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“And what do you consider normal screwing up?”
“You know, the usual.”
“Such as?”
I try to keep my voice level, even though he’s annoying the crap out of me. Duke doesn’t make our sessions easy. He makes me beg and dig for every answer. Some patients are like this. They either don’t want to be here, which is Duke’s case, or they don’t know how to express their feelings and thoughts verbally. People like Duke usually bottle their emotions, hide their true selves from the world, and then all of the anger eventually comes to the surface.
“Such as accidentally breaking my cell phone,” Duke says with a defiant attitude. “Such as punching assholes who deserve it in the face.” He leans forward, his elbows rested on his muscular thighs, his piercing stare fixed on me. “Do you want me to keep going?”
When Duke looks at you, it’s as if he’s looking through you. It’s slightly terrifying.
“Do you want me to tell you about all of the concussions I’ve handed out over the years? Or that I just like hitting people. It makes me feel better. Is that what you’re looking for, Doc?”
“I’m not looking for anything, Duke. I want to understand you better.”
“What’s there to understand?” He rolls his shoulders. “I’m a guy. We’re not that complicated.”
“I think you are,” I say with confidence. “I think there are a lot of things about you that people don’t know, and it’s because you close yourself off from them. I think you want people to understand you, but you don’t know how to communicate your feelings.”
“Is that your professional opinion, Doc?” He clicks his tongue as he says Doc. “You think I should open up more? That I should get all mushy and talk to people?”
I can see the fire brewing in his eyes. Duke Baldwin is like a bomb ready to detonate, and if I don’t get to the source of his anger, I’m afraid he will live the rest of his life this way. I got into this profession to help people. It’s what makes me happy. I’ve had patients like Duke in the past. They’re tough nuts to crack, and I doubt two months with him will be enough. I just have to find out what makes him tick.
So far, it seems his family and hockey are the only things he cares about. Duke has teammates but not real friends. He keeps everyone outside of his closed-off world. Only those in his inner circle, which is composed only of family, know anything about him.
“Tell me about your dad,” I say. “What was it like growing up surrounded by your father’s fame?”
“It was…” He sighs. “I don’t know. Like being the child of a famous hockey player. I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
“Do you think you were given certain advantages because of his fame?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “If you’re insinuating that I got selected by the Caps because of my dad, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I busted my ass to get where I am.”
I hold up my hand and give him a warm, friendly smile that says, don’t bite my head off. “No, not at all. I don’t doubt that you worked hard to get into the NHL. I’m impressed.”
An evil smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t try to charm me, Doc. I’m uncharmable.”
“I didn’t think you could be charmed,” I counter, biting back laughter. “I was merely stating a fact. You had a better chance of winning the lottery than becoming a professional athlete. But you obviously have good breeding and…”
Oh, my God. What am I saying?
His expression turns from stony to interested. “Go ahead, Doc. Finish that thought for me.”
Shit.
“I was going to say that you also have the talent. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have made it this far, no matter who your dad is.”
Staring down at the notepad on my lap, I contemplate my next question.
“What are your personal relationships like?”
His eyes widen. “You mean with my family?”
“No, I mean with people outside of your family.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Like my teammates?”
“Yes, for starters.”
