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Joe immediately puts his hand in the air, and I follow. Melinda raises her hand about halfway, her expression still pained.
Everyone looks at Gia, who is staring at me, a smile playing on her lips. After a couple seconds of drinking me in, she rolls her eyes and puts her hand up.
Rehab isn’t what I was expecting so far, but I know one thing for sure—it’s not gonna be boring.4Alexei“I see you’re originally from Russia. What was life like there?”
I shift in my chair, feeling a stab of annoyance at Graysen’s question.
“I left there when I was five,” I tell her. “I don’t really remember it.”
“Tell me about leaving.”
“Like I said, I don’t really remember it.”
“No memories at all about how that felt?”
I clear my throat, shifting in my chair again. “No, I only remember the plane ride. My brother and I flew here to live with a youth hockey coach and his wife.
“That must’ve been scary, to leave your home and your parents to come to a new country.”
Grinning, I say, “Worked out pretty well for us, though. Our parents just wanted us to have opportunities we never would’ve had there.”
“Did you miss them?”
I narrow my eyes and glare at her, not sure where she’s going with this. “Look, if you’re trying to get me to say I drink because I miss my mommy, it’s not gonna work. I don’t really remember my parents anymore. And I drink because it’s fun.”
Graysen’s slight smile is like another sharp, uncomfortable poke. “I’m just trying to get to know you better.”
“Do I get to ask you questions, too?”
Her smile widens. “I’m not the one paying for treatment, Alexei.”
I lean my elbows on my knees, avoiding her probing gaze by looking around her office, where we’re having our first one-on-one session. It’s got a better atmosphere than the plain group session room. Bookshelves are lined with plants, books and photos. A dark gray loveseat on the other side of the room has a pillow in each corner and a neatly folded throw hanging over one end.
“You like Johnny Cash?” I hike my brows up in surprise when I see a framed album cover hanging on her wall.
“I love his music.”
Now I’m the one smiling. “I see what you did there. You love his music, but not him, per se, because he was an addict and a cheater.”
“You’re putting words in my mouth,” she says smoothly. “I didn’t know him personally, so it’s not really possible for me to have feelings toward him as a person.”
I shrug a shoulder, conceding her point. “One of my teammates in college had that famous picture of Johnny giving the finger hanging in his locker.”
“What did you have hanging in your locker?”
“I don’t remember, it’s been a while…probably a pin-up girl calendar.” I meet her gaze and smile. “Does that give you some insight into me?”
“Maybe.”
“Must get lonely, this line of work. Are you single?”
Graysen’s smile returns. “I’m more concerned about how you’re feeling. Does it make you uncomfortable to talk about yourself?”
A few seconds of silence pass, and then I say, “Look, I get that some people drink because they’ve been abused or hurt, but for me…it’s not like that. I just like to have a good time.”
“It’s been a few weeks since you’ve had a drink. Do you miss it?”
“Not really. I haven’t been in a situation where I wanted to drink. I like to party after games, not when I just woke up from an induced coma in a hospital.”
“Fair point,” she says, her soft smile returning. “Why don’t we talk about the accident?”
“Sure, but I really don’t remember much.”
“Is this the first time you don’t remember everything that happened after drinking?”
My laugh is laced with a scoff. “I guess not. We used to say in college that if you remembered how much you drank the night before, you weren’t partying hard enough.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Sure. I call an Uber when I need to.”
Graysen silently holds my gaze.
I backtrack a little, her stare making me the tiniest bit uncomfortable. “I mean, usually. The night of the accident, I thought I was okay to drive.”
“And what do you think now?”
“More importantly, what does the state of Texas think?” I quip. “I guess I should’ve called an Uber.”
Graysen makes a note on the pad of paper in her lap. Shit. I probably need to express remorse to be considered a success story here.
“I’m sorry about it,” I say. “I got kicked off my team and sent here. I trashed a farmer’s barn, not to mention my car. My hip is fucked. It’s gonna take me a long time to rehab and get back to hockey. And when I do go back, I’ll be on my asshole brother’s team.”
“You and your brother don’t get along?”
“It’s…complicated. We love each other, but sometimes we fight.”
