Page 121 of These Wicked Hearts

“I have the worst friends in the world,” Grey says to Felix.

Felix smiles up at Grey, laying a hand on the center of his chest. “Tell that to the giant smile on your face that hasn’t left since they arrived.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Atlas

Sitting like this with my friends is exactly what I think I’ve been missing. Throughout my life, I haven’t had many friends. I had Sarah, but she had her own group of friends and didn’t really spend much time with me in school. The rink was our place.

Then, when I started playing hockey, I was a little bit of an outcast. I didn’t have any of the expensive new gear all the other players had. Which was fine. My foster parents did what they could, and I’ll never be able to pay them back enough for the support they gave me.

The affiliate team was alright, but there was this competition between us all to get to the next level. It was hard to trust my teammates completely. We were all hungry, and we were playing beside our competition.

When I met Grey then Oli, that was the first time in my life I had a core group of friends. Eventually I became close with most of the other guys, but Oli and Grey and me, we were a unit, unstoppable together when we played and causing chaos when we weren’t.

“I’m so happy you finally came here.” I look up at Oli’s words. “I’ve been telling him for months to come see you.”

Grey smiles softly, drinking his soda. I didn’t need him to not drink tonight, but it does feel good that he refused to buy any. “Me too. I missed the hell out of you.”

“I watched your retirement ceremony,” I say. “It was amazing.”

Something soft hits Grey’s eyes before he blinks it away, and Oli clears his throat, ruining the moment. “So, what’s really going on with Gage? And don’t give me any strangers with benefits bullshit. Why is he here with you?”

I look at Oli, and maybe it’s the new medication I’m on or maybe I’m just ready, but I’m tired of pretending I’m okay. I’m far from okay, and if I need to unload on someone, why can’t it be with someone I’ve considered family for the past few years?

I haven’t told anyone this, not even Gage. “During the last game we had, where I got injured, I had an anxiety attack during the game. That’s what caused me to lose focus. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Everything just crashed down on me. They used to be manageable, but lately I can’t stop it. I wasn’t paying attention and I was hit. If I’d been paying attention, I could have blocked or moved. After I was cleared by my doctor, I went to see our psychologist. I told them about the panic attacks, and my doctor put me on concussion watch, and it was, but also mainly for my mental health. I needed a break. We told everyone concussion watch because if you say mental health, the media runs wild with accusations. Anyway, we agreed to a two-week break while I adjusted to the new meds and just took some time. I needed to get my shit together.”

“Have you gotten your shit together?”

I bark out a laugh. “No. Maybe. It is helping, though.” The tightness in my chest is gone, and I still feel like me, which I’d been afraid I wouldn’t. I’m still me, just less panicky. My thoughts don’t suffocate me, and I don’t crave the quiet like I did before.

“Help me understand, okay. I know Grey does, but I’m your best friend too. I want you to talk to me.” The fire snaps and hisses, sending sparks twisting up into the night. The smell of smoke lingers around us. Normally, when I used to hang out with Grey during the summers, we’d spend hours out by the fire talking and drinking. Just the two of us. I miss that a lot.

Oli sits back on his Adirondack chair, beer in hand. I’m staring too hard at the flames like they’ll somehow tell Oli my secrets for me. My lungs begin to tighten.

Breathe.

“The drinking . . . I didn’t realize it was that bad.” Oli thinks. “I mean, I know you could overdo it, but you never seemed like you craved it, that you needed it, so I didn’t think it was an addiction.”

A small humorless laugh leaves my lips.

“I don’t crave the alcohol. I crave how it makes me feel. If the thoughts in my head get too loud, it’s all I think about. I become obsessive and it’s hard to function let alone think of anything else. It’s like my body can’t rest. It’s like my mind is holding me hostage. The alcohol helps numb my thoughts.”

“You never told me it was this bad?”

I shrug. “I didn’t even know it was this bad.” I admit. “I didn’t even have a name for it until I saw the doctor. I think about the movies and shit, and how you think being an alcoholic is the way Hollywood likes to portray it. And I thought, ‘I don’t have a problem because I can function just fine.’ Then my thoughts get heavy, and the panic settles in. I can’t think or breathe. When I’m alone, I have nothing but time to think. The sickness, the panic, the guilt. Fuck me, Oli, the guilt. The guilt is constant. And then with the guilt comes anger and sadness, and her fucking body and—” I swallow.

Oli sits forward in his chair. “What?”

I stare ahead into the flames until my eyes begin to burn.

“On a loop. Over and over and over until I want to numb it all. I want it to stop. If I don’t shut it off or numb myself, I get this pressure in my chest. Like something terrible is about to happen and it’ll all be my fault.”

Oli looks at me, worry in his blue eyes. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.” My voice breaks. I cough to clear it. “And that’s just the beginning of it.”

“Depression?”