Boyfriend Bargain by Ilsa Madden-Mills
38
Zack
Several days later, I sit inside Coach’s office. ESPN is waiting in a conference room down the hall, full of reporters, cameramen, and lights. It’s a show and we’re about to perform. We’re huddled together—Coach Swearingen, myself, Eric, and Reece—and I go over my words, running through them in my head, hoping like hell I’m making the right decision.
We lost our conference championship to Minnesota-Duluth, but our team managed to qualify on an at-large bid by the Division I Men’s Ice Hockey Committee. Somehow, with me barely playing, we clawed our way to the quarterfinals, and now the semifinals loom in front of us. There’s still a chance we can take home the trophy.
I have to finally respond to the rumors.
It’s the only way to make everything right and wipe the slate clean. My heart beats erratically. Shit. I’m actually doing this, and I don’t know what’s going to happen.
“You ready?” Eric says, and I nod, gut churning.
Reece slaps me on the back. “We’re behind you all the way, man.”
A few guys rumble their agreement behind me as we walk down the hallway. I catch Boone’s eyes and he gives me a thumbs-up.
“Nothing like baring your soul to millions of people,” I say just as we enter the room and flashbulbs burst and people rush toward the podium.
Hands wave and a cheer goes up from the crowd.
“Over here, Zack! How does it feel to be in the championships?”
I toss a hand up and send a small smile, but it’s hard. Still, I can do this. I can.
“Is it true you’re suffering from a mental illness?” someone calls out.
That one stings, the stigma I hear in the voice, and I cringe. I want to change that point of view and make them see that I’m not weak.
I’m just me.
I keep my face straight, stoic as Eric, Reece, Boone, and several other members of the team follow me down the aisle and up to the long table that’s the center of attention.
Coach talks for a few minutes about our season then introduces me. I stand and take the podium, checking the mic.
I straighten my shoulders and run my gaze over the sea of reporters. A deep breath fills my chest. I’m a warrior and there’s no quit in me. And sometimes, just maybe, rock bottom is the perfect place to rebuild.
“First off, thank you for coming out at our request and giving our school the publicity about our upcoming tournament.” I pause, seeing the expectant looks on their faces. “As you know, I’ve had some issues this season that impacted my game, and today I’m here to tell you what’s been going on.”
I clear my throat, my hands clenching the podium. Stan gives me a nod from the back.
“This season brought along the usual pressures of leading a highly ranked hockey team, countless trips out of town, late practices, and the tense games against our most bitter rivals. At the Minnesota-Duluth game, I had an anxiety attack and couldn’t go back out. It was not the flu. I’m here to tell you that this has been an ongoing issue in several games this season, and my coaches and teammates have done their best to stand behind me, even when I didn’t know if I could go on. Through continued therapy and time, I’ve focused on each game one increment at a time, one play at a time as I tackle this. I’m fighting a winning battle with this illness, and I plan to keep forging ahead.”
My voice strengthens. “We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’re a team that can withstand a few knocks to the ice. Sometimes the best leadership comes from the heart, and this team has mine. I want to lead by example, which is why I’m being as transparent as I can. I want to make sure our team reaches the Frozen Four, and there’s no doubt we can kick anyone’s ass in this tournament. We are going to climb this mountain.”
“Z! Z! Z!”calls the pep band in the back, and I smile briefly.
A tall reporter from the local station manages to wrangle his way to the front of the big ESPN guys, and I nod my head at him when he points his mic at me.
“I applaud you for admitting you have an issue. Are you worried about how this will impact your plan to play in the NHL?”
Ah. Isn’t that the million-dollar question?
“I have an open dialogue with them. They are aware.”
Several reporters turn to look at Stan, but he doesn’t make eye contact with any of them, just holds his hand up, letting them know he isn’t taking questions.
I survey the room, full of these people who live and breathe hockey in our state and even further. “I’m willing to do what it takes to win—and be healthy.”
“And how are you keeping yourself ready for the ice, Zack?”
A small laugh comes out. “Training my ass off, running, working out, eating right.” I pause, going deeper. “I’m identifying negative thoughts, accepting them, and challenging them. I’m a fighter.”
Another reporter noses in. “Will you be able to defeat that Minnesota-Duluth team in the tournament?”
I level my gaze at the camera. “Winners are born to be brought down and their day is coming. Go Lions.”
Cheers go up as the pep band kicks in again.
Flashes go off in my face and cameras swing back and forth, getting the full range of the packed room.
Coach rises to wrap everything up, and I move away and take a seat at the table.
“What else can you tell us about the Predators, Zack? Will you be at summer training camp?”
“Will you be placed on the sick roster?”
“Do you think you’ll have another episode?”
I don’t know the answers to their questions, but I know one thing is true.
Everyone knows what I’m dealing with, and there are no more secrets.
They know I’m not perfect. I have flaws—deep ones.
I may not ever play in the NHL, but at least there’s beauty in this, a kind of peace in admitting the truth.
