Dr. Sparks presses her lips together. She doesn’t respond — just leaves space. Silence.
A digital clock on the desk glows red, the numbers big and bold. My mouth goes dry and I’m suddenly too warm.
“You know what happened, right?”
“I’d like to hear your version of events.” She taps the tip of her pen against the notepad, and I take a deep inhale.
“We threw a party in the preseason. Me and my brothers. At our rental house. People showed up — teammates, locals, a few of the staff. You know, the standard.”
I clasp my hands together, resting my elbows on my knees.
“The party was going fine. Harbor Hayes and her sister showed up. Harbor does PR for the team and is dating my brother, Weston. I saw a guy manhandling her, and she looked upset. She told the dude to stop and he didn’t.” My voice goes flat. “So I broke up his little party with my fist.”
Dr. Sparks again says nothing. The silence stretches. The clock ticks louder and louder. I scrub the back of my neck.
“Anyway, somebody called the cops and I spent the night in jail. The lawyer got me off because I was defending Harbor from a potential sexual assault.” Hot anger rises in my chest, burning my face. “The whole thing’s bullshit. The league needed a scapegoat. I was it.There wasn’t really a scandal. If anything, Ipreventedsomething bad from happening.”
Dr. Sparks jots something down, then levels her gaze at me, her expression blank.
“So what I’m hearing is: from your perspective, you prevented a sexual assault. You got into a physical altercation with a local bar owner, and the incident unfortunately spiraled beyond your control. Is that right?”
My knee bounces double time.
“Yeah. That’s mostly accurate.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “What, exactly, is inaccurate in that statement?”
I exhale hard.
“I mean… I did the right thing. I’m not sure why the league came down so hard on me. And I definitely don’t need bogus therapy sessions.” I cut my eyes to her. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
Clasping and unclasping my hands, I wish I were literally anywhere else right now.
“What I’m hearing is that you don’t believe you need therapy.”
“Correct. My time would be better spent in the gym, to be honest.”
“You believe you’d get more from time in the gym than time spent in therapy.”
Now we’re getting somewhere.
“Absolutely.”
Dr. Sparks nods once. “Tell me, Bennett. How has the suspension affected you?”
I let out a heavy sigh and stare up at the ceiling, my mind whirling.
Where do I even start?
“Well, for starters, I’ve missed two games so far. One left to go, then I should be off the bench. I’m training harder than ever, and I’ll be back out on the ice better than before. Stronger.”
She takes notes and nods but stays quiet. The silence is killing me. So I keep talking just to keep the air moving.
“And Prince has me on full lockdown. Which — again — is bullshit. I’m a grown-ass man and don’t need a damn babysitter.” My knuckles flex and my voice tips up in irritation.
Dr. Sparks remains expressionless. “When you say ‘babysitter,’ what do you mean?”
