“All right.” Falon smiled. “Let me get Jim and the camera set up.”
As she walked away, Peyton turned to me. “Are you sure about this?”
“Do you think I shouldn’t?”
“I didn’t say that. I just want to make sure you’re okay with it.”
I gave it some careful thought, then nodded. “I’m good.”
“Okay. Do, um… Do you want me to stay out here with you?”
I checked my phone and shook my head. “No. You need to start your pregame routine.” I smiled, and hopefully it was reassuring and didn’t look at all panicked or anxious. “I’ll be fine.”
He studied me, chewing his lip. Then, “Okay.” He clapped my shoulder. “I’ll be in there when you get done.”
He headed into the locker room, and I took a moment to steel myself before I joined Falon and her cameraman.
“Tell me honestly before we turn on the camera andmicrophone.” She inclined her head. “Do you want to discuss why you’re in the assistance program?”
I again gave it some thought before I nodded. “Yeah. I think it would be good for people to hear it.”
“Okay. This is a recorded interview, okay?” She gestured at the camera. “Anything you want us to cut out, say so.”
I nodded again. Live interviews could be stressful as all hell, and I had trust issues with some reporters who insisted they’d edit based on our requests. Falon was good to us, though. As the team reporter, she had to have our trust; if she did one of us dirty, then everyone would likely clam up around her, and she’d find herself out of a job.
I didn’t think she was the type to do that anyway. Either way, I was glad we weren’t doing this live.
I took a deep breath. Then I let her know I was ready, and a moment later, the camera was rolling.
“I’m here outside the Whiskey Rebels’ locker room,” she said to the camera, “and joining me is a surprise guest—Pittsburgh’s captain, Avery Caldwell.”
The cameraman backed up a little, probably to bring me into the frame, and I smiled. I was used to being in front of those giant lenses and microphones, but it was a little nerve-racking this time.
“Now, Calds,” Falon said, “you and the team recently announced that you are in the League’s player assistance program. Can you talk about why you entered the program?”
I nodded. “I think everyone knows what happened to Early before the season started. And me and him—we’ve been close since major juniors, so I took it hard. I took itreallyhard.” My throat was getting tight, but I was not breaking down in front of a camera, damn it, not even whenI knew this could be edited. So, I barreled on. “The truth is, I wanted to move on faster than I was ready to. I felt the pressure to be captain, and to keep…” I shook my head. “I put too much on myself. And when it got to be too much, I started drinking to deal with it. So… that’s why I’m in the program.”
“For alcohol?”
“For…” I pursed my lips. “Kind of? The alcohol was a bandage over something I needed to deal with. The hardest part of the program hasn’t been giving up the alcohol—it’s dealing with the stuff underneath.”
“The grief for your teammate?”
“The grief for my best friend, yeah.” I cleared my throat. “At the end of the day, I just had to step back, take care of myself, and let myself grieve the way I needed to. The way I wouldn’t let myself in the beginning.”
“And is that going well?” Falon raised her eyebrows, and I got the sense she was asking from both a journalistic place and a genuine, personal place.
“It is, yeah. It’s hard. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t. But I think that was one of the things I had to make peace with—that losing someone like Leif is hard, and I shouldn’t expect myself to be okay overnight. So this whole player assistance program thing—it hasn’t been about alcohol at all. It’s about learning to be good to myself and give myself room to feel pain. You’d think that kind of pain comes whether you let it or not, but it turns out…” I trailed off into a half shrug.
“That’s amazing.” She sounded sincere, as if she were really saying that to me and not just to the camera. “So the program has been helpful for you—that’s great to hear.”
“It has been.” I had a flash of memory of the shame I’d felt when I’d made the announcement, and of thetimes I’d seen other players looking humiliated as they too entered the program, and some determination surged inside me. “If there’s one thing I hope fans and players alike can take away from my experience, it’s that there’s no shame in asking for help. It’s hard, admitting you’ve got a problem—whether it’s with drinking or with something up here.” I tapped my temple. “But man, things get a million times easier when you realize how many people are pulling for you and how much help is really available.”
“Excellent point,” Falon said, nodding as she spoke. “Those resources are available, and there’s no shame in using them.”
“Exactly. And…” I hesitated, making sure my voice was going to stay steady. “If you know someone who’s struggling, reach out to them. They might reject it at first. They might be in denial and they might get hostile toward you. But it makes a big difference, knowing someone gives a—knowing someone cares.” I swallowed. “I don’t even want to imagine how far down the rabbit hole I’d have gone, and how much I’d have destroyed my life, my career, and my body if Peyton Hall hadn’t been incredibly persistent. I owe him more than I can ever repay.”
Falon asked me a few more questions about how I was doing, and then she smiled as she asked, “One last thing—do you think Whiskey Rebel fans will see you play again this season?”
