He lets out a heavy sigh and runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Fuck, El, I’m sorry. I…Fuck.” When he drops his hand, his expression looks pained. Sympathy swims in those brown eyes.
I swallow roughly and use my finger to draw random shapes on the duvet, trying to ignore the flurry of emotions in my chest. I don’t know what any of this means. Am I broken? Defective?And why has nobody else noticed in the almost three decades I’ve been alive?
My voice sounds distant to my own ears as I ask, “Do you think that’s why I’ve always felt different to everyone else?”
“Maybe? I mean, I’m not a professional. I’ve only had experience with Duncan. He was diagnosed when he was eight years old, but there were times when he would go unmedicated, and you show a lot of the same traits as him.”
“Oh.”
He runs an agitated hand through his hair and curses under his breath. “I’m fucking this up, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
My gaze shifts to a spot on the duvet, and I fall into a trance, blocking everything else out. Everything feels too much. With the loss of the game, not being at home, the fear of disappointing everyone, and now this…
My eyes and throat burn. The hollowness in my chest stealing my breath.
“El, I’m sorry. Fuck… I thought you knew, and you were unmedicated by choice. I don’t know the impact it has on the body in terms of being an athlete, so I thought it was something to do with that. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”
I shake my head, dismissing his apology because it isn’t needed. I know he didn’t mean to make me sad on purpose.
“You have nothing to be sorry about. I just… I’ve always felt different, I just didn’t know why. Nobody has ever mentioned it to me before.” I suck in a choked breath. Usually I would try to keep my emotions hidden and locked in tight, but I don’t want to hide from Hunter. “I’m just feeling a lot of big feelings right now. I’m struggling to handle it.”
His face pinches with worry, chewing on the inside of his lips.
“I’m okay,” I quickly reassure him. “I promise. I might look it up, though… Would there be someone I could talk to? Like maybe I could speak with the team psychologist about it?”
“That’s a good idea. They would be a good place to start. They should have resources to be able to help you understand it more.” He looks distraught as he scrubs his face with his hand. “Fuck, El, I am sorry.”
I smile softly. “Hunter, stop saying you’re sorry.”
“But I am,” he argues.
“Do I need to sit on you?” I smile weakly.
His laugh is sad. “Maybe.”
“Will you tell me about your day?” I ask, sinking back under the covers.
“Are you not tired?”
“Yeah, but I want to speak to you more.”
And I need you to help distract me from the thoughts running like a pack of rabid wolves in my mind,I silently add.
“How about you close your eyes while I talk?”
“But what if I fall asleep?”
“Then I’ll wait ’til I know you’re fully sleeping before I hang up,” he says, making me smile.
“M’kay,” I murmur, snuggling further under the covers. Grateful to have someone so understanding, but also scared of the unknown that will come with this new discovery.
We arrived in Calgary this morning, and as expected, we headed straight to the rink. Coach Harris put the guys through their paces, and I worked closely with Terry before joining in on drills.
Now we’re at the hotel. Some of the guys have gone out, while others have opted to stay in. We’re planning to have dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant in a few hours, but I’m feeling restless.
I spent the flight reading up on ADHD, and there were so many things I found relatable. Before we landed, I had a wave of impulsiveness and decided to send an email to the team’s psychologist to ask if we could have a meeting when I get back to Chicago. I don’t know what they can do for me, but maybe it’ll bring me some closure, or better understanding, at least. Jackson went through a process getting his daughter diagnosed with autism not long ago, and Isabela’s thriving now she’s getting the right support. There’s a part of me that wonders, if I am neurodivergent, what would things have been like if I had the support she’s getting at her age? Would I still have the struggles I have now? Would I have felt less like an outsider?
But it’s not something I can think of right now. I don’t want to risk spiraling into a pit of worry.
