Silas, I have a last-minute cancellation this morning. Any chance you can make it?
Fuuuuuuck. I can't say no. I text the doctor that I'll be there in an hour, then hurry through showering and getting dressed. Scout isn't up yet as I stealthily sneak out of the condo.
Good. I don’t want her realizing what a basketcase I am.
Soon enough, I'm sitting on the couch in Dr. Sable's office, my palms sweating. The office is too warm. There are two low bookshelves full of books dedicated to sports.The Complete Athlete: Mind and Body.1042 Races: How I Conquered the Sport of Running.Psychoanalysis and the Professional Athlete.Life After Sports.
They should make me feel some sort of confidence, like Dr. Sable knows what I’m going through. Instead the titles batter me, making me feel raw and brittle. I feel perspiration begin to dot my forehead.
"I'm so glad that you were able to make it here on such short notice." Dr. Sable sits down across from me and crosses her legs, notepad balanced in her lap. She's professional and calm in her stylish white button up and black pencil skirt. On the tall side for a woman, she has a heart-shaped face, green eyes, and long blonde hair.
She looks sort of familiar, though I have no idea why. Maybe it's because she's hot, in a buttoned up, corporate suit kind of way. Shit, if I wasn't so averse to therapy, I might actually think about asking her out.
Well, I’m also obsessed with my roommate. So there’s that. I have enough on my plate.
“Uh, yeah.” That’s all I can manage to say. Dr. Sable is going to see right through me, pin me like a butterfly in a case.
"Thanks for coming in, Silas." Dr. Sable's voice is warm without being patronizing. "I know this isn't easy."
I grunt and shift on the couch. The leather squeaks under my weight.
She uncaps a pen and smiles at me. "Why don't we start simple. What brought you here today?"
"Coach Cross gave me your card. He said I needed to talk to someone." I cross my arms over my chest. "I've been hurt a few times over the past seasons, bad enough that it's looking like I'll have maybe three more seasons if I get super lucky. So Coach sent me here to talk about my career and figure out a plan for... whatever comes next.”
“And how do you feel about having your coach ask you to see me?”
I break eye contact. “Shit makes me angry. He should know that I’m fine."
"You mention your temper." She writes something down. "Tell me about that."
Silence reigns for a moment as I struggle to decide how to phrase it. "I take bad penalties. Sometimes I get baited into scrums. I can't seem to stop myself even when I know better. It... costs my team games."
"And that frustrates you."
"Yeah. And like… hurts me. Physically, I mean."
She nods slowly and waits. The silence stretches between us, heavy and expectant. I hate silence in rooms like this. It feels like a trap designed to make me fill it with things I shouldn't say.
I supply, "Mostly, Coach Cross sent me here to figure out an exit strategy from hockey."
Dr. Sable nods and scribbles another note. "Can you tell me more?"
"Not really." I rub the back of my neck. "Like I said, I've had a lot of injuries. I play defense on a hockey team, so the hits just keep stacking up. A couple of weeks ago, I tore my labrum and had to have surgery on it."
"That's a tough injury. How is it feeling? How's the PT?"
"Rough." I lean my head back against the couch, looking at the ceiling. "I've tried so hard to do everything right. My sleep schedule is on point. My diet is mind-numbing, but I hit every macro I set. I fucking live in the gym." I pause. "Sorry, can I curse?"
Dr. Sable waves a hand. "Of course."
"Thanks. Yeah, I basically eat, sleep, and play hockey. For years, I have been so focused on that. I don't have hobbies. Music? Movies? I haven't seen or heard anything. All I know is hockey. It's the only thing I'm good at."
"It sounds like you've really put all your eggs in one basket, huh?"
I snort. "Yeah. And now Coach is telling me to like... prepare myself for leaving the Havoc. What the fuck? What am I supposed to do?"
The doctor writes a note and then looks up at me, her expression thoughtful. She taps her pen against the notepad once, twice, then sets it down completely.
