1
HUDSON
End of September
“Hudson, this is your third year now as captain, how are you feeling about the team culture going into this season?” one of the many reporters surrounding me asks.
I’m sitting on the bench in front of my stall in the locker room after winning our final preseason home game, stripped down to my base layers with a towel draped around my shoulders, answering the media’s questions. Each reporter has a microphone or phone held out toward me, hoping to get something interesting to report on, and I’m happy to play along.
I’ve been in the NHL for thirteen years now, and the AHL before that, so I’m no stranger to these post-game interviews. Some of the guys despise any and all media interaction, but I’ve never minded flashing a smile to the cameras or talking about how great my life is.
Even on the days that we lose, we’re still out there gettingpaid to play hockey, and until recently, I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
“I’m feeling great about the team,” I answer honestly. “We’ve got a lot of young talent moving up this year, and it's been awesome to see how hard they’re working to earn their spot. They really want it, ya know? That’s only going to help us out on the ice.”
“Are you hoping for another year with Bell and Martin on your line? Or do you think Coach will switch things up with all the new names?”
“I mean, yeah, I’d love to finish things out with them. Our line had the highest points last year for a reason, that chemistry is solid, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries out some other options, too. Especially with it being my last season.”
The crowd murmurs at the reminder of my retirement. For some reason after I made the announcement that I’d be done after my current contract, almost no one believed me. There were countless articles about how I was using my retirement “threat” to negotiate a better deal, that the Werewolves weren’t offering me enough money, that I was too young to really be done, so it had to be a ploy.
But thirty-four doesn’t feel young when I’ve spent most of my life being slammed into the boards and taking punches from the best of them.
“Hudson, are you still planning to be done at the end of the season?” another reporter asks, because apparently, if I don’t officially confirm my retirement plans after every game, they aren’t happening.
If possible, my smile grows even more as I look right at the camera that’s aimed at me. I don’t want them to misinterpret my answer. “Hockey has always been my focus, and I’ll always love it, but I’m also excited for the next chapter in my life. I’ve been lucky to have a long career, but I don’t think I’ll be able to keepup with these young guys much longer.” I nod my head to the side in Oliver Bell’s direction where he’s surrounded by his own media crowd.
“It’s been an honor to play for the Werewolves for as long as I have, and to be their captain, helping guide so many young players at the start of their time in the NHL. I’m really looking forward to this final season skating with them, I hope it’s a long one. When it ends, though, whether that’s in April or in June, I’ll be happy to hang up my skates. I’m ready to focus on my family. My beautiful wife, Shelby, has put up with my crazy travel schedule for long enough. I can’t wait for us to finally expand our family and become parents.”
“Hudson Roy?” a man in a plain black suit, just like other reporters, asks as he presses his outstretched phone even closer to me. I don’t recognize the media outlet on his press pass, and maybe he’s new, because I only heard him ask my name, but I don’t want to embarrass the guy on his first day by calling him out on not knowing the players or what the typical interview style is.
“That’s me,” I reply easily with another smile, earning a few laughs from the rest of the people surrounding me.
He reaches into his laptop bag and pulls out a thick manilla envelope, holding it out to me. “You’ve been served.”
“Served?” I repeat, my smile faltering a bit, because I have no idea what he’s talking about. The crowd around me has gone silent, and without really thinking it through, I open the envelope.
I’m used to being given direction and following it without complaint. One of the coaches wants us to run through a drill? Or have me skate with a different line? I do it, no questions asked. That’s part of why they like having me as their captain. I set a good example, both on the ice and off it. I have the experience, good instincts; I know the other players and what works in a game. I’ve always been one of the top scoringplayers on the team. I’m also easygoing and approachable. I handle the media well. I’m not in any news headlines. I’m married, not out hooking up and partying after games.
But outside of hockey? I might not be the smartest guy out there. Following my gut to act quickly on the ice also means I tend to act before considering the consequences. Like right now, as I skim the document this stranger just handed me, reading some of it aloud in my confusion.
“State of Illinois… Summons? Petition for the dissolution of marriage? You have thirty days to file a response? What the fuck does any of that mean?” I mutter to myself, the lack of understanding overwhelming my media training so I completely forget where I am and who can hear me.
“Are you getting a divorce?” someone asks.
“Hudson, you just said you were planning to focus on your family; is there trouble at home? Is that the real reason you’re retiring?”
“Now that your wife is leaving you, will you want to stay in the league?”
Each question sounds further away as the reality of what’s happening finally sinks in.
Shelby is leaving me.
With no warning, no discussion, no attempts at therapy. She’s already filed legal paperwork for a divorce.
I thought we were happy. In love.
We’ve been talking about having kids. I wasn’t just saying that for the cameras.
