The Attack Zone (Slap Shot #2)

20. Mitch

CHAPTER 20

MITCH

TWO DAYS LATER

I ’m half-awake, half-asleep as I tap the snooze button on my phone for the fourth time. I was supposed to be up nearly an hour ago, but I can’t get myself to actually get out of bed. My legs feel like lead. There’s a dull ache deep in my belly. I pull the covers tight around my neck and roll away from my alarm, willing it to never go off again so I can just stay in this bed forever.

Before my alarm can go off again, though, there’s a loud pounding on my door. I don’t move. I don’t say anything. I just lay there, unable to put together a clear thought.

“Mitch!” King yells from the hallway. “You’re late!”

Then he’s banging on the door again.

“Hang on,” I finally manage to mumble just loud enough for him to hopefully hear. I don’t need the entire hotel waking up because I’m incapable of being a responsible person.

I lay there for a few more moments, but thankfully Thomas doesn’t bang on the door anymore. When I finally get up the strength to move, I strip the warm covers off of my body in hopes that the cold air of the hotel room will force me to get out of bed. It only works a little, but eventually I manage to sit up and pull on some socks before walking across the chilly floor to the door.

I brace myself, knowing that Thomas knows me better than pretty much anyone, which means he probably knows what’s going on. I timidly open the door and the hallway light assaults my eyes.

“Why aren’t you up yet?” he asks as he walks past me, blonde hair shoved under its usual backwards baseball hat, into my pitch-black room. He walks towards the windows and slides the drapes open, letting the light pour in. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and I’m annoyed.

No, not annoyed. I’m embarrassed.

“I ...” I can’t form the words to explain what’s going on. I plop down onto the bed and start to get under the covers again.

“Uh, no,” he says. He grabs the covers from me and pulls them down to the end of the bed. “Even if you aren’t up for breakfast, you need to take a shower.”

Oh shit.

Breakfast.

We’re supposed to have breakfast with Caleb this morning. We do it the morning of most away games. How could I forget that?

I sit at the edge of the bed, willing my legs to stand up. Begging them to walk me towards the shower. How am I supposed to play professional hockey later today if I can’t even stand up?

“Alright, buddy,” Thomas says, reaching his hand out for mine. I don’t take it until he says, “Three, two, one, and ...” I take his hand. “Stand.”

With his help, I stand. Once I’m up, I’m able to walk slowly to the bathroom, shed my boxers, and turn on the shower.

“I’ll be out here,” King yells from the main room. “Holler if you need me.”

I won’t , I think.

Jesus. What kind of grown man needs his best friend’s help getting out of bed?

I step into the hot water and let it flow around me. I don’t reach for the shampoo or the body wash, I let the water drench my body and try to gather myself. At first, I can’t think of much, I just let the warmth of the shower wrap me up. Then, I find myself thinking, Why can’t I get it together?

You’re having a depressive episode, Dr. Chells, my therapist’s, voice comes into my head.

This cannot be happening. I cannot be depressed right now. I have things to do. Games to win. Incredible women to fuck. Why would I possibly be depressed?

Because you have bipolar disorder . This time it’s my own voice trying to reason with me. I know I’m right. I know this is just one of those things that happens. But I also know that I probably triggered it somehow. Like the moron I am.

I think back over the past week. I’ve been taking my meds, I’ve been eating well, I’ve spent time with people and done things I care about ... but I’ve spent every night with Stacey. Not only has it completely fucked with my sleep schedule, but it’s also messed with my routine. Big time.

Great.

I can’t even sleep with a beautiful woman without triggering an episode.

Just once I’d love to be able to be a normal NHL player. Or at least party past midnight. But no, instead I’m stuck with strict schedules and rules that dictate every damn moment of my life, just so I don’t lose my everloving shit and wind up hospitalized, or so depressed I think unthinkable thoughts.

The water continues to pour down around me and I feel myself getting heavier and heavier. Finally, I manage to lather up some shampoo in my hands, but I can’t even bring it to my hair for far too long. It just sits on my hands all sudsy and bubbly.

Eventually I get myself clean enough to face the light of day, turn off the shower, and stand there for a few minutes letting the water drip off of me. Once the cold air has infiltrated the shower, I’m forced to grab a towel and dry off. I put on a pair of jeans and a sweater, not bothering to fix my hair or trim my beard. I’m already late and I honestly can’t be bothered to give a shit right now.

I open the door and find Thomas leaning against the wall just outside the bathroom. I must have really looked like shit if he didn’t even feel like he could sit on the couch. Goddammit. I hate being a burden to people.

“Are you up for going to breakfast?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I need to get outside, I think.”

I always resist leaving my hotel room or condo when I feel like this, but every time I do I feel better. And like it or not, I have a game to play today. The team is counting on me. I need to get my head on straight, and fast.

We arrive at a local smoothie bowl spot in Buffalo and place our orders at the counter before finding a table in the corner. I haven’t said much since we met up with Caleb in the lobby. He knows I have bipolar, but he hasn’t seen a depressive episode up close and personal, and I’m not sure I’m ready to show that to him just yet. It’s bad enough that Thomas had to literally pick me up off the floor and drag me to a game our first season playing together. Since then, he’s been my rock, but I feel so guilty every time this happens. I’m not his responsibility.

Right now, as much as I know I needed to get outside, I’m dreading this conversation the three of us are about to have. Usually, I love our heart-to-hearts when we’re away from Colorado. It’s how I really got to know Caleb, and it’s continued to bring Thomas and I together as friends.

“Who wants to go first?” Thomas asks.

Neither Caleb nor I say anything. Me because I’m depressed, and presumably Caleb is anxious too. We really make a crack team. You’d never know that we’ll probably be two of the best players on the ice tonight based on who we are off of it.

“I’m ...” I start. “I ...” I try again. “I don’t think I’m doing great,” I finally say.

“Okay,” says Caleb. “What’s going on?”

“I just feel a little off,” I say, but it’s not the whole truth. I’d expect the truth from Caleb and Thomas, though, so I dig deep and clear my throat. “No. I’m depressed. I’m having an episode.”

“How bad is it?” Caleb asks.

I look down at my coffee and try to find the words to respond.

“It’s not great,” Thomas chimes in for me. “But he’s out of bed, so step number one is already complete. Just gotta keep moving forward.”

“I don’t know if I can.” It slips out before I can stop it. Admitting defeat isn’t normally my thing, but right now all I want is to crawl into a hole.

“You can,” Thomas says. “You’ve been worse than this and you’ve gotten through it.”

“It’s amazing that you manage this while being a pro,” Caleb says.

“I could say the same thing about you,” I say, hoping I might be able to change the subject.

“Don’t change the subject,” Thomas says. Well, okay then. “Now, I’m going to ask you a question that you hate when you’re like this. But I have to, and I need you to try to not bite my head off. ”

“Yes, I’ve been taking my meds,” I say begrudgingly.

“Okay,” Thomas says. “That’s good.”

“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” I say.

“Any idea why?” Caleb asks.

Yes.

“No,” I lie. I don’t want to lie to these guys, but I promised Stacey I wouldn’t tell anyone about us. “I’ll talk to Dr. Chells about it next week.”

“That’s a good idea,” Caleb says. “I’ll remind you before your appointment so you don’t forget.”

What did I do in a past life to deserve these guys? Because it certainly wasn’t anything in my present life, that’s for sure. But now that they’ve helped me put together a plan, I feel a bit better, lighter.

I manage to eat my entire smoothie bowl, which would not have been possible twenty minutes ago. We walk to morning skate together and the pressure I was putting on myself this morning has lifted a bit. Thomas is right, I’ve gotten through worse episodes. I can get through this game, get back home, and get back on track. I just have to figure out how to handle Stacey, because how we’ve been doing this won’t work for me long-term. It barely even worked for a week.