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"Relax, Chase. This interview will go a lot smoother if you remember to breathe." The raven-haired, dark-eyed woman across from me smiles. As far as reporters go, Scarlett isn't exactly what you'd expect from a typical TV personality. She's cool, calm and professional, but she's not cookie-cutter. The hot pink streak of colour in her hair and the tiny diamond nose stud are unexpected. She still looks the part in her business skirt and matching blazer, but her black Converse instead of heels and everything else about her says,Fuck the Patriarchy and the status quo.She has stage presence, and not just because she's a beautiful woman. Her take-no-shit attitude commands the room.
"Right," I say, breathing through my nose and then out through my mouth. My therapist, Dr. Brighton, and I have been working on breathing techniques. Dr. Brooks was right. She's excellent at what she does. Evie Brighton is one of the easiest people to talk to that I've ever met, and over the last six weeks, we've worked through a shit ton of shit, so much so that I'm finally ready to share my truth with the world.
Therapy is no joke. It's hard work. But, as Dr. Brighton says, "You get what you put into it." I wasn't sure what to expect from the whole experience. A part of me thought it might be a whole bunch of woo-woo, kumbaya, hand-holding crap, but I was wrong. When I took my leave from the team, I wanted to get my life in order. I wanted to make peace with my past and move forward so I could be the man that Lily deserves. Because she deserves someone who can give her everything she wants, including a healthy sex life and true happiness.
And I am beginning to understand that I deserve those things too.
There is no miracle cure for trauma, but I've learned that bottling everything inside is a lot like drinking poison then fighting your body's natural response to expel it by whatever means necessary. Keeping everything inside just made me sicker. Talking to Dr. Brighton has helped me work through a lot of the things holding me back. And Lily's been there too, as a friend. I know that's not what she wants, and it's not what I want either, but for now, it works, and I think I'm finally ready to move forward.
Lily's come to a few sessions with me. I wanted her there, and Dr. Brighton suggested it. She's my support system; not a crutch, but someone I love, trust, and respect. Someone I know won't judge me. Someone who believes in me and believes that there's something better waiting for us at the end of this journey.
Slowly but surely, we've worked on my issues with certain types of touch. While the memories and internal scars will always be there, they've faded.
"You ready?" Scarlett asks from the plush chair across from me. We're in a room with a neutral backdrop, two comfortable navy lounge chairs, and a small wooden table with glasses of water. The cameras, lighting, and everything else are set for the biggest interview of my life. It's set to air when the NHL breaks for the holidays next week. This isn't exactly the Christmas special everyone expects this time of year. "We're pre-recording, so try not to be nervous. We can edit anything out that you don't want."
I nod and take a sip of my water. Scarlett motions to the crew and a little red light flashes on top of the cameras to let me know they're recording. She starts by introducing herself and me before giving a short recap of some of the allegations Cassidy Tippett made in her article weeks ago and my hockey career. I think she'll jump right into the hard questions, but instead, she starts easy, warming me up before we go deep.
"So Chase, tell me how you go into hockey."
I smile and think back to my childhood when my mom was alive. She was my number one fan, cheering me on at my games. "My mom got me into it," I chuckle. "She was a huge hockey fan and strapped skates onto me as soon as my feet were big enough. And, I had this friend, you might know him, Luke Valentine. He was this scrawny, mediocre kid, and his team needed someone to score goals."
Scarlett laughs. "Did you always want to be an NHL player?"
"Not necessarily. I never really thought about it much until my mom got sick." I glance at the camera and awkwardly rub my hands on my dress pants.
"Can you tell us more about that? What happened to your mom, and what was she like?"
"She was the best mom in the world, and I know everyone says that about their mom, but she really was. She was the glue that held the family together. I'm an only child, so I guess you can say I was a little bit of a momma's boy. But, when I was ten, we found out she had a brain tumour. She went into surgery and never came back out." My throat tightens at the memory of watching my mom rolling away on the hospital bed before surgery. She was smiling and waving like it was no big deal. Like she was going to get her nails done instead of having doctors drill into her skull to remove her cancer. "Her last wish was for me to make it to the NHL and for my dad to help get me there. It was the only promise he kept."
Scarlett continues to ask me questions about what happened after my mom died, and I explain how my life changed. How my dad changed. Everything from the excessive drinking to the drugs, the women, and until we ran out of money and the house started to fall apart. When we get to the parts about my dad's physical abuse, I take another big gulp of my water.
"I was too small to fight back for a long time. But he'd get mad at everything, especially if I'd missed a shot during a game or if my team lost. I think, in some twisted way, he thought he was helping me. Making me tougher. Forcing me to be the best hockey player I could be so I'd make it to the NHL like my mom wanted."
"And no one knew about the abuse?" she asks, face stoic but with sympathy in her eyes. The whole room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Every person here is listening to every single word that comes out of my mouth with rapt attention. I guess it's not every day that a famous hockey player spills his most painful secrets to the world.
"I think some people suspected it. But I made excuses and said my bruises were from hockey. Luke's mom bought me new equipment because she thought mine was too old and not up to par."
"And as you got older, what was your relationship with the Valentines like?"
"Their home was my escape. I'd spend as much time as I could at Luke's. We were best friends and played on the same hockey team, so Mr. and Mrs. Valentine drove me to most of our games. Any chance I had to hang out with Luke, I took it until I was practically living there. I think Angie, Luke's mom, knew something wasn't right, but she never complained. She always took me in, no questions asked."
"Do you ever wish the Valentines or someone else, a coach or a teacher maybe, called Child Protective Services on your father?"
"That's a hard question to answer. By the time the abuse got really bad, I was only a year or two away from leaving home to play junior hockey. If things had been different, I might not be sitting here today."
The questions continue, and I answer as calmly and succinctly as possible. It's weird rehashing my life's story for everyone to watch, analyze, and interpret. I don't want to say the wrong thing or seem too emotional or emotionless. So, I just talk and do my best to say what comes naturally. That is until she asks me the question I've been dreading. Scarlett and I reviewed the interview questions beforehand, but it's not the same as talking about it on camera.
"What can you tell me about Barbara Bell?"
I stiffen and grip the armrests of my chair and then take a deep breath in, count to three, and then release it.
"Barbara Bell was the woman who sexually abused me from the time I was fourteen until I left home to play junior hockey." The room goes still, and to me, the silence is so loud it's like a freight train is running through my mind. Sweat accumulates on my palms, and I rub them on my pants again, but Scarlett doesn't push me for more. She just calmly waits for me to speak again.
"She was my dad's girlfriend at the time, but most nights, he'd get blackout drunk, and that's when she'd come to my bedroom. I was a miserable, confused, and angry fourteen-year-old kid. I might not have said no, but I didn't say yes. I knew it was wrong, and I remember puking my guts out that first time she… you know."
"Did your father ever find out?"
"No, he was too drunk or high to know what was going on, and it wasn't long after that, that I started spending more time at the Valentine house."
