“One step, right?”
My fingers curl tighter around the steering wheel as I take a long, slow exhale. “Yeah, baby, one step.”
I don’t say that sometimes it feels like taking one step is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. That I’m trudging through quicksand, and I might not make it out of the pit.
But then I have to remind myself that therapy isn’tsupposedto be a walk in the park. It’s not meant to be easy, or it wouldn’t take people like me their entire adult life to get there.
It’s only the eighth session.
And fuck, the number of times I’ve wanted to walk out and never go back is more than I can even keep track of, but that’s the thing… Ihavegone back.
Even though it’s hard as shit, and I hate every goddamn second of it, I keep going back.
Because if there’s anything I’ve learned in the last year, it’s that running from what was chasing me and burying my trauma deep didn’t do anything but make it all worse when everything finally came spilling out.
This guy, my therapist, feels less like a quack job than the one the team appointed during the early years of my career.
It’s still hard for me to try and explain the things plaguing me to someone who’s never experienced it, but something I’m beginning to realize is that just because someone hasn’t been through it themselves doesn’t mean they can’tunderstand.
Take Maisie, for example.
She’s never experienced the shit that I’ve been through, and I would give up my fucking life to keep her from that, but somehow, it still feels like she gets it.
She doesn’t look at me with pity, but with the love that’s unconditional, full of empathy and understanding.
“I’m pulling into the parking lot, baby. I’ll be inside in a sec,” I say, pulling my truck into an empty spot and cutting the engine.
“Same booth as always, Coach. You know where to find me.”
I find my lip curving into a grin despite the last hour of emotional turmoil.
There’s always a light at the end.
Maisie.
I know that no matter what happens behind that therapy door… when I walk out to the other side, she’ll be there, lighting the way.
When I walk into the diner a few minutes later, the bell clinking obnoxiously, the scent of greasy food hits me, and my gaze immediately flits to the corner booth where I know she’ll be.
Her long, golden hair falls in a halo around her shoulders, her attentionfixated on the paperback spread open on top of the table, so completely lost in whatever she’s reading that she didn’t even hear the bell when I walked in.
She knew I was almost here, but I know that all it takes is a few pages, and my girl is sucked into another world.
I can’t tell you how many nights in the last six months that I’ve lain beside her, just watching her read, watching as her eyes fluttered closed with one cheek pressed against the worn pages of her book, running my fingers through her silky hair until her breathing was soft and even.
Six months of waking up beside her every day. Six months of sharing breakfast and a shower before she goes to class, while I had to figure out what I’m doing with my life. Six months of happiness I never imagined was possible, until I met her. Six months of learning and growing, trying to be a better man than I was before her.
Six months since I resigned from OU and everything in my life essentially fucking imploded all at once.
Parts of it were unexpected, but most… was a long time coming.
Things I had pushed down and refused to acknowledge, and once that powder keg went off, it was impossible to stop it.
My mother. My career. My future. My past. The present.
All of it connected, even if I didn’t realize it back then.
Despite all of the shit that happened at once, I’d do it again.
