The Attack Zone (Slap Shot #2)

32. Mitch

CHAPTER 32

MITCH

I run up to the entrance to my condo building to find Thomas and Caleb standing in the doorway. I full-on ran the three blocks from the restaurant, and all I want is to get inside so no one sees me. The last thing I need right now is another post about how I’m having a breakdown.

I shove my way between the two of them and walk towards the elevators.

“You can come up, but do it now,” I say.

They file in behind me and we ride the elevator in silence up to my floor. We walk down the hallway, neither of them saying a word until we’re safely inside my condo.

As soon as the door slams behind us, I find myself collapsing against the wall. It’s the same wall I fell against when I lost it with Stacey. The same one Thomas has had to peel me off of before. It’s where I always end up, because no matter how much I try, this is what I’ll always be. Just a mentally ill loser with an inability to take care of himself. And now they know. Now everyone knows.

“Mitch,” Thomas starts.

“Not yet,” I say. My head hangs into my hands. How could this be happening to me? I’ve been so careful. I was trying to do the right thing. I wanted to be the kind of person Stacey would be proud to be with. And now I’m getting punished.

“Mitch,” Caleb chimes in with hesitation. “Where’s Stacey?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Thomas asks. “Please tell me you didn’t just leave her sitting at the restaurant, Mitch.”

“She’s a big girl,” I say. “She’ll be fine.”

“Mitch ...” Caleb warns.

“Can we focus on the larger problem here?” I ask, eager to not think about Stacey and the fact that I’m pretty sure she was about to break up with me. If you can even call it that. Besides, I have to deal with this PR nightmare.

“Fine,” Thomas says.

The relief of not having to talk about Stacey washes over me at the same time that dread over having to talk about my mental health publicly fills me up. I’ve kept it private for this exact reason; people don’t understand. And now I have to explain myself to the entire world. There’s no way the team and the league will let me not respond to this. And I can’t exactly have people assuming that what that post said was right or okay.

The problem is, deep down, I believe the post. I almost completely lost it just a week or so ago. How am I supposed to turn around and defend myself and my mental health when I hurt the woman I love? When I pushed her away to the point of her maybe wanting to end things? I don’t deserve her. And I don’t deserve to defend myself. They’re right. The post was right.

“Mitch,” Thomas says, snapping me out of my own brain.

I don’t reply. I just sit on the floor, my head still hanging in my hands. I can’t believe this is happening. My parents were right. I can’t have my dream of hockey and have bipolar. And I’ll sure as hell never have a normal relationship. I can’t even handle a fucking dog. I can feel it all being ripped out of my hands just when I was finally about to get it. I’m going to lose everything, I can just feel it. And all it took was me wanting to take my meds quickly so they’d be in my system as fast as possible. I was trying to do the right thing. I was trying to be the man that Stacey deserves. But I’ll never be that man. I’ll never be able to be who she needs.

I seem to jump from emotion to emotion from second to second—anger, confusion, shame ... But I can’t get myself to speak. Because talking about it means acknowledging that any of this is real, and I’m not ready to do that yet.

When I finally lift my head up from my hands, what I see is not what I expected. Thomas and Caleb aren’t standing over me, they aren’t sitting at my table or on the couch. They’re sitting on the floor, inches from where I’ve been in my own little world.

“I ...” I start, but I can’t seem to find words.

Caleb reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says. “Talk when you’re ready.”

And that’s when the tears start. Because I don’t deserve these guys. I don’t deserve their being so understanding over and over again. No matter how many times they have to deal with me being too loud when I’m hypomanic or unable to get out of bed when I’m depressed, they’ve always been there. It’s not fair to them. I’m not worthy of them either. But they’re all I have, so I guess I’ll just keep being a selfish bastard and use them.

My phone buzzes in my pocket with a text. I wipe the tears from my face to pull it out, but Thomas snatches it out of my hands before I can see the screen.

“I don’t think you should look at your phone until you know how you’re going to handle this,” he says.

He’s right. Of course he’s right. If I see a mean comment from some random Twitter account, I’m going to lose it even more than I already am.

“Do you want me to tell Stacey where you are?” Caleb asks.

“No,” I say. It’s sharp and hard and I don’t mean it the way it comes out. But I can’t have her coming over here. Not now. Not when I know I can’t be with her. I’m not ready to face that reality on top of the rest of this shit.

“Okay,” Caleb says softly. I know he understands a little bit more than most people, because he deals with his own mental health stuff, but right now I feel so isolated and I don’t know how to move forward.

“No,” I say sharply.

“Okay,” he says too calmly. “Let us know if you need help though.”

And I know he means it. I know I can count on these guys, even if I don’t deserve them. I’ll lean on them because I have to. But I don’t have to lean on Stacey. I don’t need to drag her down into this. It’s time to cut the cord.