A relaxed smile lifts on Zanders’ lips. He looks back to me, hesitating for a moment before pushing his plate away.
“When I got picked up by Chicago seven years ago, I already had a bit of a reputation from my college days. Chicago was looking for an enforcer, someone to protect the other guys on the ice, and I fit the bill. Then the following year, I kind of ran with that narrative, but it wasn’t until the next season when Maddison got traded, and we ended up signing with the same agent, that things really took off. Rich had this whole idea of setting up this storyline for us. Maddison is the golden boy in hockey. Everyone loves him, and the opposite of that is me—everyone’s favorite player to hate. We bought into the whole thing, and we’ve both made an absolute killing off our little duo. And I’m not going to lie. I fucking loved every minute of it.”
I nod in understanding, knowing how much Zanders loves his reputation.
“Until this year,” he continues. “There was never anyone in my life to be negatively affected by my media persona until now. Until you, and the fact that it’s made you view me differently than who I really am and has you scared, fucking kills me, Stevie. If I could go back seven years ago and change it all from the beginning, I would.”
“Why don’t you change it now?”
He lets out a deep, resigned sigh. “This is who I am in hockey now. I’m in the middle of a resigning season, and this brand I carry is what Chicago wants. They’re not going to pay me without it. At least, that’s what Rich thinks.”
“So, that’s it? It’s all about money?”
Guilt forms on his features. “No, actually, it’s not.”
“Then what is it, Zee?”
He doesn’t answer, his eyes bouncing everywhere but refusing to look at me.
“I’m scared,” he mutters under his breath.
I scoff in disbelief. “You’re not scared of anything.”
His eyes dart to mine, full of honesty. “I’m terrified of a lot of things. You included.”
He takes a long swig of his beer. “I’m afraid that if everyone sees the real me, that maybe they won’t like it. Maybe they won’t love me anymore. Maybe Chicago won’t want me, and this is where my best friends are. I don’t want to play somewhere else. People love the shit-talking asshole who spends a ton of time in the penalty box then gets pictured being a playboy, but are they going to love me if they find out I’d rather talk about Active Minds than who they think I’m fucking? Are they going to still love me when they find out I cry at Disney movies with my niece? Are they going to love me if they find out I can’t stop thinking about my flight attendant who still thinks I’m some piece of shit?”
That causes me to pause. “I don’t think you’re a piece of shit, Zee. I think you’re too good for most people, but you never let anyone see that, and I don’t get why you’d want to hide it. You usually don’t lie, but you lie about what a good man you are? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Because Stevie!” His voice is raised, but he’s not yelling. He’s frustrated beyond belief, but not with me. “I’ve been myself before, and that wasn’t enough. My own fucking mother left me, for Christ’s sake!”
I try to breathe, but I can’t. Understanding floods me. It’s all making sense that his fear of not being worthy of love comes from his mom—the woman who left him.
“It hurts a whole lot less to be hated when you’re not being yourself than it does not to be loved for who you are,” he continues. “As much as I tell people I enjoy the hate, I want to be loved more than anything, but I’m not ready to risk rejection yet.”
I, too, have been myself and wasn’t enough. In fact, I’ve felt that way most of my adult life. This man, who seems like an impenetrable brick wall of intimidation, is actually extremely soft and scared, with more feelings than he wants to admit.
“I only trust a few people to be myself with. I’m not ready to trust everyone in the world with who I am. That is what scares me, Stevie.”
I place my hand over his with my brows pinched to keep from getting emotional. “You trust me?”
Zanders’ hazel eyes are soft as they read mine. “What do you think, sweetheart?”
“Why?”
“Because at this point, the risk of losing whatever this might be by not being myself with you is a lot scarier than showing you who I am. I like you, Vee, and I’m being completely honest and vulnerable here. I just want the chance for you to want me. The real me.”
The food is cold on my plate, but I don’t care. I’m not hungry anymore. I’m full from Zanders’ words that give me more hope than I could’ve imagined. He trusts me enough to be honest and vulnerable with who he is. Why can’t I trust that he’s not lying about how he feels about me?
Standing from my chair, I go right over to his, taking a seat across his lap. Slinging my arms around his shoulders, I bury my head in his neck.
“You cry at Disney movies?” I tease, my breath ghosting his skin.
He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me to him. “Fucking sob.”
“You don’t seem like a crier.”
“I cry at a lot of things. I just don’t let people see it. I cried before you got here, actually.”
I lift my head from his shoulder. “Why?”
He gives me a small half-smile. “My mom called me.”
“What?”
“I hung up on her the second I realized who it was, but then it caused a full-blown panic attack that I couldn’t get out of. My whole body was locked up, and I started crying like a fucking baby on the bathroom floor. I got in the shower to try to wash it all away, and that’s why I didn’t hear you knocking.”
“Jesus, Zee.” I graze a soothing palm over his cheek, seeing way more of this man than I ever expected. “Are you okay?”
He cautiously nods. “I’ll be all right.”
Silence lingers between us. I didn’t know anything about Zanders’ mental health or the fact that he was passionate about helping others navigate their own journeys until the gala just over a week ago.
Falling back to his shoulder, I quietly ask, “What made you start Active Minds?”
His hand snakes around, resting on my hipbone and his head leaning on mine. “Because I didn’t want other kids to suffer the way I did and still do sometimes. Not having control over the way your mind affects you is one of the worst feelings in the world. You feel trapped and helpless. I wish I would’ve gotten into therapy the second my mom left, but mental health wasn’t really talked about with men, and I wanted to break that stigma and give kids access to the help they need. The help I needed but didn’t know how to ask for.”
My heart aches with understanding, seeing everything he is. I run my hand across his chest before curving it around his neck. “How could you think people might not like you when this is the heart you have?”
“Do you like me?” He lifts his head, urging mine from his shoulder as well. There’s no hesitation in his question. His tone is pleading, needing to know the answer.
“I don’t want to.”