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“You can tell me if he’s a threat. I know you can tell me that, at least.
She pauses for a moment and nods.
“Yes, I guess that wouldn’t be too unethical of me to do. Considering all the bad press the poor man has been getting, I guess that much I can tell you to tranquilize you.”
Thank bloody Christ.
Finally, some leeway.
“So is he? Is Wilder a threat?”
“Only to himself.” She frowns.
“I’m going to need a bit more than that from you, Roxanne,” I insist impatiently.
She presses her lips shut and thinks long and hard before relenting. Or as much as a stubborn woman like Roxanne is able to yield when her moral code is called into question.
“Very well. I’ll tell you only the things that he wouldn’t be opposed to me revealing. He’s under the impression that his sessions are recorded for your benefit anyway. But just because he believes that my loyalty is to the club, first and foremost, doesn’t make it true,” she forewarns, making it clear she’ll only divulge the bare minimum.
“Understood.” I nod.
“Very well.” She takes another sip of wine before telling me what I want.
“Nathan is a perfect example of someone who has suffered immensely in his youth, both in neglect and abuse. His PTSD is triggered when he sees injustices being carried out in front of him. If he sees someone being abused in any way, he’s mentally incapable of cooly assessing the situation before acting out. And when his rage and anger take over, it’s safe to say that the emotional impact of those overwhelming feelings get in the way of him making the best decisions.”
“So that bar fight was what? A knee-jerk reaction to something he experienced when he was a kid?” I ask, trying to piece the clues together.
“I’m afraid so,” Roxanne confirms.
“And you don’t seethatas being a threat to my team?”
“No, I do not,” she defends with utter conviction. “Nathan’s only healthy relationship that he fiercely depends on is the one he shares with the other players on his team. He’d do anything for them. Therefore, he’s not a threat to them.”
“Just their reputation,” I mumble.
“Be patient with him, Trent,” she supplicates. “Nathan has been bereft of a sense of belonging and approval for most of his life. Those types of scars take years to heal. When he realizes his self-worth outside of hockey and starts building relationships that accept him as he is, then you shouldn’t have any more issues with him in the future.”
“Great,” I grumble. “You do know that patience isn’t my strong suit?”
“That’s a lie. You’re more than patient when the reward suits you.” She cracks a smile. “Though I am surprised you don’t see the similarities between you and Nathan.”
“From what I know of him, he lived in a two-parent home in a middle to upper-class area in New York City. Tell me, how does a guy like that have any similarities to a guy born and bred in Roxbury?” I scoff.
“You both faced excruciating adversities and still managed to make something of yourselves.”
Well, she’s got me there.
“He does have one over you, though,” she adds.
“Oh, and what’s that?”
“Nathan hasn’t closed himself off as you have. At least his heart remains pure.”
“And mine isn’t?” I ask in amusement, not one bit offended by her astute remark.
“Have you ever put someone else’s needs before your own?”
“You know I haven’t.”
