I laugh weakly. “It’s a brutal one.”
“Growth often is,” he says. “So let’s reframe this. You didn’t leave because you loved hockey more than Amy. You left because hockey taught you that love is conditional, trust is transactional, and safety is earned through performance.”
My chest tightens.
“Amy asked you to believe in something far more vulnerable.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “She asked me to be human.”
He says gently, “That felt like a bigger risk?”
I nod, tears burning behind my eyes.
“What do you do with this now?” he asks.
“I stay,” I say. “Even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when I don’t get immediate reassurance. Even when I’m afraid.”
“What should your response be if this kind of fear shows up again?”
“Don’t run away. Talk. Ask questions. Listen.”
He smiles faintly. “That’s a different skill set than hockey.”
I return the smile, sad but steady. “One I wish I’d learned sooner.”
“You’re learning it now,” he says. “That matters.”
As the session winds down, I feel wrung out—but clearer. Like I finally understand the rules of a game I didn’t know how to play.
For the first time, I know what has to happen.
I need to sit still and take my time in the penalty box.
Regardless of how ready I think I am to fix what I broke.
21
BUMPER PLAY: SLOT PLAYER REDIRECTS PASSES
The town square smells like early fall on Saturday—coffee, leaves, and the faint smell of the lone food truck parked near the entrance. Normally, I’d be stuck inside grading papers, but I came out here to clear my head. To breathe. To recalibrate not just because of Brennan but after an incident at school triggered me.
Staying inside felt like I’d do nothing but submerge myself with bad memories and worse aftermath. I worked too hard for too long to slip back into hiding who I am.
It took years of therapy with Dr. Greenburg for me to avoid overreacting when students were suffering similar experiences to what I endured. Thursday’s incident came about as close to me crossing a line as I have in years.
Fortunately our now monthly check-in was yesterday, I reviewed everything that happened, including my sexual intimacy with Brennan as well as my potential overreaction at school that the town is agog about.
She asks me, “Do you think you were overly passionate about it?”
I hesitate. “Yes? No?”
“A very clear cut answer.”
After almost eight years of therapy with her, I do what comes naturally. I stick my tongue out at her.
She grins. “Please tell me you did that very thing to your principal.”
I grouse, “No, but I think he went home with a few new holes in his body.”
