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“I didn’t say you were, but I’ve seen the pills, Prescott. The drinking and Jade told me about the steroids too. Looking back, I don’t know how I missed it for the whole season.”
“So what? A guy uses some pain pills to manage the pain, and he’s instantly a junkie?! What the fuck, dude?” I yell, my brain reeling. “Did you tell anybody else? Does the team know? Coach?”
Nixon just watches me quietly, and I want to put my hands on his shoulder and shake some sense into him.
“Nobody knows. And even if they did, you think you’re the only guy with the same problem? We’ve all tried to manage the pain at one point or another.”
“Like you know anything about managing the pain. The golden boy, with the golden hand, destined for greatness,” I mock. “Not all of us are like you, Nixon. Not all of us are perfect like you.”
Unbuckling the seatbelt, I shove open the door and scramble out. “I don’t want or need your fucking help. I’m fine.”
“Prescott…”
Not in the mood to listen any longer, I shut the door and storm off. My fingers are clenched by my sides. I don’t know where I’m going. I just need to get out of there as far and as fast as I can.
“Son?” I turn around to find an older guy watching me from the bench outside. Why anybody would be sitting out in this cold, I have no idea. His dark eyes assess me silently. “Are you alright?”
I let out a strangled laugh, “Great. I’m just great.”
He opens his mouth, but before he can say another word, I turn around and walk away.
CHAPTERFORTY-THREE
JADE
“How have you been doing, Jade?”
I look up at the ceiling, tugging my sweater over my icy fingers as I inhale the sweet rose scent that’s always present in the room. Probably from the candle burning in the corner of Dr. Hale’s desk.
“Sometimes you sound like a broken record, you know?” I glance at the young woman. Dr. Hale is in her early thirties; her blonde hair is pulled into a braid that falls over one of her shoulders as she observes me from her desk. She was the psychiatrist I went to after Mom died. I was going for about a year after my “incident,” but then I stopped, until now.
“You know you don’t have to lay there, right? The couch is more for show than anything else.”
“A broken record.” This isn’t the first time we’ve had this very same conversation, nor will it be the last, I’m afraid. “I like the couch. It’s really cushy.”
“You need me to bring you a blanket?” Dr. Hale asks, those astute eyes glancing at my fingers before they return back to me. No pity there, just straight facts.
“Nah, I’m good. On the other hand, my circulation is for shit, and I’m constantly cold.”
Dr. Hale nods her head, scribbling something into her notebook. “So, how is chemo going? You’re what, halfway through?”
“Yeah.” It was still hard to grasp that I’d already done three cycles. “The last time I was in the hospital, they did some scans.”
“What did your doctor say?”
“The tumor is shrinking, but it’s still there.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“I guess so.”
I would have much preferred that it was already gone, but I’ll take any small victory that I can get.
“You should celebrate thi—”
“Prescott and I broke up,” I blurt out before she can give me more of her positive mumbo-jumbo.
Dr. Hale quirks her brow at me. “Oh?”
