Yeah.
Three dots appear, disappear, reappear. My phone rings.
"Hello?" I answer, probably sounding as uncomfortable as I feel.
"Hi Silas." Her voice is warm, professional, the same toneshe used in our sessions. "Thanks for picking up. I wanted to talk to you about something important."
"Look, I'm sorry about leaving like that. It was unprofessional and I shouldn't have..."
"That's actually what I wanted to discuss." She cuts me off gently. "I've been thinking about our last session, and I need to be honest with you. I can't be your therapist."
The words land differently than I expect. Relief mixed with something that might be disappointment. "Because of Scout."
"Because of Scout," she confirms. "It's a conflict of interest. You're dating my sister, and that makes it impossible for me to maintain the professional boundaries necessary for effective therapy. I should have referred you to someone else the moment you mentioned her name."
"So that's it? I'm just supposed to find someone else?"
"Actually, I already have someone in mind." Papers rustle in the background. "His name is Dr. Max Liehrstahl. He's a sports psychologist who specializes in working with professional athletes. I've referred several clients to him over the years and the feedback has been excellent."
I shift the ice pack on my shoulder. "You think he'll take me?"
"I already spoke with him. He has an opening tomorrow afternoon if you're interested." Her voice softens slightly. "Silas, I know switching therapists isn't ideal. You were starting to open up in our sessions, and that's hard work. But Dr. Max is really good at what he does. I think you'll click with him."
"What did you tell him about me?"
"Just the basics. That you're a professional hockey player dealing with career transition anxiety and some intimacyissues. Nothing specific about our sessions. That stays confidential."
The tightness in my chest eases slightly. "Does Scout know you're calling me?"
"No. This is between us. Patient confidentiality applies even after termination." She pauses. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing good work. Don't let this setback stop you from continuing therapy. You deserve support, Silas."
The kindness in her voice makes my throat tight. "Thanks. I'll call Dr. Max."
"Good. I'll text you his contact information." Another pause. "And Silas? Take care of my sister. She's been through enough."
"I will. I am."
"I know." I can hear the smile in her voice. "That's why I'm rooting for you both."
After we hang up, I stare at my phone for a long minute. Sable could have written me off as a lost cause. Could have told Scout I'm too fucked up to be worth the effort. Instead she's handing me off to another therapist and wishing me well.
I don't deserve the Nash sisters, but I'm going to try like hell to be worthy of them anyway.
The text comes through with Dr. Max's information. I dial before I can talk myself out of it.
"Dr. Liehrstahl's office, this is Max speaking."
The voice is deep, casual, not at all what I expected from a therapist. "Uh, hi. This is Silas Huxley. Dr. Nash referred me?"
"Silas! Yeah, Sable mentioned you might call. Got time to talk now or you want to schedule something?"
"I can talk now."
"Perfect. Give me two seconds." I hear a door close,footsteps, then the creak of a chair. "Okay, I'm settled. So Sable told me you're a defenseman for the Havoc, dealing with some transition stuff. Want to fill me in on what's going on?"
The casual approach throws me off balance. Dr. Sable was professional, careful, measured. This guy sounds like he's talking to a friend over beers.
"I'm worried about my career ending," I say bluntly. "My shoulder's fucked and I don't know who I am without hockey."
