by Beth Ehemann
Shit again. A meeting with the general manager and the owner does not sound good.
“Okay, I’ll head over there now.”
I thanked Brody for looking out for me and we hung up.
“Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good,” Gam said as I walked back into her living room.
“No, it doesn’t.” I shoved my phone into my back pocket and crossed my arms as I leaned against the door frame. “Apparently Collins has his panties in a wad that I missed an optional workout, and now he’s looking for me.”
“You better take care of that.” She stood up and walked toward me with her arms out.
I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tight, holding that hug for as long as I could. Sometimes being comforted by someone who loves you unconditionally was the most basic necessity in the world.
I TOOK A deep breath and knocked on the door to Coach Collins’s office.
“Come in,” he yelled from behind the doorway.
I opened the door just enough to slip inside and closed it quietly behind me.
Collins looked up from his computer over his glasses. “Well,”—he leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head—“look what the cat dragged in.”
“Actually, it’s more like look what Brody dragged in. He told me you wanted to talk to me,” I joked, slowly making my way across his big office to the chair in front of his desk.
I sat and waited for him to talk, but he didn’t. He just stared at me for a long time. First, he studied my face; then he looked off into space and pulled his eyebrows in tight, deep in thought about something.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “I have four daughters, Finkle.”
What?
“Yes, sir. I know that.”
“We had our first daughter and my wife and I were elated. We were over the moon for my second daughter too, though at that point I was already itching for a son. Then we had my third daughter, and I was convinced I could only make girls.” He leaned forward in his chair and took his glasses off, placing them down and folding his hands on his desk. “My wife was done. Three was enough. I begged her for one more. I knew I would finally get my son. After three long years, she agreed to try one more time. We got another girl.”
I laughed, nervously chewing at the skin on my fingers.
“Of course we love all of them, don’t think we could love them more if we tried, but at the time… I wanted a son. When I was hired to coach this team, I was thrilled, but not just because I got to combine my two loves, hockey and coaching. I was most excited about inheriting twenty-three sons.” He sniffed and cleared his throat again. “Two months ago, I didn’t just lose one of those sons to a tragic accident, I lost two.”
Do not cry.
“Finkle, you’re never here. And when you are here, you’re not here.”
I looked down, focusing on a dark spot on the front of his desk, and nodded.
“The big wigs have noticed, and they were here today. They’re concerned about your ability to play this upcoming season. They say you’re not dependable anymore.”
My eyes shot up to his. “I am dependable, Coach. You know that.”
“Do I, Finkle?” he snapped. “How would I know that? I know that we have workouts and practices and you’re always missing. I know that members of your team have called you and you’ve ignored them. I know that you’ve blown off not one, not two but three small charity functions this summer that you were scheduled to appear at.”
I bounced anxiously in my seat.
Am I getting fired?
“I know what happened with Big Mike has been hard on you, son. I get that. But the team has to move forward—” He paused and let out a heavy sigh. “—and if we can’t count on you, we’re going to move on without you.”
“Coach, you know how much this team means to me,” I pleaded. “I’ll do better.”
“It’s not me you need to convince, Finkle. It’s them. And right now they don’t have a lot of faith. They’ve decided in order for you to continue wearing a Wild jersey this upcoming season, you need to see the team psychologist, Dr. Shawn Roberts.”
My shoulders slumped and I rolled my eyes. “Come on! Are you serious?”
“Yes, Finkle. I am.”
“Well, I’m not seeing a goddamn shrink.” I stood up and ran my hands through my hair as I paced his office.
“If you won’t do this, then I can’t guarantee I can protect you.” His warning was stern.
I turned back toward his desk and threw my hands up in the air. “Can I have a few days to think about it?”
“You have twenty-four hours. If you don’t have an appointment set up with Dr. Roberts within that time frame, I’m not sure what will happen.”
The last thing in the world I wanted to do was lay on some shrink’s couch and have him judge me while I went on and on about my fucking feelings. How was that going to fix me anyway? I made a mistake; I just needed time to move past it on my own.
“I really don’t think this is necessary—”
“Lawrence,” he interrupted. “It’s not up for discussion.”
My hands balled into fists and I clamped my jaw down hard before I said something I was going to regret. I turned around and marched toward the door, grabbing the doorknob so violently I’m surprised I didn’t rip it right off the door.
“Remember, you have twenty-four hours, son,” he called out as the door shut behind me.
Really? Son? Fuck you.
I got into the elevator and punched the button for the lobby. I was so angry I could barely see straight. Who did those assholes think they were that they could make decisions for me? Why couldn’t they just let me live my life and do my fucking job? The elevator doors opened and I stomped out, barely missing a group of men standing right outside the doors, and headed straight for the parking lot. I just wanted to get on my bike and drive away. Far away, for hours, and not think about hockey or Mike or Coach Collins or therapists.
Once I got to my bike, I sat down but didn’t start it. I didn’t drive away. Where was I going to go? Even if I drove for two days straight, not only would my problems still be there when I got back, they would be worse.
I felt defeated, but I took my phone out of my pocket.
“This is Mia,” Coach Collins’s secretary answered.
“Hey, Mia. It’s Viper.”
“Hey,” she said, sounding sad. I was so sick of sympathy.
“Would you do me a favor, please?”
“Sure.”
“Would you call that Dr. Roberts and set up an appointment for me?”
“Of course. Any specific day or time?”
“I don’t give a shit. Just set it up and text me with the details when you’re done, okay?”
“You got it, Viper.”
“Then go into Coach Collins’s office and tell him I have twenty-three hours and fifty minutes to spare.”
TWO DAYS AGO, Mia had texted me with the time and address of my meeting with Dr. Shawn Roberts. My meeting was in an hour and I was still lying in bed, dreading the thought of going to meet this asshole. I’m sure he was some cocky fuck who was going to tell me to take a deep breath and relax. I hadn’t even met him yet and I already hated him.
Finally, I forced myself out of bed and into the shower. The drive to his office only took me about ten minutes, and I was thankful for that. Small victories, right? I parked my bike outside a boring-looking brown brick building with boring pink flowers in a boring planter out front and checked my phone one more time for the message from Mia.
Suite 301.
The elevator opened on the third floor, and I found suite 301 at the end of the hallway.
Here goes nothing.
I took a deep breath and hesitantly pushed the door open. I’d never been in a psychologist’s office before, so while I wasn’t sure what to expect, I kinda figured it would look like a regular old doctor’s office. I was wrong. There was one small couch and no receptionist. Frankly, th
e walk-in closet at my house was bigger than that office. There was another door on the far side of the room. A light switch next to it had a sign above it that read: Please flip switch up at your scheduled appointment time. Thank you, Dr. Roberts.”
“This is weird,” I said out loud as I looked around the room.
The clock on the wall caught my attention. It read 11:10. I was ten minutes late. Oops. I flipped the switch up and turned to sit down on the couch. My ass hadn’t even hit the seat when the door sprang open.
“Lawrence?” A short, smoking hot woman with slick, shoulder-length black hair was standing in the doorway.
The receptionist is in there? Weird.
“Yeah, that’s me.” I held my hand out. “I’m here to see Dr. Roberts.”
“I know.” She laughed as she shook my hand. “I am Dr. Roberts. Come on in.”
Reeling from the shock, I followed her into her office. “Wait. You’re Dr. Roberts?” I asked incredulously.
“Yep.” She nodded as she reached behind me and shut the door.
“You’re Dr. Shawn Roberts?”
“Yes.” She laughed again.
“But Shawn is a man’s name.”
She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “My mother didn’t think so. Please, have a seat.” Motioning toward the couch, she sat in the chair across from me and smiled.
Are you fucking kidding me?
The Gods must have been smiling down on me after all. She was my therapist? How fucking lucky could a guy get? This was going to be a breeze. I’d turn on the old Viper charm and be in and out of here in one session, tops. And if I was really lucky, I’d escape with a blow job and a new phone number to add to my drawer.
“So.” Still smiling, she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and crossed her legs. “Your appointment was a last-minute addition to my schedule, so I know almost nothing about you, other than your name and that you play for the Wild. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”
To fuck you senseless.
“Honestly? I’m here because my coach made me come.”
“Ah…” She nodded. “So this wasn’t your idea?”
“Not even fucking close.”
“I see.” She stood and walked behind her desk, which was off to the side of the room. “Do you want anything to drink? Water? Coke? Orange Juice?”
“Nope.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged. The leather in the couch crackled as I leaned over and craned my neck, trying to get a better look at her ass as she bent over to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge tucked in the corner. She stood up quickly and caught me staring. A shy smile crept across her face and I knew it wouldn’t be long. Thank God I had a condom in these jeans from last week. Doctor or not, rule number one still applied.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Sitting back down across from me, she cracked the top off her water bottle and lifted it to her lips, not taking her eyes off of me for a second.
I leaned back against the couch and stretched my arms across the top of it, smiling at her. “You do, huh?”
“Yep.” She set her water bottle down on the coffee table and leaned in close. “And you can stop thinking it right now.”
“Huh?”
“You’re not the first male athlete who’s sat on that couch, you know? Most of them come in here expecting to find a man, and then they see me and think I’m gonna be some easy conquest for them.”
Holy shit.
“If I were a bettin’ gal, I would say that’s exactly what you were thinking too. Am I right?” She sat back and crossed her arms, silently challenging me with the lift of one eyebrow.
“No,” I denied sternly.
“Okay, Pinocchio.” Her condescending laugh filled the room. “Why don’t we talk about why you’re here now?”
I stared straight at her without saying a fucking word.
“Okay, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself instead?”
Nothing. I wasn’t about to give that arrogant bitch any information. She wanted it? She’d have to work for it.
“Alrighty then.” She sighed, obviously frustrated at my stubbornness. “Let’s do this. I’ll tell you a little about myself and if you want to jump in and contribute, you can.”
She paused for me to respond; instead, I yawned.
“As you already know, my name is Shawn Roberts. I grew up on the north side of Chicago and lived there until I was ten, when we moved to Texas so I could train for the Olympics full-time. In 2000, I went to Sydney with the women’s gymnastics team and was the favorite to win gold on the balance beam, but in a horrific practice the day after we got there, I fell off the beam and landed wrong. I shattered my ankle, and that was the end of my career. So I came home, regrouped, went to college, and here I am.” She held her hands up as she smiled proudly at me. “Your turn.”
“My name is Viper, and I don’t talk about my personal life with strangers,” I said dryly.
She nodded and flicked her tongue in between her teeth and top lip as she looked around the room. “Okay. Well, this is definitely going to be an interesting ride, isn’t it?”
I was annoyed, pissed the fuck off. I didn’t want to be there in the first place, and the last thing I needed was this little tart giving me a hard time and riding my ass. She was fine as hell but a total bitch.
“You’re a condescending pain in the ass, you know that?” I growled. “And what the fuck do you mean ‘interesting ride’? I came to this appointment because I was forced to. Now I’m leaving.” I stood up, grabbed my keys off the coffee table, and headed toward the door.
“That’s fine. You can go,”—she stood up and walked over to her desk nonchalantly—“but that’s the wrong door.”
My hand was inches from the doorknob when I froze.
What?
Spinning around, I took two steps toward her desk. “What?”
“See that door?” She smugly pointed to another door on the other side of her office. “That’s the one you leave through.”
I sighed in frustration and marched to the other side of the room.
“When do you want to come back?” she asked just as I got to the door.
At that point, all I could do was laugh. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” I rolled my eyes as I turned back to her one more time.
Her eyes lifted to mine just a little and she shrugged. “No, I’m not shitting you. I have the power to decide when it is you’re ready to be done with treatment, and seeing as how I don’t even know why you’re here in the first place… nope, not ready.” She picked a pen up off her desk and chewed on the end as she flipped the pages of a calendar in front of her. “Soooo… you wanna come back or no?”
Unfuckingbelievable.
In that moment, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stab her in the eye with that pen or throw everything off her desk and fuck her on it. “Fine,” I agreed stubbornly as I walked over and sat back down on the couch. “Can we just get this over with right now, then?”
She looked down at the chunky white watch that sat on her tiny, tan wrist and then back up at me, smiling. “Nope. I have another client coming in fifteen minutes and I’m definitely gonna need longer than that with you.”
“Fine!” I yelled, jumping to my feet. “Then when?”
“I have an opening tomorrow…” —she tapped the pen against her desk as she studied her calendar again— “at seven o’clock. Want it?”
“Sure,” I sighed in defeat as I started walking toward the door again. “I didn’t know therapists worked that late. See you tomorrow.”
“Uh, Viper…”
I opened the door and turned back to face her.
She stood behind her desk, grinning at me with her hands on her hips. “That’s seven o’clock in the morning.”
ONE OF THE reasons I loved my job was that I didn’t have to set an alarm in the summer. I could be as fucking lazy as I wanted to be and sleep as late as I wanted. Workouts and practices were optional, though hi
ghly recommended, but there was no set time. Fucking time. The annoying beep, beep, beep of my alarm sounded from my phone and I swatted at it to make it stop.
I rolled onto my back and stared up at my ceiling. My meeting with Dr. Roberts yesterday had been mentally exhausting, and I was not looking forward to going back and doing it all over again. If she’d been telling the truth, she knew nothing other than my name, and it wasn’t safe for her to be digging around in my head. Shit, even I tried not to get lost in there.
My alarm sounded again and I turned if off for good this time.
6:50. Fuck.
I jumped out of bed, swished some mouthwash while I took a quick piss, and was out the door.
Suite 301. Same weird little office. Same weird little light switch.
“Good morning!” she cheered as she opened the door, smiling at me.
“Morning,” I grumbled.
I sat on the couch as she sat in the chair across from me and stared.
“What?” I snapped defensively.
She crossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her elbow on her knee. “Here’s the thing… clearly, you’re going through some… stuff. I’d like to just talk to you like we’re friends, about whatever you want. Eventually, any issues we need to address will bubble to the surface and we’ll get to where we need to go. Do you agree?”
I didn’t say anything. I just shrugged.
“I’m going to tell you a little about myself again, from a more personal standpoint this time. My name is Shawn, and I never wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to do flips my whole life and win a gold medal.” She stood and walked over to the fridge again, grabbing two bottles of water this time, and she set one of them down in front of me. “That obviously didn’t pan out because of my bum ankle, and I was angry for many, many years. Without sports in my life, I became a bit of a wild child as a teenager and did some things I swear I’ll never talk about again. After my mom forced me into some counseling of my own, it became apparent to me that I needed sports in my life in one form or another. So… I began running. First 5Ks, then half marathons, then full marathons. There was no denying that deep down I was an athlete before everything else.”
