I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. The team needs me.”
“Yeah, and you need them, too.” He held my gaze. “I’ve watched you, man. You’ve been holding up everyone and letting the whole team grieve. We can do the same for you, you know.”
Shaking my head, I clenched my jaw. “No. If I fall apart, the whole team falls apart.”
Peyton arched an eyebrow. “Okay, but if youneedto fall apart, then?—”
“I won’t. I got into my own head, and I guess it was bothering me last night.”
“And today.” It didn’t sound like an accusation, but it was close. He touched my forearm. “I know you’re trying to be the captain of this team and hold them all up. But you’re human. And from what I’ve heard, you were closer to Leif than anyone else on the team. Of course losing him will hit you harder.”
My throat tightened as tears threatened again. “They need a captain. They need me to be?—”
“You’rehuman, Avery,” he said again. “There isn’t a single person in that locker room who wants you to carry all of them at your own expense. No one is expecting you to shoulder all that griefandpull the entire team.”
I am,I wanted to say. I needed to do both of those things. “If I buckle, where does that leave the team?”
“Do you think we could hold our own if you were out with an injury?”
I chewed my lip. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t the same thing. But… it kind of was. Players went down all the time. Whether a guy was hurt, sick, suspended, or at the hospital with his laboring wife, the gap he left was the same. No matter what, it would be next man up. Someone would come up to fill his vacancy on a line or a D pair, or the backup goalie would take his place, and someone else would be called up from the minors to fill his space. The game would go on. Yeah, it was hard to lose someone, especially someone who played as many minutes as Peyton or I did—as many minutes as Leif had—but the sport stopped for no man.
“You could play without me,” I said. “I just… I don’t want to put the team in that position.” Before he could protest and insist it wasn’t my responsibility, I whispered, “God, I hate this.” I wiped a hand over my face. “I don’t even… I can’t blame it all on grief. I don’t think.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I—maybe itisbecause of Leif? I don’t know. But I’m a panicked, nervous wreck every goddamned game now. Every time someone gets hurt or goes down—like when Eminem collided with that other player, or when you…” I closed my eyes and exhaled before looking at him again. “Whenever something happens, I freak out.”
“I’ve seen you get upset,” he admitted. “But you usually snap back to having a cool head.”
I let my shoulders sag. “Because I bust my ass to make sure everyonethinksI have a cool head. But the reality…” I didn’t even know how to explain it. How to describe that surge of anxiety every time one of my teammates so much as winced in pain. Or the flash of anger every time an opposing player crosschecked one of my guys, or boarded him, or did anything that could cause an injury. Even the normal shit that happened every damn game. How it all fucked me up long past the moment of impact, sabotaging my concentration and even keeping me awake in bed hours later.
Everythingfucked me up.Everythingmade me panicked or angry or…
Pressing my elbows into my thighs, I leaned forward and rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. “God, I am such a mess.”
Peyton was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentler than I’d ever heard it before, whichhonestly said something. “Listen. This isn’t me judging you or calling you weak or any of that shit. I’m speaking as your teammate and as your friend, okay?” When I met his gaze, his forehead creased. “I think you need to get some help.”
I straightened. “What kind of help? Like a shrink?”
“Therapy, yeah.” He half-shrugged, and his tone was cautious as he softly added, “Rehab, too.”
Bristling, I glared at him. “I’m not an alcoholic.”
“I don’t think you are. But I do think you’ve been self-medicating enough that you’re hurting yourself.” He chewed his lip. “I think… Look, I’m not an expert, okay? But if you keep going the way you’re going, I think you’re going tobecomean alcoholic.” Rage surged up in me, and I was about to lash out defensively, but he softly added, “Because that’s what grief does to people sometimes, you know?”
I froze, mouth open, but the words lodged in my throat.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he went on. “You’ve been through hell. You’re still going through it. Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve kept yourself upright this long.”
The fury was suddenly gone, replaced by that ever-present lump in my throat. “I don’t think I’ve been holding myself as upright as you think.”
“If it were me,” he said dryly, “I’d be in a fetal position somewhere.”
I slouched back against the couch. “I can’t do that, though. The team… The fans…”
He studied me, brow pinched. “But what aboutyou?”
I couldn’t look at him. There was no room for me. No room to let myself crumble the way I wanted—needed—to crumble. My voice was brittle as I whispered, “There are too many people depending on me.” I closed my eyes, surprised my back didn’t ache from the weight of everyone—my team, our fans, my best friend’s widow, their kids…
