Page 121 of Hard Pass

Her silence and the tilt of her head says she doesn’t believe me. Either that or maybe she just knows I didn’t.

“Now when you feel that loss of control on the field, what does it remind you of?”

Dublin.

Childhood.

On the field.

She’s switching so fast. Is she trying to trip me up on purpose so I finally give her honest answers?

“Nothing.” I say too quickly if the slight narrowing of her eyes is any indication.

“That answer came fast.”

“Because it’s true.”

She doesn’t respond but rather lets the quiet settle. After some time, I decide to fill the silence.

“My dad.” The words are a whisper.

Motherfucker. You just opened the door for her to walk right through.

And in true shrink fashion, she doesn’t react. Inside I’m rioting. She doesn’t pounce on that nugget she’s been trying to wrench out of me for the past however many sessions I’ve been here. She just waits.

“What about him?”

I shake my head once. “It’s nothing. He was . . . intense. Nothing was ever good enough. Not really. That’s all.”

Understatement of the year.

“Intense how?”

“Like”—my jaw tightens and hands grip the arms of the chair—“like he expected a lot.”

“Would you say those expectations were practical in nature or over the top and out of reach?”

“I’m here in the NFL, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” She nods and it’s clear she’s choosing her words carefully. “But you had a lot to do with that. Your talent. Your drive. Your attitude. Your opportunities that you made for yourself.”

Because nothing less was ever fucking acceptable.

And yet it’s the first time someone has put all of those things in a row, lined them up like shiny trophies on a shelf, and told me that I made that happen for myself. Or is it the first time I’ve actually heard it?

“Hmm.”

“So when you didn’t meet those expectations, what happened?”

My spine straightens with the lie. “Then I didn’t meet them,” I say, void of emotion.

“That’s an incomplete answer, isn’t it?”

“It’s the only one you’re getting, Doc.”

She studies me for a long moment, head tilted with those assessing eyes. It’s like being stripped naked and put on display.

“You don’t need to be ashamed of anything your parents did to you.”