Tate swallowed silently, listening as Emil sat forward, closer to the screen like he was about to impart some secret of the universe.
“And – believe it or not – it’s for the hockey coach who can’t figure out how to reach his best player who is hell-bent on alienating himself from the team… and it’s especially for that same player who doesn’t realize that he’s not alone on the ice, but surrounded by guys who want to be his friend and teammate…. if he would simply let them in.”
Tate’s stomach twisted. It was brutal. It was true. And it left him with no defenses.
So he told Emil everything.
Tate told Emil about how, as a teenager, he always thought she was so irritating, annoying, and flighty. He griped about how Nettie and his sister would giggle, play, and hang out during the summer, acting older than their age, and he confessed that for the first time he looked at Nettie differently.
It had been the summer before Tate left for college. He’d just graduated from high school, and she had just come over to hang out with his sister, wearing this bikini that hid very little from his eyes. It had been so disturbing, so earth-shattering that it left a scar, a mark, that he’d tried to run from.
“And what happened?” Emil said softly.
“She told me she liked me,” Tate muttered. “And I blew up.” His throat went tight, the shame still clinging after all these years. “I was mad. Mad, she was chasing after someone like me when all I wanted was to get out, to make the big leagues. I had plans—ambition—and she didn’t seem to care about anything but laughing and smiling…”
“And that bothered you?” Emil asked quietly.
“It pissed me off,” Tate admitted, his voice raw. “She had no drive. No desire to push herself. And now? She’s still in her grandmother’s house with nothing.”
“She has nothing?” Emil tilted his head. “Or is it nothing to you?”
Tate bristled. “What the heck does that mean?”
Emil’s questions came sharp and deliberate, each one another check into the boards.
“Does she have a job?”
“Yes.”
“Did she go to college?”
“Yes. She has her degree in childcare development or something like that…”
“And she lives in a house?”
“Her grandmother’s house.”
“So she has a house I assume is paid for, a college degree, and a job…” Emil said smiling softly at him. “What would she need to earn your respect?”
“It’s not respect,” Tate scoffed. “I respect the heck out of her. She just… she needs to try harder.”
“At what?”
“At me!”Tate’s voice cracked with frustration, the truth ripping out before he could stop it. “She needs to try harder at beingwith me!”
Emil chuckled softly. “Because you’re so sweet and friendly?”
“I don’t talk to her like that,” Tate growled.
“Just me?”
“You get paid to take my crap.”
“No,” Emil countered calmly, “I get paid to help you. You shovel your crap at anyone you think isn’t worth your time. And before you open your mouth again—think about this. Has therapy helped you focus? Has it given you Mulligan, that adorable cat you adore? Has it stopped you from beating your teammates to a pulp at practice?”
Tate flushed hotly, humiliation burning his skin. “Coach Côte told you about that?”
“If you’d let me, Tate, we could do so much more together.” Emil leaned closer, his tone softening. “What was bothering you when you logged in?”
