AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She bites her lip. “I’m a psychologist. I worked with couples whose marriages were troubled.”
Everything about the past hour makes sense. Cam suggested I see a therapist earlier this week. I told him no. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve been seeing a therapist every week since the infamous game with eight interceptions. Therapy hasn’t solved the mystery of why I keep sabotaging my biggest games by playing like shit.
Would he send me someone to talk to without telling me? Absolutely.
Do I care? Not as much as I thought I would.
I don’t meet that many normal people these days. Aside from her obsession with Amber, she seems laid back. I like that she doesn’t act starstruck—at least about me—and that she hasn’t tried to give me a pep talk.
I let out a little breath. “Why’d you stop?”
“I discovered I’m awful at helping people deal with romantic entanglements. You want to get divorced, I’m your girl. Otherwise, not so much.”
“Surely counseling doesn’t help every marriage.”
“I had seven couples file for divorce in the same week.”
“Ouch.” I wince. That does seem like a lot.
“Three of them called to thank me for making them realize they couldn’t save their marriages.”
The lack of emotion in her voice makes it obvious she blames herself. Knowing little about marriage and nothing about divorce makes me woefully unprepared to respond. People go into therapy for lots of reasons—maybe those couples were going to get divorced no matter what. “You probably saved them years of unhappiness.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs and looks away. After a moment, her expression clears, and once again she adopts a cheerful smile. She’s obviously done talking about her professional choices.
“Tell me about Ronnie.”
Her words take me totally off guard. She wants to talk about Ronnie. What can I say? Should I admit he is the most talented receiver Miami has? Or that he hates my guts, and his animosity doesn’t bring out the best in me? Or maybe I should say what I truly think. “He’s a prima donna who is incapable of taking responsibility for anything.”
She tips her head to the side. “And that bothers you?”
Is she kidding? “It’s a team sport. Every single play is designed for each player to do their part. If even one player fails, the play doesn’t work. A missed tackle can cause a fumble. A missed route can cause an interception. If I hesitate to throw the ball, I risk a sack.”
She looks at me blankly. I can’t tell if she’s confused by the football jargon or disagrees with my opinion, so I say, “A single play isn’t responsible for a win or a loss. We win together. We lose together. And on a play that goes wrong, it’s rarely just one person’s fault. Many games are decided by a single possession, so it often appears that the heroic game-winning throw won the game. The losing team will go back to the tape and note all the moments where the game could have ended differently. It’s a fact that a lot of mediocre play can be hidden behind last-minute drives and epic plays. Winning is everything in professional sports. No one remembers your mistakes if you win, but everyone remembers them if you lose.”
“Every play matters,” she muses as she pulls her knees up to her chest. For a second, I think she’s going to ask me why I blame myself, but thankfully she doesn’t. “Ronnie disagrees?”
“Doesn’t matter. He wants personal glory, and he blames others when he doesn’t reach his goals.”
“Is that why you punched him?”
“No. I punched him because he punched me.” I shrug, trying to feign nonchalance even though it clearly wasn’t my finest moment. “It’s an emotional game. I let my emotions get the best of me.” I sigh, wanting to move on from Ronnie and his bullshit, even if it’s just in this conversation. “We’re no longer teammates. When Miami doesn’t offer me a new deal, I’ll be a free agent.”
I hope the pivot to the business side of football will distract her. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.
“Do you have problems with other teammates?” she asks.
I sigh again. “Nothing like Ronnie. I mean, I’m not best friends with every guy on the team, but I get along with most of them. Why are you asking?” I know I sound defensive, but it’s embarrassing to admit I don’t have many friends. Three teams in four years made forming and maintaining close relationships hard.
My history makes other players cautious. Hell, it makes me cautious. It hurts more when the people you’re letting down aren’t just teammates, but also friends.
She drops her legs and leans back in her chair. “Just trying to get a clearer picture of the real you. I did my research this morning, but you can only learn so much from the media.”
Something about the way she says “research” makes me say, “You didn’t already have an opinion?”
She shakes her head. Most people think they know me. They love me or they hate me. The fact that she doesn’t strikes me as weird. She scrunches up her face in a way that makes me prepare for the worst. “I didn’t know who you were before Kelsey called me.”
Ouch. Has she been living under a rock? I’m not being conceited when I say I’m everywhere. My fame is enormous. My jersey was the third highest-selling one this year, which, let’s face it, is ridiculous. Why would anyone buy my jersey when I change teams almost every season?
