Page 37 of The Attack Zone

But I look up at Mitch and there’s a softness in his eyes that makes me feel safe, like I can be exactly who I am with him.

So I don’t move.

I don’t run away tonight.

And I won’t tomorrow morning when he snoozes his alarm for the tenth time.

I stay.

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 Thomasdoesn’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 walkslowly 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.