Chi-polar.

That’s what everyone is calling the crazy winter weather this year in Chicago.

One day it’s sixty degrees Fahrenheit, the next day it’s well below freezing. We’ve never seen anything like it.

And it seems to be happening all over the country, too.

A perverse part of me—probably my egotistical, narcissist side—wants to think this is related to—if not because of—my own mood.

Which I do not feel like discussing on this particular day with Dr. Van Peppers.

“I’m like a Katy Perry song this December. I’m hot then I’m cold, I’m yes than I’m no…”

“That’s very clever,” she says without the slightest hint of a smile. “Tell me more about this up-and-down feeling you’ve been experiencing.”

“About my father or Lacy?”

“Both, one at a time.”

“Alright. Well, I’ve been staring the Gates file in the face for the past month. I’ve googled Jeff Doonsbury to find out what I can. The man keeps a low, low profile. Other than the fact that he’s the owner of this chain of warehouses, I don’t know a damn thing about him. Very few pictures. Light digital footprint.”

“Why haven’t you opened the Gates file?”

“I think I’m scared of what I’ll find.”

She nods, jotting another note on her legal pad. I wonder what she’s writing.

“And Lacy?”

“Haven’t heard from her. Although she did block me on Instagram.”

She furrows her brow. “I see. So she’s trying to fully move on.”

I clear my throat, and take a sip of the Earl Grey tea she gave me at the beginning of the session. “Seems that way.”

“Carter, there’s something I don’t understand.” She taps her pencil a few times against her paper. “What did you do that was so horrible that she won’t talk to you?”

I think back to the very vivid last memory I have of the day she left. The ruddy pink hue of her flesh after we fucked. The hint of a smile that went away when I told her I didn’t want a relationship.

“I told her she was better off single in New York,” I say.

Squinting, she pushes her black-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “That sounds…not so bad.”

“I told her that right after I fucked her,” I grit out.

“Oh. Oh my.” She takes a deep breath.

“Is that how you always talk?”

I feel my blood pressure swing up slightly. “Excuse me?”

I’m not paying this woman two hundred dollars an hour to be insulted.

“The language you use. ‘I fucked her.’ It doesn’t sound…like you were a team. It sounds like you were, well, taking advantage of her. That’s a very one sided way of describing it.”

“Well then,” I say, waving my hands around in the air. “I fucked her, she fucked me, we fucked each other.”

I shake my head and mumble a thought to myself.

Dr. Van Peppers leans in. “What was that?”

“I said, ‘it’s not like she wasn’t enjoying it.’ She very much was.”

“How do you know?”

I shift in my seat, uncomfortable, and I think back on the whole summer with Lacy.

The multiple visuals in my head of me on top of her, underneath her, my face buried in her, as she moaned in pleasure.

I didn’t imagine that.

Fucking A, this therapist. Dr. Van Peppers is making me question everything.

“Just because I didn’t want a relationship with Lacy, doesn’t mean the sex wasn’t good. It was amazing. And how do I know? I just know. I know the look in her eye when she was loving the way I touched her, how her body succumbed to me. What is this, anyway, sex therapy? Fuck.”

Dr. Van Peppers inhales a deep breath, one sounding slightly frustrated, and scribbles something else down.

“You were last with Lacy in July. It’s now almost Christmas. Have you considered other possibilities?”

I squint. “What do you mean, ‘other possibilities?’”

“Have you been going on dates with other people?”

I swallow. “I went on a date this past week.”

“Oh? How was it?”

“Great. She had a fantastic time.”

“What about you?”

I shrug. “Wasn’t into her.”

“Maybe you should go on more dates. I think that could be good for you. Meet someone new.”

“Maybe,” I say, taking a sip of my tea.

“Carter,” she says slowly. “Let’s look at some signs. Lacy hasn’t called you. She turned you down when you tried to kiss her. And she blocked you on Instagram. She’s sending clear signals that she’s moving on. How are you interpreting those?”

I bite my lower lip. “I’m not sure if you’ve seen my game film, Doctor, but I’m not the kind of guy who just throws in the towel easily.”

“That’s…a very romantic notion,” she says, and her gaze drifts from me to the one window in her office, overlooking the tops of some buildings in the downtown area covered with snow.

My eyes flit to her hands.

She fondles her left ring finger, which doesn’t have a ring on it.

My chest swells a little, and a hard realization hits me.

Dr. Van Peppers may be an authority on the psyche, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she has all the answers.

When she turns back to me, I see a glint of gloss in her eye and she takes a deep breath.

“What is it about Lacy? Why are you…putting yourself through this? I mean, a man like you must have many options.”

“I just know. I feel it in my gut, and in my heart, and in my bones. I need her. And I think she needs me. It’s like we have unfinished business.”

A slight smile flashes on her face, and I get the distinct feeling that she’s finally letting her guard down, if only a little. I get the feeling for once that I’m talking to Dr. Jacklyn Van Peppers the person, not the doctor for a moment.

“You okay, Dr. Van Peppers?”

She uncrosses and crosses her legs.

“Fine. So tell me, what are you doing for Christmas.”

“I’m going back home to Blackwell, to see my mother.”

She nods, and chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I get the idea you’re not such a bad guy, in spite of all the stuff they print about you.”

“Someone’s gotta give Sport News something to talk about, right?”

“Let’s not get off topic.” Her expression turns serious again. “Have you ever apologized to Lacy for everything that was your fault?”

I shrug. “She knows I feel bad about the whole thing.”

“But have you apologizes?” she reiterates.

I think back on our walk in central park. The word ‘apology’ never crossed my lips.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, for you to move on--either with or without her--that would be a positive, tangible action you could take.”

“How am I supposed to apologize to her if she won’t talk to me?”

“That’s a good question. Have you tried emailing her?”

“Every day.”

She takes a deep breath, looking at the time. “Something to think about for next session.”

I pause for a moment on the way out of the building, looking out the window onto the Chicago city streets. The snow is just starting to come down, and the flakes look beautiful. The street is still pristine white, the way it looks before the pollution and the dirt set in and muddy it up.

Kind of like I’ve done with things.

Lacy’s got every right not to talk to me at this point. But an apology wouldn’t be just about me removing my own guilt, it would help her too. It would help both of us move on with some sort of closure.

Even just thinking about moving on makes my body tense up.

There has to be a way to get her back. To make her understand that I’m different now, from the inside out.

I’m about to head through the revolving door and out into the cold, when I see a figure coming down the hall behind me.

Turning my head, I squint. He looks a whole lot different than the last time I saw him, sporting a brown and red winter beard. his hair is longer than last summer on the boat.

“Holy shit. Joseph,” I say, turning my head toward him.

He stops a few feet short of me, and blinks a few times. “Oh my. You remembered my name, this time. I’m impressed.”

“How have you been?” I say, my voice emphasizing the last word of the sentence.

Joseph has rings under his tired-seeming eyes.

“I’ve been alright. You?”

I shrug. “Lacy won’t talk to me.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“What is this, a therapy session?”

“Sorry. I’m still in therapist mode, you’re right.”

“It’s probably for the best, to be honest. Right now.”

“Right now? So you’re not...giving up hope?”

“Never.”

He shakes his head. “I wish I had your guts. Lance and I broke up. He says the distance is a deal breaker, and I don’t want to move to New York.”

I see the hurt in his eyes as he slowly moves across the words.

“Damn. That’s rough.”

He nods, and we share a moment in silence for our lost relationships, staring out into the street as the snow thickens.

Suddenly, I feel a strange connection to the man, like we are allies in our misery. I wonder if he feels the same thing.

“Heading home?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Me too. Want to share a Lyft?”

He shrugs. “You live near Old Town?”

“River North. It’s on the way.”

I call a Lyft, and after waiting a minute or two, we get in together.

Traffic is pretty bad considering the weather, and about fifteen minutes later, Joseph and I roll up in front of my apartment.

“Well, good to see you,” he says.

“Weirdly good to see you too,” I agree, shaking his hand. I’m about to open the door and head outside, when I hesitate.

“Hey, Joseph.”

“Yeah?” He turns his head, looking up from his phone.

“Want to come up and have a glass of wine at my place? Talk about stuff?”

He shrugs. “Sure. Why not.”

A bottle of wine, some steaks, and a couple hours later, Joseph is pouring his heart out to me.

“I was the one who encouraged him to go back into dance, and follow his passion, because that’s what he had to do. When I met him three years ago, he was miserable! And this is how he repays me?”

I nod, my buzz coursing through me. The wine is never enough to forget about Lacy, though.

“I’m sure it wasn’t an easy decision for him,” I say. My mind flits to Lacy. Was it an easy decision for her not to be with me? “It’s not fair, though. Life isn’t fair. It’s all a bunch of bullshit, and then we die.”

I secretly feel relieved that even therapists go through the ups and downs of heartbreak, though I feel bad for Lance and Joseph personally.

“How am I supposed to be helping clients in my practice when my personal life feels like it’s in shambles?”

“Don’t let it onto the court,” I say, matter-of-factly.

“I don’t follow,” he says, pointing his glass of wine at me.

“It’s something my coach says. Whatever shit you’ve got following you around in your head, don’t bring it onto the court for the basketball game. In your case, the game isn’t the court--it’s the therapy room. You’re clearly smart. Leave it out. You don’t have to be perfect to help people solve their problems, right?”

Once the words are out, they sound surprisingly smooth. Must be the wine talking.

“You’re right. I’m being a little bit dramatic, I suppose,” Joseph says, finishing off his second glass of wine.

We look out through the giant window. “So, this snow is really coming down,” he says.

“I better crack another bottle.”

“I’m not opposed.”

I open a fresh bottle of Malbec and refill both of our glasses. We head to the couch and I put on some Hall and Oates.

When I sit back down, I’m feeling more relaxed than I have in maybe months.

“It’s good to see you, man,” I say. “I’m surprised how nice it is to chat with you.”

He furrows his brow. “Why are you surprised?”

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t really give you and Lance a chance after the whole ‘fake sex with Lacy’ thing. We felt like adversaries.”

“And now we’re on the same team. You and me are, at least.”

“The Ex-team, you mean?”

“Ex-actly.”

Joseph takes a sip of wine, then crosses his arms and strokes his beard.

“So what’s your deal?” he says.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, how are you doing? For as self-centered as I thought you were, you really don’t like talking about Lacy. Or your daddy issues.”

I cringe at both of those subjects. “I want her back. She has me blocked, though. I already tried to visit her in person, and that was a disaster. How can I get through to her if she won’t even take my calls?”

“Can I ask you a question? Don’t take offense to it.”

“I can’t guarantee that I won’t take offense, but ask away. I won’t bite you.”

“I love Lacy as much as anyone. I think she’s great, but...have you thought about just moving on? Finding someone else?”

My stomach coils, and I ball a fist up at my side.

“I’m sorry. Bad question,” Joseph says. “Forget I asked it.”

“It’s fine. It’s a fair question.” I take a deep breath. “Let me try to explain.”

“Okay.”

“Do you still love Lance?”

“With all my heart.”

“Did you picture a future with him?”

“Till death do us part, I love that goofy, sexy man. What’s this got to do with Lacy, though?”

“I’ve been with other people. But until Lacy, I’ve never pictured a future with someone. I couldn’t. She’s the only one. I don’t believe you get multiples like her. Sure, I could start dating again--and it would be fine after a while, probably. But I know that I can picture a future where I wake up with her every damn day, we have great sex all the time, we get a yard full of kids, maybe even a dog, who knows.”

“Have you told this to Lacy?”

“I tried. It didn’t come out right. And I ended up with this.” I raise up my left hand, which just has a little splint now instead of the cast. “Punched a tree.”

He shakes his head. “So why didn’t you just...stay in a relationship with her when she left for New York this summer?”

My skin crawls with anxiety. “I was worried.”

“Worried about what?”

“What if I fucked it up?”

“Fucked it up?”

“One drunken night, out too late. One kiss. That’s all it would take. It happens to pro ball players all the time.”

“So you don’t have confidence that you can be faithful to her?”

“Logically, I do. But when I think about my father...” I feel my heart racing. “I think about that asshole, and the multiples of children he had. According to the detective I hired, he had seventeen. Seventeen. Can you imagine the pathology to carry on your life like that? And that evil is part of me.”

Joseph swallows down the rest of his glass. “At the very least, it sounds like you’re coming to terms with this part of you. More wine, please.”

I fill him back up, and put some more in my glass, too. The words are starting to flow.

“Joseph, thanks for being a listening ear, man. I really appreciate it. I used to have these chats with my buddy—I mean my brother—Chandler, but he’s been on baby watch lately, so he doesn’t hang out too much.”

He nods. “The double life is one of the most damaging psychological phenomena of our time. Once you have multiple identities that aren’t in harmony with one another, your personality starts to fracture. You create, essentially, alternate realities to protect your new version of truth. Which is, of course, totally flawed logic. However, once you start down that road, it’s a very slippery slope. Plus, you can justify new bad behavior by saying that it is just as bad as your old behavior, so you’re not doing anything you haven’t done already.”

“Exactly. If there is a hell, you’d be going to it. You can’t go to hell twice for the same crime.”

“Now you’re getting philosophical. You want to have the God conversation?”

“I think it’s the wine talking, at this point.”

He nods. “We can save that for our next wine session. Question though—how is it going with your dad?”

I shrug. “I was all gung ho about finding him, and then I lost momentum all of a sudden.”

“How come?”

“I think I’m scared about what I’ll find. If he’s as much of a monster as he seems to be, then…”

I trail off, my mind racing.

“Then what?”

“If he’s as much of a monster as I’ve built him up to be, then it means I’ve got the capacity to be a monster too. It’s in my blood. My literal genetics are built for evil.”

Adrenaline surges through me, and I stare at Joseph’s kind, caring face.

“Have you ever seen the Ashton Kutcher movie, The Butterfly Effect?” I ask.

“I have.”

“Okay, good. So you know the premise. Ashton Kutcher is in love with a girl from his childhood. He keeps trying to find a way for them to be together, but every time he’s with her, it fucks up her life even more. So he finally decides, ‘The only way, if I truly love this girl, I can make her happy is by not being with her.’ So, that’s what he does. He goes back in time and decides not to be with her.”

“Why are you bringing this up?”

“When I think about why I didn’t want to be with Lacy, I think about that movie. I think that me being in her life is going to cause some kind of destruction for her. And I think, maybe she’s better off without me. If I’ve got that same propensity my father has—to be a monster—in my blood, she should keep far away from me. Run away from me.”

“Carter. First of all, top off my wine. Second, you should not be taking your life advice from a fucking Ashton Kutcher movie.”

“It’s possible you’ve got a point,” I say while filling his wine back up.

“If you love Lacy—if what you’re telling me is true in your heart—and I think it is, you need to tell her. Give her all the information, and let her make the decision. If she loves you—great. If not, you move on.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Your life is not the Butterfly Effect movie.”

“Thanks.”

“And—" he hesitates. “If you’re really scared of something—becoming the same monster your father is—you need to do the same thing little kids do when they’re afraid of a monster in their closet: open the closet, confront the monster. It’s probably not as bad as you think.”

I nod, slowly sipping my wine.

“You’re right.”

Of all the things I’ve gone after in life, I’ve rarely lost. I’m not the type of person who loses. It’s how I became one of the top players in the NBA. So why would I give up when I’m just about to make it to the goal line?

“We’ve all got a little bit of evil in us, Carter. That’s why it’s important to find the people who bring out the good in us.”

“Like Lacy.”

“Yeah, like Lacy,” Joseph agrees.

“And Lance.”

Joseph turns his head away, toward the window again.

“Yes. Like Lance.”

The song Empire State of Mind by Jay Z comes on, and my skin tingles.

“Fuck it. You want to go?”

Joseph furrows his brow. “Go? Where?”

“New York.”

“Just like that?”

“Come on, Joseph. Live a little. Joe. Can I call you Joe?”

“Only after two bottles of wine. Lance and I still haven’t gotten over you taking forever to learn our names.”

“I know your name now. And you know what? You’re a cool fucking guy. And we should go to New York and get our exes back. I know we’re drunk, but I’m dead serious. What do you say?”

“This sounds like the plot to some Shakespearean story.”

I shrug. “If it is, then even better.”

“And you’re not just saying this because we’re two bottles deep?”

I shake my head. “You’re making a lot of sense right now. We can help each other.”

He nods. “An alliance then. The exes.”

I hold my fist out, and he pounds it. “The exes.”

A silence hangs in the air for a few moments.

“Are you serious about going?” Joseph asks. “Because I am. But it’s almost Christmas.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” I say. “It’s now or never.”