The thought of waiting, though, didn’t sit right. I was suddenly antsy and nervous, filled with a sense of urgency I’d never experienced before—a panicked feeling like it was now or never. If we didn’t do this now, then we might never get the chance.
It only took a moment for those pieces to click into place:
If we didn’t do this now, then there was a possibility one or both of us could be gone.
Because I’d lost someone who’d seemed like a permanent fixture in my life. I’d taken for granted that Leif would be there—that night at the bar, later that month at training camp, and well into the rest of our careers and into our retirements.
What if something happened to Peyton?
My throat was getting tight again, and I had to swallow hard. “Oh God. I think Idoneed therapy.”
He furrowed his brow. “Why’s that?”
“Because I want to jump into this right now. I’m terrified to not do it right now because…” I had to grit my teeth to keep from choking on my own words. “I don’t know how to make plans for the future when I’m still trying to get used to someone being gone the way Leif is.”
Christ, that sounded so stupid and pathetic. I wasn’t thefirst person in the world to lose someone. They figured it out. Why the hell couldn’t?—
“That makes sense,” Peyton said softly.
“It does?” I laughed halfheartedly. “Because it makes sense in my head, but when I say it out loud…” I flailed a hand.
“It does,” he confirmed. “My therapist once told me that happens sometimes when someone gets slapped in the face by their own mortality. Suddenly nothing is guaranteed anymore, so they’re in a hurry to do everything before time runs out.”
“Oh. That… Shit, yeah, that makes sense.” Then I studied him. “You have a therapist?”
“Had one.” He gave a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Now that he mentioned it, yeah, it kind of was. As dialed in as he was about things like this, it made perfect sense now that he’d been to one.
“Sounds like it was good for you,” I whispered. “I kind of don’t want to sit down and dissect everything going on…” I gestured at my head. “But maybe it’s what I need.”
He put a hand on my arm. “It’s worth a try.”
I nodded slowly. Nothing else was working, that was for sure. Especially not drinking myself numb.
The thought made me wince, and I sighed. “The player assistance program—do you know how that works? Will they suspend me?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I mean it—I’ll go with you to talk to the front office about it.” He gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
The lump again rose in my throat, but it wasn’t from crushing grief this time. I covered his hand with mine. “Thanks. I’ll, um… Let me get dressed, and we can go to the training center.”
Peyton nodded, then looked down at himself. “I should probably grab a change of clothes, too. Maybe a shower?”
“Right. Of course. Why don’t we go back to your place, and I’ll call the front office while you’re getting dressed?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
CHAPTER 22
PEYTON
In the locker room before our morning skate the next day, and with the press outside, Coach Tabakov broke the news to the team. When he said out loud that Avery was going into the player assistance program, it was like a shockwave going through the locker room.
“Holy shit,” Baddy said. “I didn’t even know he was…” He trailed off, looking dazed.
“It’s because of everything with Early, isn’t it?” Willie sounded pained. “Calisse, I should’ve known he was struggling.”
“He’s coming back, though, right?” Eminem asked. “They’re not going to put him through rehab and then waive him or something, are they?”
