles for their names as I plaster a smile on my face.