What on earth just happened?
I squeeze my eyes shut, replaying the last five minutes on a loop I cannot seem to turn off. I drop my head against the door with a soft thunk. Cool. Great. Amazing. I will simply never leave my house again.
I drag in a breath, then another, forcing my shoulders to drop.
Everything is completely fine.
CHAPTER 10
TY
Isit in a comfortable chair across from my therapist, Dr. Sedona Hale, in a small sitting area that feels more like someone’s living room than an office. There’s a bay window off to the side, looking out onto a garden that’s colorful and filled with summer blooms. A short bookshelf lines one wall, filled with hardcovers and paperbacks that look like they’ve actually been read. The light is warm, coming from lamps instead of anything overhead, and the whole place smells clean in a way that’s hard to pin down. It’s nice. Pristine. Clean.
Which, honestly, feels like a bit of a trap.
Dr. Hale taps her pen once against the edge of her notebook, not impatient—she doesn’t do impatient. But, I have noticed she does it when she’s about to speak, like a professor tapping their lectern to get their students’ attention.
“Let’s come back to patterns,” she says. “How you see them, how they make you feel.”
I nod, because that’s the assignment. Pay attention, take in the information. Don’t fix. Don’t optimize. Don’t run it through five different scenarios until it makes sense.
“Okay,” she says, leaning back slightly. “What do you tend to do in certain situations? What works for you? What doesn’t?”
I rest my forearms on my thighs, hands clasped loosely. This part is easier for me when it’s structured. Clear questions mean clear answers.
“I rehearse conversations,” I say.
She nods like it doesn’t surprise her. “Before or after?”
“Both.”
A small smile. “Okay. What else?”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“That’s fair, I’m not a fan either, really,” she says easily. “Tell me why.”
I shrug, but it’s not really a shrug. It’s more like I’m trying to find the exact wording.
“I like to have a map,” I say finally. “Of things. I want to know where it’s going.”
She tilts her head. “A map.”
“Yeah.” I nod once. “I focus better when I know the outcome or at least where I’m going.”
“That makes complete sense,” she says. “Predictability helps you allocate your energy.”
I nod again. That feels accurate.
She taps her pen lightly. “How does that work with hockey?”
“It’s structured,” I say, sitting up taller in my seat. “There are variables, but they’re contained. Systems, plays, positioning. Even when it’s unpredictable, it’s still inside a framework I understand.”
“And your role in that framework?”
“It’s defined.”
Another small nod from her. “Okay,” she says. “So you function well in environments where there’s structure, predictability, and a clear role.”
