“Grant, you don’t have to?—”
“I haven’t been punishing myself,” I interrupt, which only makes me sound more guilty and insecure. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to say anything that isn’t true.” She holds my gaze for several seconds. “You don’t have to say anything at all. I’m right here if you want to talk, but I’m okay with sitting here quietly and enjoying the sauna if that’s what you’d rather do.”
And that’s exactly what we do for at least another two full minutes. I pretend to relax while Heather keeps watching me. She isn’t pressuring me or accusing me of doing anything, and that somehow makes her gentle patience even more unnerving.
“When I was a kid,” I begin, then stop. I’m still not sure what to say. I never talk about this stuff. Never. “I was sick. Really sick.”
She nods slightly without saying anything.
“It was aplastic anemia.” I grimace, hating to give the words power by saying them out loud after all these years. “My bone marrow basically stopped working when I was a kid. Nobody knew what it was at first, and I spent more time in the hospital than I did at home.”
I shake my head, hating the memories that are resurfacing. What I’ve told her so far is only part of the story, and if she really wants to understand where I’m coming from, I have to tell her the rest.
But I also have to tamp down on the emotions that are rising up in my chest. I just want to give her the facts. Nothing more.
“My parents were constantly driving me to appointments and sitting with me in cold, uncomfortable waiting rooms. The rest of the time, they were working themselves into the ground to keep their heads above water, doing their best to keep paying all the bills while they also had to find the money to pay for my treatments.”
“I’m so sorry.” She reaches out toward me, but stops herself. “I didn’t mean to open up old wounds.”
“You didn’t. I don’t want you to feel like you need to apologize, and I don’t want you to feel bad for me. Everyone goes through hard shit, right?”
She nods. “That’s true. You never know someone’s struggle just by looking at them. But I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it sounds like you’ve been through more shit than most people—especially at such a young age.”
“The doctors said I’d probably never be able to run around or play sports. They said my immune system would always be compromised, and that I’d have to be careful for the rest of my life.”
“But you didn’t accept that.”
“I couldn’t. Not after everything my parents sacrificed for me.” My voice hitches, and I have to stop so I can get myself together. “They never got to see me go pro. My mom died of a heart attack the year before I was drafted. My dad passed away six months after her.”
“Wow. That’s terrible.”
“Exactly. And that’s why I don’t feel like I’m entitled to waste a single minute of my life.” I make a gesture to encompass everything around us. “I’ve been given the opportunity of a lifetime, and I’m fortunate enough to do the kind of stuff most people only dream about. That’s why I can’t let myself be anything less than the best. Number one.”
There’s a look of understanding in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “Because if you don’t live up to your own standards, you won’t be honoring their memory the way you want to.”
It isn’t a question. She gets it. She can finally see why I push myself the way I do. Why my life runs like a well-oiled machine. Why I blame myself when avoidable shit happens.
“I think I’m beginning to understand,” she says, echoing my own thoughts. “But can I say something?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“This is just my outsider’s perspective, okay? You’re an incredible hockey player. The best goalie I’ve ever seen. But what’s more impressive is that you’re alive and healthy, in better shape than probably ninety-nine percent of the population.” She glances down at my chest, as if she’s confirming what she just said. And she does it without blushing this time. “You made it through something that could have killed you, and instead of listening to everyone who told you not to push too far or try too hard, you’ve gone on to break records and play hockey at the highest level in the world. That’s not wasting anything. That’s honoring everything your parents gave and every sacrifice they made. It’s the purest form of respect and gratitude, as far as I’m concerned.”
It’s been a long time since someone has rendered me speechless, but I realize as I open my mouth to respond that I don’t have the words to properly express my gratitude for what she’s just said.
Not because I need the flattery or the validation. I get more than my fair share of kudos from fans, sportscasters, and complete strangers on the street.
But to have someone I admire—and I admire the hell out of the life Heather has carved out for herself and April—tell me that she can look at me and see that I’m fulfilling all the dreams my parents had for me while I’m also living up to the values they’ve instilled in me is huge.
It’s the best kind of compliment, because it honors them.
“Thank you,” is what I finally manage to say after what feels like several minutes of open-mouthed, brain-stuttering silence. “I probably don’t deserve to feel this good about what you’ve just said, but I appreciate it more than I can possibly say.”
“Good.” Her smile lights up the small, steamy room. “And you do deserve it. I hope you don’t ever really doubt that.”
I’m definitely not going to unpack those doubts tonight, and I’d much rather steer the conversation in a direction that isn’t quite so raw.
