I hit the off button and reach for my phone. I unlock the screen, pull up my text messages…and I’m immediately presented with a picture of my own dick.
Fuck me sideways. Who did I send a dick pic to last night?
I had trouble falling asleep and took one of those high-powered sleep aids they warn you not to take when you need to drive or operate heavy machinery. I don’t use them anymore regularly, but I have a few left over from the last time I filled the prescription, and I was desperate.
I squint at the screen. My just-waking vision is still blurry, but as soon as I make out the G-r-a at the top of the text message screen I groan. I sent the pic to Grace, my ex-girlfriend.
I consider sending an apology text with an explanation, but in the end, I just delete the text messages and pray she doesn’t respond. The last I heard, she was dating someone from one of those superhero franchises, but I don’t remember which one. I’m not even sure if it’s Marvel or DC, but it doesn’t matter. Hopefully Grace has enough…well, grace, to just delete the pic and pretend I never sent it.
Our breakup was amicable, so I’m reasonably sure the pic won’t show up on TMZ, but I broke a cardinal rule of PR by sending it. Maybe I can plead diminished capacity with Cedric if something happens.
I shut down the message app and sit up. I’m groggy and can feel my heartbeat in my head. I remember now why I stopped taking these pills.
I swing my legs out of bed and head to the shower. I need to be at the rink in an hour for weight training, so I better get my ass moving. Unfortunately, I have a raging case of morning wood I need to take care of first. I don’t remember dreaming last night – I never do when I take those pills – but something clearly has me hot and bothered this morning.
Half an hour later, I’ve jerked off, I’m dressed, and I have my protein shake in hand as I head out the door.
I couldn’t tell which way Dr. Mackey was leaning yesterday when I left. She was clearly reluctant to help, but I swear I saw her start to crack when I turned on the puppy dog eyes. They’re my superpower. I didn’t check to see if she’s married or not, but that look works on all women.
I understand why she doesn’t want to work with me. She’s afraid she can’t help, and she doesn’t want to let me down. What she doesn’t understand is that she’s my last hope. The sport psychologist at Tampa tried to help me and failed miserably. We tried everything: visualization, ignoring the trash talk, positive reinforcement. Nothing worked.
When I got to Connecticut, Kaladin immediately set me up with the sport psychologist here, but that guy was even more clueless than Tampa Bay’s doc. He tried to convince me I was being overly sensitive and told me I just needed to toughen up.
I’m not crazy about the idea of letting yet another person try to fix me, but I’m out of options. I don’t know anything else but hockey, and if Kaladin cuts me loose, I’m not sure what I’ll do with my life.
Honestly, the fact Dr. Mackey is so reluctant to help is almost comforting. If she agrees to work with me, maybe she’ll be willing to try some out-of-the-box ideas rather than sticking to the old psychological standbys. I don’t know why, but I have a good feeling about this.
Well, I do this morning anyway. Last night I was stressed and anxious enough to take one of those pills, and now I’m praying Grace just rolled her eyes and deleted the dick pic I sent her.
It’s not like I want her back. She and I had a good year together before we started fighting, and it all went downhill from there. Trying to make things work long-distance was a strain on us both, and it was a relief when our relationship ended. Why my drugged-up brain decided to send her a pic of my cock, I’ll never know.
I get to the rink with minutes to spare, park in the garage, and double-time it up to the locker room.
“Hey, thought you were gonna miss weights today,” Kelsier says as I dump my bag on the bench.
“Overslept,” I say. “I feel like I got hit by a train.”
“Heard from that professor yet?” he asks.
Zane Kelsier was the first guy to come over and welcome me to the team when I joined the Hydra this year, and we hit it off right away. He’s my best friend here and the only person I told about my meeting with Dr. Mackey. He’s a defenseman, an inch taller than me and a year younger.
“Not yet.”
“But you think she might be in?”
I shake my head. “No idea. I heard how much money Kaladin offered her, and I can’t imagine anyone turning that down, but who knows.”
He pauses. “What are you going to do if she doesn’t agree?”
“No fucking clue.”
Kelsier’s been trying to help me out by chirping at me on the ice whenever he gets the chance, but it’s just not the same as when the opposing team does it. There’s no real sting to it, and half the time he just makes me laugh.
“Kelsier! Gunnarsson! Get your asses in the weight room!” the strength coach shouts as he pokes his head into the locker room.
Kelsier and I snap to attention and hurry to follow him.
“What’s the professor like?” Kelsier asks as we hurry after the coach.
