My stomach continues to churn twelve-hour-old nacho chips, refried beans and tequila, and I feel a tension brewing between us that I don’t completely understand. It doesn’t feel exactly like normal therapeutic resistance.
And it’s off putting.
“How about we agree to three sessions and a fair assessment?” he counters.
“Your team was very clear about how long we have to work together, and I’m pretty sure that can’t be negotiated. To be clear, Mr. Warner, I have a boss too and he tells me that I’m getting paid for six sessions, so six sessions is what I’ll deliver.”
“What if I pay you for six and we only meet three times?”
“The NFL pays me. Not you. You don’t have any control over that.”
“And what if I just don’t show up for the other three sessions? What will you do then?”
“That’s your decision, but probably not a very smart one. I’ll have to report to my supervisor that you only showed up for three and I’m not sure the league is going to like that, will they?”
His posture changes and his eyes squint as if he’s reassessing the situation…or reassessing me.
“You sound more confident than you were the last time we met. Like you’ve done your homework.”
“I’ve always been confident.”
He grins at me in a way that yesterday’s dinner doesn’t like. I can hear my stomach making unnatural noises. I just hope that he doesn’t hear it too.
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“It’s not about easy or difficult, but the fact that you’re so resistant to this process is only making me wonder.”
“Wonder what?”
“Wonder what you’re so afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid of anything, Doc.”
“Again, I’m not a doctor, Mr. Warner.”
“Then what should I call you?”
“Katrina is fine.”
“I’m not afraid of anything, Katrina. I just want to be cleared to play football. I have a life to get back to and a little girl counting on me.”
I couldn’t find much information on his daughter, but I know that he has one. Since he brought her up first, this is a great opportunity for me to ask about her. She seems to be the only thing he may be willing to talk about.
“Can you tell me about your daughter? What’s her name?”
“Bella.”
“That’s a pretty name. How old is she?”
“She’s five going on fifteen. She’s super smart. Definitely smarter than I was at that age. My parents always told me it was a good thing I was good at athletics. Bella loves books and puzzles, but they weren’t my thing. I liked throwing the ball around in the yard a lot better.”
“Are you in a relationship with Bella’s mother?” I ask, more curious about the answer than I should be.
“No, we are co-parenting as best we can, but it’s hard sometimes. My daughter stayed with me over the past weekend, but that’s only because I’m not cleared to practice with the team yet. Usually, I can only see her during the off-season and even then her mother gives me a hard time.”
“When is your off-season?”
His head cocks to the side. “The summer.”
