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I give him the names of the two dental practices; it turns out one of them actually does dental work for the team. I wish I could work on Cal’s mouth. Make him feel some pain.
We fall silent. Our forks clink and scrape loudly against our plates.
Suddenly, Cal breaks the silence. “Is there a kid?”
His expression is carefully blank. I can’t believe he actually asked. Why not live on in ignorance for the rest of his life? Maybe it bothers him that he doesn’t know because of what he did and if that’s the case, I don’t want to answer his question. The dark, still-angry part of me refuses to open my mouth to reply.
“No,” Collin tells him. “False alarm.”
The weight of not knowing lifts so visibly from Cal’s entire being. Maybe there’s a teeny tiny heart beating somewhere inside him after all. It’s just buried underneath a load of bullshit and asshole behavior.
“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Cal accuses.
“You walked out on me; you didn’t care one way or another. Why would I tell you anything?” I snap.
Collin squeezes my thigh. “You know the truth now and it’s in the past. Let’s just move on,” he says.
I’ll have to work on that; I’ve been holding this grudge for so long against Cal, there’s no telling how long it’ll take to let it go. Standing, I tell him, “I need to go. I don’t want to be late.”
“Good luck,” he replies with a smile.
Hopefully, I won’t need any, but I’ll always take some.
Sitting at home while Julie leaves for an interview and Cal leaves for practice is wrong. But this is where I am. I call Dr. Gressley for a referral to a shrink. His surprise and mild happiness irks me, but I let it slide. My livelihood is being threatened by my own mind. This morning, I woke up with a fierce determination that I wasn’t losing hockey to this. I wouldn’t lose my sanity to this. And I need to get myself together because I also won’t lose Julie due to my mental issues, or even cause it to fuck things up.
I don’t like the idea of therapy, mostly because it terrifies me to think of my mental health making headlines, of people discovering my struggle. Here I am, a professional athlete who is supposed to be a role model for kids. Kids who sometimes idolize us because they love what we do and they want to be like us.
How can I be comfortable with those same kids seeing me struggle with something they can’t even see? That they probably don’t understand. Hell, adults don’t understand most of the time. They don’t know what true anxiety is. They don’t realize that I can’t easily rid myself of it by thinking positively or breathing in fresh air. It’s not a simple issue in any way, shape, or form.
The shame of having to deal with this, the fear of the public finding out, and the constant wondering of why only I struggle with it and not my twin plagues me daily. Would my teammates understand? Would the fans? Would I be ridiculed for something I struggle to control? Will they hear the word disorder or mental health and think I’m crazy? Unstable? Unfit to play hockey?
All I want is my privacy, and I threaten Dr. Gressley over how it must be protected at all costs with this new shrink. It takes him half an hour to book me an appointment for this afternoon with some guy named Trace Lexington. I’m already a little wary, considering the guy had an opening.
But when the time comes for my appointment, I’m right where I should be: in the waiting room. Ball cap pulled down low, hoodie up, sunglasses on, and a ball of anxiety tight in my stomach. I still don’t want to do this, but I’m backed against a wall with no other options.
“Mr. Grey?”
With a small sigh of relief, I stand and follow the lady to an office.
I’m immediately unimpressed.
He’s new. Boxes are stacked in the corners, one even on his bare desk. The man stands, slightly taller than me, and extends his hand.
“Sorry for the mess. I’m still settling in. It’s nice to meet you, Collin.”
“You too,” I lie as he motions for me to have a seat.
It’s then I notice he has one picture up on the shelves behind him. He, a woman, and two toddlers are at the arena, all wearing Rebels jerseys. Trace follows my gaze.
“My wife is a huge fan of the team. Being closer to the Rebels was one reason she didn’t mind me accepting this job offer. I’ve already been told that we’re getting season tickets next season.” He shakes his head with a chuckle.
“Are you going to tell her about me?”
His expression turns serious. “Absolutely not. I take confidentiality seriously and Dr. Gressley
informed me of how important your privacy is to you. I will not betray that, even to my wife.” All I do is nod because I believe him. “Dr. Gressley also told me you’ve been adamant about not doing therapy and the only reason you’re here now is because of the team forcing you.”
“Dr. Gressley has a big mouth.”
