Page 139 of Hockey Boy
“Thank you, Sara. And thank you to the press for giving me the opportunity to say a few words,” Aiden starts. “Most of you probably know me as a generally happy guy. I strive to always have time to talk to the press, to give you guys some good clips and funny moments. For years, I’ve used those instances, when I’ve pushed myself to portray the happy-go-lucky guy Boston expects, as an excuse for how I felt afterward. Because what you all don’t see is that more often than not, the day after a game or another big event, I feel empty. Sad. Depressed.
“It’s always bothered me, because let’s be honest, how could a guy who has everything—anamazing career, a supportive family, the best damn fiancée he could ask for—be unhappy?” Pressing his lips together, he takes in the crowd. “But sometimes I am, and because I haven’t been effectively treating my depression, I had a panic attack on the ice tonight. You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all this. It’s not to excuse my poor performance. It’s because I want to help others. Here I am, an adult with unlimited resources, and even I was too scared to ask for help. Ashamed to admit that I wasn’t ‘normal.’
“But my fiancée reminded me that there are a lot of people out there like me, and there’s a chance that, like I was, they’re too afraid to speak up. Worried about how the stigma of suffering from a mental illness will affect their career. How people look at us. How we look at ourselves.
“Because I want to make my fiancée proud, and because my niece said to me the other day that she couldn’t believe I felt this way because I always ‘seem so happy,’ I want to say this out loud, to all of you: I suffer from depression. I see a therapist, and I will continue to do so. I’ll also seek out a professional opinion regarding medication.” He lets out a sigh. “And I’m going to be okay. Sara tells me that we will be updating our social media pages with resources to help those of you who suffer from depression and need someone to talk to. I hope you take us up on this. I know I’m glad I finally spoke my truth. Thank you.”
The room erupts, reporters shouting questions, but Sara returns to the podium. “As we said, we will not be taking questions at this time. We’ll have more information for you tomorrow. Thank you all and have a good night.”
“Wow,” Eliza whispers.
“I think we owe Aiden Langfield an apology,” Colton says, his voice gruff.
“You never know what someone is going through,” Eliza muses. “We’ll be back after a word from our sponsors…”
“How do you lose a raccoon?”I grumble into the phone as I pull up to Beckett’s house.
“Slick is missing,” he says. “Not my raccoon.Junioris my raccoon.”
As I climb out of my car, he approaches, sporting a nice shiner.
“Liv pissed?”I ask, pocketing my phone.
He does the same, chuckling. “You trying to say my wife controls me?”
I grin. “You know she does. As Lennox controls me. Speaking of which, I have to meet her soon.”
Beckett smiles. “For your wedding.”
My heart skips at the sound of that single word. “Yeah, my wedding.”
It feels like a miracle that we’re still getting married today. The last two days have felt more like a lifetime. The birthday party, her father’s threat, her appointment with her family’s attorney, the shit show that went down at the arena, and then my confession to the world.
Needless to say, we’re still reeling, but she stood beside me, told me she loves me. And I can’t wait for her to be my wife.
“Bossman, he ran in here,” Finn hollers from across the street. He’s standing in front of a brownstone that looks almost identical to theirs.
“How’d he get over there?” I ask, trailing behind Beckett as he crosses the street, headed toward the house that Finn’s just disappeared inside. “And whose house is that? It belongs to one of Liv’s friends, right? Or did your kid just break into a stranger’s home?”
Beckett grumbles. “It’s not one of ours.”
The neighborhood is lined with trees, most of which are bare this time of year. The brownstones that stand side by side are standard red brick with black doors, and they’re all beautifully maintained. It hasn’t always been this way. Maybe my brother has formed an association that has imposed rules and compliance. It wouldn’t surprise me.
I follow him up the steps, and as he opens the door and walks in without hesitation, I wince.
“Nice house,” I comment. “Though it’s a bit bare.” There’s a fireplace in the corner, and on the floor in front of it, a blanket is laid out. Beside it is a champagne bottle stuck in a bucket of ice. Clearly, someone has plans to celebrate. Maybe they just bought it.
Beckett continues down the hall, his shoes clacking loudly against the hardwoods.
“Aren’t you worried someone is going to call the cops?”I call after him.
I take in the dark wood cabinets, the oversized island, the double fridge. It’s a dream, really, especially when I note the television hanging in the corner. It’d be convenient to watch ESPN or a rom-com while making dinner. Hell, a kitchen this big would be perfect for team dinners.
That gets my mind spinning. Would Lex ever consider a house like this?
When Beckett storms out the back door, I take off at a jog to keep up. Jeez, his legs aren’t any longer than mine. Must have big feet. And you know what that means.
I chuckle to myself as I open the door. I barely make it two steps down when a dog comes barreling toward me. Not just any dog. It’s a puppy. He’s white and bouncy, like his body is too small to contain all his energy.