I’m trying to take this all in. My mind is swimming, all these things flying around, and feelings coursing through me, and I’m confused and overwhelmed. The urge to turn around and run and keep running is real. I force myself to take deep breaths.
“Easton felt like hockey was all he had. For me, it’s been a way to forget the real world. To forget my pain and my problems.”
Yeah. I feel that right to my core.
“I was jealous when Millsy got drafted,” Josh says. He clears his throat, and I can tell this is still hard for him to talk about. “I didn’t know if I’d be able to play again. It made me bitter.”
“And I felt guilty,” Easton replies. “I felt guilty that I could play when others couldn’t. The guys who were killed in the crash.” He swallows. “Josh. And Mac.” He mentions one of our teammates who had a spinal cord injury. “When I got drafted, I told myself I was playing for them too.”
“I’ve felt guilty too.” The words fall from my lips.
They shoot me sidelong glances as we walk.
“I didn’t even have a scratch on me,” I say in a low voice. “I was so lucky that way.”
They say nothing. So many people have told me I was lucky. But these guys don’t.
So I keep going. “But I couldn’t play. I couldn’t cope. With anything.”
I gesture to a bunch of big rocks and head that way to sit. I face the ocean, and they sit too, all of us gazing out at the silvery brine. A seagull soars above us.
“I have PTSD,” I finally say.
They both nod.
No judgment. No scoffing because I “wasn’t really hurt.”
“I met a kid,” Josh says, then pauses.
I’m not sure where this is going.
“His name was Carter. We really connected. He was dying of cancer. But he was so positive and strong. I wanted to control everything in my life. He couldn’t. And he showed me how to be strong despite that.”
My throat squeezes.
“We can’t control everything in our lives,” Josh adds.
For a moment, the only sounds are the swish of waves onto the sand and the cry of a seagull. Pressure pushes behind my eyes, my cheekbones. I’m afraid I’m going to cry. I cover my eyes with one hand.
As if they know, the other guys keep talking.
“Since the accident, I’ve had a hard time controlling my temper at times,” Easton says. “That got me traded from Vancouver to New York, which I thought was a good thing, until I met my new coach.”
“Asshole,” Josh mutters.
“He was abusive and racist. He knew how to push my buttons and I was so afraid of losing hockey, because I thought that was all I had, I couldn’t stand up to him. And I hated myself for it.”
“But you did stand up to him,” Josh says.
“Yeah. Lilly helped me see that I needed to do the right thing.”
“Then I showed up,” Josh says dryly.
“Yeah.” Easton smiles.
“I think we both wanted to set things right between us,” Josh says. “I was terrified, though. Talking about this shit isn’t easy.” I feel his eyes on me. “It’s hard to be vulnerable. I felt like I wasn’t worth caring about because my friends didn’t care enough to be there for me after the accident, but—”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupt. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. For both of you.”
My chest feels hot and tight, my throat clogged.
“Thanks,” Josh says.
“Yeah,” Easton adds, his voice muted. “Thanks.”
“Anyway, I wasn’t there for you guys either,” Josh adds. “I’m ashamed of that.”
“Me too,” Easton says.
Yeah. That’s the word. Shame. This thickness in my throat, the ache in my gut, the heat and prickling in my face. I’m ashamed. I swallow.
“Hellsy and I both had reasons for not being able to help each other,” Easton says. “We were both going through our own shit. But we could have made more of an effort.” He pauses and looks at me. “Now, you want to tell us what shit you were going through?”
“Not even a little bit.” I attempt to crack a smile, then I sigh. “I guess since you came all the way here…”
They both snort.
“I don’t know what happened to your mom,” I tell Easton. “Or what her diagnosis is. I fell apart, too. I had PTSD. I wasn’t doing well.” I remember how scared I was. “I kept reliving the accident and it freaked me out. My heart would go crazy and I’d feel dizzy. I got angry. I didn’t want anyone to know, and I was afraid of how I might react in front of people. So I took off from Calgary and came here. I wanted to be alone. I especially didn’t want to be around anyone who reminded me of the accident.”
I meet Easton’s eyes, then Josh’s. They both radiate warmth and sympathy, not anger or blame.
“I wasn’t sleeping. I couldn’t shut off my mind. And when I did fall asleep, I had nightmares. I drank a lot of booze and smoked a lot of weed so I could sleep, but that didn’t help.” I look down at my linked fingers which have tightened. I consciously relax them. “I kept telling myself to get over it. I felt like it was stupid that this was happening, and I just needed to get control of my emotions. But I couldn’t.”
“I relate to that,” Easton says.
“I was jumpy. On edge all the time. I didn’t care about anything. I didn’t care about getting up in the morning. I didn’t care about hockey. I was supposed to enter the draft that spring, and I didn’t.” My voice breaks and I bow my head. “I beat myself up over that later. In fact, I still do, sometimes.”
A hand lands on the back of my shoulder and squeezes.
“See?” Josh says quietly. “We didn’t know that.”
I keep my head down. “The best thing that happened was my parents coming to see me. They were so worried about me and they convinced me to see a doctor and a counselor. I didn’t want to, but by that point, even I knew I wasn’t going to get out of that by myself, no matter how much I told myself to get my shit together.”
“Did that help?”
“Yeah. The doctor gave me meds to help with sleep and depression. I didn’t want to take drugs, but…it did help. The counseling was painful. Lots of days I didn’t want to go. I’ll never be really over it.” I lift my head and glance at Josh, then Easton. “But I went back to see her yesterday and we had a good talk. Parts of me will always be broken, but I need to focus on the parts of me that aren’t broken.”
They’re both silent, then Easton says, “Good advice.”
I tell them more about what Roberta said and how I’ve been thinking about it. “I really was on my way back to New York,” I tell them. “I knew I had to face you guys. And I have to face Kate.”
“So, uh…Kate…” Easton pauses.
“Yeah?”
“More than just an agent? She seems to care a lot about you.”
I bite my lip. “She’s more than just my agent. But…I fucked things up.”
“Haven’t we all,” Josh mutters. “I fucked up with Sara, too.”