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How bad would it be if they found out? Or just Laura?
No, I remind myself. Once one person is in on it, everyone finds out.
I also know myself well enough to realize that if I told one person, I wouldn’t be able to close that can of worms back up, and I would continue to spill the truth.
My breathing becomes uncontrollable as my brain runs rampant with what-ifs, and I can’t contain it. My chest rises and falls with ferocity. Fuck! I need air. I need to feel the world around me, to show myself that I’m not truly alone.
Racing toward my balcony, I slide the door open and step onto the worn wooden planks and grip the railing as tears begin falling down my cheeks. Darkness surrounds me, but I’m thankful for it so that no one can see me right now.
I focus on my senses, pushing everything else out.
The continuous noise of traffic fills my ears, and dogs bark in the distance.
Deep breath.
Inhaling deeply, I smell a campfire and hear laughter.
Deep breath.
The metal is cool beneath my fingers and I relax my grip before my fingers lose sensation.
Deep breath.
Now, the part that always seems to calm the storm in my soul. Gazing upward, I can see the faintness of stars lining the dark sky. For some reason, looking up at the stars always relaxes me. It reminds me that even when you feel like giving up, even when life is overwhelming you, you can look at the stars and know that the universe is infinite and that perhaps your worries aren’t the worst thing out there. It puts everything in perspective for me. I realize how small I am in the galaxy, and it helps me remember everyone else out there who is also struggling. I don’t have to scour for food or water. I don’t worry where I’m going to sleep tonight. I’m not overseas, fighting on the front lines for our country, wondering if I’ll live through the day. I don’t have a daughter who’s going through cancer while I silently fight my own demons.
I don’t belittle my own problems or life. But somehow, by focusing on others’ troubles, it helps me better process my own. If I’m ever panicking or scared, I look up to the stars, and as long as I can do that, everything else will be okay.
9
Reed
Noticing Charlotte’s absence from our game is out of my control. I wish I could stop caring, stop wanting to know where she’s at, what she’s doing, who she’s with, et cetera. I can’t shut it off. It’s impossible.
We are going up against the Pittsburgh Sledgehammers tonight on their ice. They haven’t won many games this season, but they have the potential to be one of the dominating teams in the league. This means that we are either going to have an easy time, kicking their ass tonight, or maybe this is the night they finally mesh together and put pucks in the back of the net.
Regardless, I’m excited to put some bodies into the boards, let off a little steam. As a defender, I have many jobs on the ice. It is my job to help my goalie by stopping the puck before it gets to him. Another part of my job is enforcing. Although Jensen is our big man on the ice, I’m the second. If an opponent is playing dirty, like jabbing their stick into our guys’ ribs, if they’re talking too much shit, or if they’re at the wrong place at the wrong time, I’m going to light them the fuck up. Tonight, I am very grateful for that part of my job because I have a lot of anger to release, and doing it on someone who deserves it feels so good.
“Reed?” someone calls out for me in the locker room, and I look up and see JD looking at me with furrowed brows.
The fact that they used my actual name means they’ve probably been calling for me multiple times, using a nickname, and I didn’t answer. I’m sure it’s a big thing with other sports to mainly use nicknames or, at minimum, last names. But in hockey, last names and nicknames are all we really use.
“Shit, sorry. What’s up?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck, hating that I was caught while zoned out.
“You good? Ready?” he asks, still studying my movements with concern.
“Yeah, of course.” I stand up onto the blades of my skates and finish getting my gear on for the game.
“You sure? Anything you need to get off your chest before we get out there?” he offers quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of the other guys.
While I appreciate the offer, talking about Charlotte for two minutes won’t change the storm in my mind.
“I’m good. Thank you though, bro, really.” I dap him up, shake his hand, and pull him into a quick hug.
He reciprocates and says, “All right.”
We look out for one another; we have to. We aren’t just teammates on the ice; we are teammates in life. If one of us is going through something, we make sure their worries are taken care of and they have people to talk to if needed. We have to be mentally strong to survive the grueling schedule that is professional hockey. To do that, we have to have strong support systems, on and off the ice, including being there for each other.
We finish getting ready and head to the ice for warm-ups. We run through our usual warm-up drills and hype each other the whole time, cracking jokes but still focused on the task at hand. We have to have fun with it.
