Page 119 of Hard Pass

I blink. “Obviously.”

“Maybe we need to think about redefining your definition of noise,” she says. “Could noise possibly mean pressure?”

“Same thing.”

“Let’s agree to disagree on that,” she says calmly.

I don’t argue with her opinion because I’m not here to debate semantics, but she does that thing where she lets the silence stretch so it’s uncomfortable.

It’s got to be part of Shrink 101 school or something.

“When did it start?” she asks.

I watch my fingers trace patterns on the arm of my chair. “When did what start?”

“Respect my intelligence and time, please.” There’s a smile in her voice that doesn’t reflect the tone. It draws my eyes up to meet hers. “The tremor, Cole. When did it first start?”

“I told you before, a month or two ago?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

How can she sound so pleasant when she knows what she’s asking might cut me to the core?

I sigh as I shift in the chair and glance toward the window. To anywhere but her.

“It’s nothing,” I say with a shrug. “Just stress like you said. Game-to-game stuff that will go away.”

“If you believed that, you wouldn’t be here.” She pauses. “You yourself said you don’t believe in this shit but that you were desperate.”

“I know what I said,” I snap at her. “I feel weak enough walking through these doors, so can you not try to rub it in?”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

Oh my God. Enough with the fucking touchy-feely questions.

“No. Yes. I don’t fucking know.” I press my fingers to my eyes, frustration owning me.

And still she doesn’t move. She doesn’t push further. She just waits, which is worse.

“Cole,” she finally says, her voice even. “I know this is the last place you want to be, but I assure you, it doesn’t make you weak. It makes you educated. Equipped. You’d be surprised the great players I’ve had sit across from me who’ve needed help now and again. Worst-case scenario, our appointments give you the tools needed for future instances. Best-case? We figure out your trigger and face it.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

“Sure. Fine. Noted.” I’ll say anything to get this over with.

“So . . .” She pauses and waits until I finish smoothing my sweaty palms on my pants and meet her eyes. “In most instances like this, your body doesn’t improvise under pressure, Cole. It responds to behavior it already knows and recognizes.”

“Doc, with all due respect, I don’t think my hand has some kind of memory.”

“It does though, and it’s clearly telling you it won’t be ignored.”

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and lean back like that extra distance might help. “Look. I’m fine. I just need to get through a couple of games, settle back in like I did last year and—”

“And what, Cole? You’ve said that every time you’ve sat in that chair. A couple of games have passed, but you’ve yet to settle in, and you’re still struggling,” she says as I grit my teeth. “Maybe it’s time to reevaluate whether your current approach is working.”

My tongue is thick in my mouth and my pulse races. “Fuck.” I exhale.

“I guess that’s better than a denial,” she says with a smile, clearly trying to make me relax. “Tell me about the woman.”