Page 46 of Hard to Handle

Jesus, have I tried.

“Mr. Maddox, over here.” The female reporter’s voice rings out and knocks Dekker’s voice from my head. I blink a few times into the light and then hold my hand over my eyes so I can look in her direction. “Hello. Hi.”

Rookie reporter. They always ramble when they’re new.

“Hello.”

“Um, yes. Um . . . Vida Henson with Sports Worldwide. You seem to have been on a tear lately. You’re closing in on two NHL records in rapid time. Are you doing anything different this year to make such strong improvements to your game?”

Yeah, my brother’s dying.

“Good question.”

And I helped kill him.

I stare at the lights and shake my head as I fight back the truth that haunts me every day of my life. At the crushing weight of it.

“I’ve been . . . training differently,” I lie. “I added on some new members to my team outside of the club to help bring out my potential, and I—uh—guess they deserve a raise because it seems to be working.”

I say a few more things, but I’m distracted.

Maybe it’s being back in the same city I grew up in.

Maybe it’s knowing I have to go home and face reality.

Maybe it’s because . . .

“Mr. Maddox? Randy Girdley with Headline Sports. You grew up not far from here, are there any places you like to frequent when you get to come back home?”

The stretch of road where my life changed forever.

The cemetery to pay my respects.

Dekker wasn’t completely right.

It’s so much more than being burned out.

I blink a few times as the room shifts and moves around me, and I try to fight those first few terrifying moments when the path my life was on changed forever.

Your game is shit tonight, son. You should be embarrassed of how you played.

Facing my dad.

Yeah, that’s another place I can’t fucking wait to go, home.

I force a smile and let a laugh fall. Anything to draw them away from the truth. “Everyone has their places when they return home.” I scoot my chair back and stand.

“Like?” he counters.

“My schedule is always packed when I come here, so I rarely have time to venture from it. Of course, my training and the team comes first, but then there’s a visit to Boston’s Children’s Hospital, some time spent with the kids at the Elite 9 Rink to answer their questions. A few other things to help pay it back or help the game move forward. Busy. Busy.” Another smile to sell the lie. “Thank you for your time. I hope to see you all at the game tonight.”

I’m through the door to my right as more questions are fired off, my feet moving from one side to the other while I try to settle the discord eating me whole.

Why is this so hard this time? Why does it feel like all the oxygen is being sucked out of every breath I try to take?

Within seconds, Sanderson comes through the same door I just did. “Everyone has their places?” He chuckles. “It came off like you meant a brothel or some shit.”

If he only knew.