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The air in the room is thick, laced with simmering tempers and regret. Or is that just me?

Everyone is quietly removing their gear, no one wanting to break the silence. Even Coach Young seems at a loss for words. I was off tonight, I get it. But so was everyone else. I wasn’t even the only one in the penalty box, although I spent more time there than anyone else.

Finally, West takes a step toward me. “You should’ve sat out, Mitch, taken a mental health day. We get there’s a lot going on, but you’ve gotta be real with us.”

I lunge for him, grabbing onto his jersey and causing both of us to topple to the ground. He’s really going to blame this entire game on me? I don’t think so.

I’ve wanted to mess up West’s angelic face for over a year now, and this is finally my chance. The only issue? I’m worn out, running on barely any sleep, and even my rage isn’t giving me any added strength. I’m spent.

And the thought of kicking West’s butt doesn’t give me the same thrill it did a year ago, anyway.

West easily shifts our weight to where I’m on the floor and he’s holding my arms down. “What the hell, Mitch? Do you really think beating the crap out of your own teammate is going to solve anything? Or make you feel better?” He starts to move himself off of me and I swing at him while he’s distracted.

West’s forgiving mood is gone now, he punches me back, right in the eye. I deserve it. Remy and Coach Young separate us. Coach lets go of West as soon as he’s on his feet again, but Remy keeps his hold on me.

West looks at me, he’s mad, but there’s another emotion there too. Like he’s hurt… not physically, but emotionally. “That article sucked, man. But we’ve all been there. That’s the shitty thing about constantly being in the public eye. We’re here for the world’s entertainment… even outside of the game. And sometimes fans can be cruel. But we’re here… look all around you.” He pauses, looking around the room. I do the same, my eyes catching on Bruce and Colby behind West, looking at me without any anger or judgment. “We are your family. We’re here to support each other. But we can’t do that if you won’t talk to us.”

Remy’s grip on me loosens. He gives me a friendly shake, like the Remy version of a hug. Before I can move away, Bruce and Colby are rushing toward me and wrap me in a giant hug.

I groan. “No, please no hugging.”

But I don’t fight to get away. It’s not an Andie hug, but I guess I’ll take it. After a minute, I brush them off, pretending to be annoyed. I have a reputation to keep up, after all.

“I-I’m sorry guys. Tonight was a disaster.” I scratch the back of my neck and look down at my skates.

“We were all off tonight,” Bruce says.

Coach Young scoffs. “You can say that again.”

* * *

We made it back to the hotel last night way too late for me to call Andie, and then this morning we got on our jet too early for me to call her. We have another game tonight in Thunder Bay, then a late flight back to D.C.

I can’t stand not being there with her to make this right. To tell her I'm sorry, to beg her forgiveness. There’s never in my life been something that would bring me to my knees, that would make me grovel and beg… but Andie? Yeah, I’d do that for her. I’d do anything.

I’m still miserable, but my anger has dissipated a little since West knocked some sense into me last night. And he’s right, the whole team has always been there for me, has always been my family in a roundabout way, but I was too stupid to see it. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. Maybe I wanted to wallow a while longer. But I’m done wallowing now. I want to live, want to love, want to do more than just survive. And I want to do it all with Andie by my side.

When we land in Ontario and get settled in our hotel before tonight’s game, I try to call Andie. It goes straight to voicemail. I can’t remember if she’s working today, or if she's ignoring me. I deserve her silence.

I type out a text instead.

Mitch

Andie, I know I’m sorry isn’t good enough. My head has been such a mess, I couldn’t even think straight. Call me when you can. Please.

Settling in a comfortable armchair in the hotel’s lobby, I call Dr. Curtis. I desperately want to fix this, and to show Andie I’m here for her. But I don’t know how, and I feel like I’m going to mess everything up even more than I already have.

He picks up after two rings. “Well, good morning, Mitch.” His voice is calm like it always is. And I find myself wishing I was in his peaceful office.

“Hey.” I sit back in an armchair the hotel has in their lobby. It’s a Monday right before noon, so it’s completely empty except for me. “I need some help.”

“I’m glad you called. What’s going on?”

I explain to him the issue with the article, and how my manager is down my throat, and how I stupidly ghosted Andie for a day and a half. He hums every ten seconds or so, letting me know he’s still there and still listening.

“Well,” he says in his steady voice. I hear wrestling like he’s shifting in his seat. “It sounds like you know you reacted poorly, and that you need to make things right. The only way you can do that is to talk to her. Tell her how you’ve been feeling, how the anger took over, how you’re afraid it’s too much and she’ll abandon your relationship. Lay your heart out there, even if it’s hard. You have to be vulnerable.”

I swallow slowly. “And if she leaves me?”