Shane kissed him quickly, then turned and headed for the stairs. Ilya watched him go, giving himself a moment to take some deep breaths and try to settle whatever was happening inside him.
The next morning, when the sun had just begun to rise, Ilya watched Shane drive away. He stood on his front step for severalminutes after, staring in the direction the car had gone, and shivering in his gym shorts and T-shirt. Then, he went inside, closed the door, and burst into tears.
When he’d finished crying, some uncertain amount of time later, he felt more exhausted than he had after any hockey game. He was crumpled on the floor, slumped against his front door, and standing up seemed like an insurmountable feat.
He decided that, yes. He should probably get some professional help.
Chapter Fourteen
November
Ilya paced the waiting room outside Dr. Galina Molchalina’s office. He was alone, but he still had his plain black ball cap pulled low over his eyes, and kept his head down. He’d tried sitting, tried reading one of the magazines on the squat coffee table in front of the cheerful blue sofa with the yellow and white throw pillows. He’d examined the abstract art on the walls. He’d done whatever he could to distract himself from how badly he wanted to leave.
He wasn’t sure if Dr. Molchalina was even agoodtherapist. She just happened to be the only one in Ottawa who spoke Russian. And, during their brief phone conversation, she’d acknowledged that she knew who Ilya was without making a big deal about it. That had been a plus.
Finally, the door opened and Ilya stood with his back to whoever was exiting the room, wanting to avoid being recognized and to offer the other person the same privacy. He pretended to be fascinated by a tall plant in the corner.
He heard the outer door open and close, and then his new therapist said, in Russian, “The plant is fake, I’m afraid.”
Ilya turned to face her. “That makes sense, I guess,” he said, also in Russian. He gestured to the walls. “No windows.”
“Sometimes it’s better to not have the distraction of the outside world,” she said with a small smile. “And it’s better for privacy.”
“Oh.”
She held out her hand to him. “I’m Galina. It’s nice to meet you, Ilya.”
Ilya shook her hand. She was a small woman, probably in her forties, with dark blond hair that she wore in a neat ponytail. Ilya wondered when she’d left Russia, and why. “It’s nice to talk to someone in Russian.”
“Has it been a while?”
Ilya considered it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a full conversation in his native tongue. He hadn’t been in Russia since his father died years ago, and he never talked to his brother anymore. Ottawa didn’t have any other Russian players, and he didn’t have any Russian friends. The only person he ever spoke Russian to was his friend with former benefits, Svetlana, but she lived in Boston and they hadn’t spoken much since Ilya had moved to Ottawa. He felt bad about that almost every day. He missed her.
“It’s been a long time.” He smiled wryly. “I may not be able to shut up.”
“That’s what I’m here for. Would you like to come in?” She took a step toward the open door of her office.
“Of course, yes.”
He walked past her into the small, cozy room. As described, it had no windows, but did have very nice lighting, a comfy-looking light gray couch and matching armchair, and more fake greenery. It was about what he’d imagined a psychologist’s office to look like.
“I sit here, right?” Ilya asked, gesturing to the couch.
“Most people do. Are you nervous?”
Ilya figured lying wouldn’t be the best way to start his therapy journey. “I’m very nervous. Is that weird?”
“Not at all. Though I hope you’ll find there’s no reason to be. Please make yourself comfortable.”
Ilya sat in the middle of the sofa, hands folded in his lap, knees spread apart. Every muscle in his body felt tense, and he tried to take a steadying deep breath.
“Are many of your clients Russian?” Ilya asked.
“A few. I’m the only Russian-speaking psychologist in town, I believe. As you probably know, mental health isn’t a popular concept among our people.”
Ilya was very aware of that. “No. It isn’t. Not for hockey players either.”
“That’s true. But you’re a Russian hockey player, and you’ve been outspoken about mental health issues. The charity you started is doing good work,” she said. “I’ve been following your progress with it. I’m very impressed.”
