“And you’re still resistant,” I counter. “Do you want help or not?”
“I want my hands back.”
The quiver in his voice shows me he’s scared and his honesty hits me harder than it should.
FIVE
PARKER
Am I going to trust her with my career? I’m at a point where the more I’m criticized by the media, the more it happens, even from some of my own teammates for dropping the ball. I’ve always been able to take constructive criticism. It’s part of being a scholarship athlete or a professional, but this seems different. Every word hits like a punch to the face.
“When we’re inside this room. It’s me and you. Confidential. I’ll tell you how to describe things. You have your hands. So don’t sayI want my hands back.Instead say, I want my hands to work with my brain to catch the ball.”
She’s all about control. Over me.
This is my identity we’re talking about. I’ve always been an athlete and who am I if not an athlete? I’ve built my life around games and teammates, winning and losing. Mostly winning. It’s my identity. My family’s legacy.
“Parker, this won’t be easy but at least I’m not a three-hundred-pound football player wanting to knock you intothe stands. Let’s get to work,” she says as she slides a folder to me. “These are your intake forms. You left them blank.”
My eyes flicker to the stack of questions. “I didn’t have time.”
“You had time to storm out.”
“You really don’t let anything go. Do you?”
“I don’t because patterns matter,” she states matter-of-factly.
I stare into those eyes that seem warm for the first time. Like liquid gold moving to the center of her chocolate eyes. “And you think my pattern is running away or ignoring the details?”
“I think your pattern is control. When you feel powerless you leave.”
It makes me think back to playing hockey in Michigan. I shake the thought away. “I left because you pissed me off.”
“And why did I piss you off?”
I start to speak but think better of it. I don’t want to say what goes through my mind when Annika flashes in my mind.
She taps the folder. “Start with the first question.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
I glance down.
What do you fear losing most?
I feel my throat tighten but pretend I don’t. I scribble down one word and hand it to her.
Everything.
My eyes are locked on hers. She looks at the paper, and I expect a sarcastic remark but instead she simply says, “Everything. That’s a lot to carry.”
I shrug. “You don’t know anything about what I carry.”
I’ve been telling her she doesn’t know me since college.
“I know enough to know you’re scared.”
