Tightrope

30

THEN

WILL

"Are you ready?" Nate asked me as I fixed his tie. It was a clip-on, but it was still crooked. 

"No," I admitted. My heart had been beating a thousand miles an hour since I had woken up. It was driving me insane. 

"You're gonna be fine, Will. The Whispers will get you." Nate reassured me, and I felt so guilty for making him feel like he had to be the one to give me reassurance. 

It was my job to take care of him, not the other way around. I had gotten him out of my father's house as soon as I had left myself for that same reason. He deserved to be a kid. He didn't deserve to live in an abusive household with an absent father.

And I was just his next best option.

I nodded, hoping it was convincing enough for a ten-year-old. "You're right. I'm sure it'll be fine." 

The truth was, I wasn't sure. I didn't know anything. 

I hoped everything would turn out fine, but I couldn't be sure.

The Chicago Whispers had gotten the first pick in the draft lottery, and I was the projected first pick. 

Logically, everyone thought I would go to the Whispers. 

But I didn't know.

They could change their minds about the player they wanted. Maybe I wasn't really the first pick.  Maybe I was, and it just didn't matter.

There was nothing I wanted more than to be drafted by the Chicago Whispers. I couldn't fathom the idea of moving, and I didn't even know if I would be able to do it with Nate.

And I wouldn't leave him behind. I wouldn't let him go back to my father.

I had to be drafted by the Whispers.

❈

Once we arrived at the ceremony, I met the parents, families, and close friends of the other prospects. Everyone was there, and more than once, I was asked where were my parents, or friends.

I told them that my brother was with me, and that was all I needed.

It was moments like this that made me think about Becca the most. My all-time best friend. My biggest supporter. My teammates and I had a pretty good relationship, but it was nothing compared to what I had with Becca. They weren't even here with me. They were somewhere in the room, but not with me.

Becca would've been with me. It was all I could think as I took my seat.

She was supposed to be here with me. Everything I had dreamed of was coming true, and she should be here. 

Apart from Nate, she was the one person I wanted with me at this moment.

I sat down and looked at nothing in particular, imagining how it would be a dream come true if she suddenly appeared next to me, using the draft as an excuse to reconnect. 

I wouldn't even think twice. I would forgive her for leaving without saying anything. For leaving, in general.

It would all be perfect. 

But I knew that wouldn't happen, no matter how badly I wanted her here.

The introduction seemed to last ages, and I focused on controlling my breathing. 

The triggers for my attacks had switched from my father to pretty much any high-stress situation, which wasn't very convenient for a professional hockey player. 

I had learned to manage them, though. I knew when one was coming, and I knew to retreat from the situation. 

I couldn't back away from this, though.

This was the rest of my life. My future.

Finally, the actual draft started. 

The Whispers took the stage, and suddenly, my name was being called. 

The relief that coursed through me at that moment was bigger than anything else in my life. 

We would be okay. 

I looked over at Nate for confirmation that my name had been called, and that I hadn't been hallucinating it. His grin said it all. 

I jumped from my seat and he jumped right into my arms, hugging me tightly. 

"Oh my god, is this really happening?" I whispered to him, and he only laughed. 

"Congrats, Will." 

A couple of my fellow prospects walked over to where I was standing and congratulated me, shaking my hand and pulling me in for a quick hug. We had been spending so much time together, bonding over our shared fear of the draft, that it truly meant a lot for them to look so proud and happy for me.

I was happy for myself. 

I walked over to the stage and shook everyone's hand. I was handed a black and blue jersey with "Mitchell" written on the back. My team jersey. My uniform from this moment on. 

I slipped the jersey on, and posed for the pictures, holding up my index finger, indicating the number I had been drafted as. 

It was an insane feeling. I had actually made it. I had been drafted by the Chicago Whispers. 

I would play in the NHL.

It was a dream come true, and still, a part of my mind couldn't stop thinking about how something was missing in this dream.

About how someone was missing from it. 

❈

I met the team shortly after being drafted, and I could name every single guy that came my way before they even introduced themselves. 

I knew the names of every single player of the Chicago Whispers, and I felt like a fan meeting them in some sort of meet and greet. Not as one of their teammates. 

They all came over and shook my hand when the Coach introduced me as the most recent addition to the team. They had all been as polite as ever, but nothing more. 

I guess it made sense. 

I was used to a team, but it had taken a while to get to know every single person on my junior team and to build a decent relationship with them all. It would take even longer to do the same with the Whispers.

Nevertheless, there was one guy who walked over to me with a kind of confidence you didn't see every day. 

I knew exactly who he was. He had been drafted two years ago, first pick. 

And apparently, he knew who I was, too. 

"Will," He smiled at me like we were old friends greeting each other after a vacation, and instead of shaking my hand, he pulled me in for a hug. 

"Hey, I'm Spencer Nichols. Welcome to the Whispers. I have a feeling you're gonna do great things around here."