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She smiles sympathetically. “Seeing the team psychologist is not some kind of negative mark. But be that as it may, do you want me to find a therapist that specializes in sports and athletes for you outside of your stadium?”
Yes. No. I don’t know. “You do enough, Amira.”
“My job is to do more than enough. And listen, I know you stress. I get it. You like the team and want to stay. But no amount of wanting will change the fact that you don’t have a no-trade clause. So maybe it would help to talk to someone? Or, you know, do more yoga,” she says, then knocks back the rest of her coffee.
But maybe even yoga isn’t safe. Not if I keep having these dirty thoughts about my instructor. I blow out a breath, scrubbing a hand across my jawline. Am I really this tightly wound?
Truth is, I’ve been tightly wound for a while. I’ve seen plenty of shrinks, too, since my brother died a decade ago when I was sixteen and he was twenty. Fact is, this is just who I am now.
“Maybe I’ll try to relax in Lucky Falls,” I say, then we shoot the breeze about the latest TV shows we’ve been watching and the conversation change eases some of the tension in me. From the tea talk to the TV talk, I’m finding a distraction definitely helps.
By the time we’re done, I feel marginally better about the incessant trade rumors. I feel better, too, that I have an agent who understands me.
And friends.
Like Gavin, who’s waiting at the curb in his car when my meeting is done. I hop inside and announce, “I need a distraction.”
16
MORE TO COME
Gavin
He came to the right guy then. When a friend needs something, I make it happen. First, though, I give Rhys a little hell. Just to keep him on his toes.
I tap the gas and head up Divisadero, sunglasses on, rock music pumping through the car. “Why do you need a distraction? They’re getting rid of your sorry ass?”
“You’d miss me. You pretend you wouldn’t, but you would.”
I scoff. Like I’d let on I’d miss him fiercely. Also, he fucking knows I’m joking. “Doubtful.”
“You’d cry like a baby every day.”
“I’d never shed a tear.”
“You’d be a right blubbering mess.”
“I’d celebrate every day. And I’d be more determined than ever to be part of the team that mows you down.”
“Revenge, eh?”
“It’s fucking motivating, isn’t it?” Hell, it’s kept me going for a damn long time.
Well, not revenge. More like…vindication. There’s little quite as satisfying as proving the naysayers wrong. Not only did my aunt and uncle who raised me say I’d never be a pro hockey player, but my uncle said I’d never amount to much of anything. That it was a burden for him and Mom’s sister to raise me after my parents were killed.
Oh, and the snake of a man said I couldn’t cook to save my life. Proved him wrong on that count too.
As I drive, Rhys seems to give my rhetorical question some real thought. “Fair point, mate. Is that why we hate the Sea Dogs so much?”
“Because they’ve won more cups than us.”
“And we weren’t even with the Foxes when they won,” he says as we cruise onto the Golden Gate Bridge.
“But revenge gets passed on. And its cousins, rivalry and passion,” I say.
Rhys leans back in the passenger seat, like he’s relaxing into it. “You’re a helluva teammate, Worthy.”
I smile, a pleased feeling spreading across my chest. That’s the goal. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. When you grow up raised by people you can’t rely on, there’s nothing better than being a guy your teammates can count on. It’s a fucking calling, and no matter who I play for, where I play, I won’t ever be the guy to let down a teammate.
