ONE OF THE reasons I loved my job was that I didn’t have to set an alarm in the summer. I could be as fucking lazy as I wanted to be and sleep as late as I wanted. Workouts and practices were optional, though highly recommended, but there was no set time. Fucking time. The annoying beep, beep, beep of my alarm sounded from my phone and I swatted at it to make it stop.
I rolled onto my back and stared up at my ceiling. My meeting with Dr. Roberts yesterday had been mentally exhausting, and I was not looking forward to going back and doing it all over again. If she’d been telling the truth, she knew nothing other than my name, and it wasn’t safe for her to be digging around in my head. Shit, even I tried not to get lost in there.
My alarm sounded again and I turned if off for good this time.
6:50. Fuck.
I jumped out of bed, swished some mouthwash while I took a quick piss, and was out the door.
Suite 301. Same weird little office. Same weird little light switch.
“Good morning!” she cheered as she opened the door, smiling at me.
“Morning,” I grumbled.
I sat on the couch as she sat in the chair across from me and stared.
“What?” I snapped defensively.
She crossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her elbow on her knee. “Here’s the thing… clearly, you’re going through some… stuff. I’d like to just talk to you like we’re friends, about whatever you want. Eventually, any issues we need to address will bubble to the surface and we’ll get to where we need to go. Do you agree?”
I didn’t say anything. I just shrugged.
“I’m going to tell you a little about myself again, from a more personal standpoint this time. My name is Shawn, and I never wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to do flips my whole life and win a gold medal.” She stood and walked over to the fridge again, grabbing two bottles of water this time, and she set one of them down in front of me. “That obviously didn’t pan out because of my bum ankle, and I was angry for many, many years. Without sports in my life, I became a bit of a wild child as a teenager and did some things I swear I’ll never talk about again. After my mom forced me into some counseling of my own, it became apparent to me that I needed sports in my life in one form or another. So… I began running. First 5Ks, then half marathons, then full marathons. There was no denying that deep down I was an athlete before everything else.”
I sat and listened closely, more interested in her story than I would ever admit to being.
“In college, I joined a running club, which kept me on the straight and narrow. After three semesters of forcing myself to pretend I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, I couldn’t fight it anymore and switched my major to sports psychology. I eventually got my master’s degree and started at the bottom in a private practice. I was forced—well, obligated—to quit that job and decided to start my own practice. So here I am.”
Curiosity killed the Viper.
“Why were you forced to quit?” I couldn’t help it. I was captivated by her and the story she was telling me.
“I started sleeping with my boss.”
Whoa. Not what I was expecting.
“For real?”
“Yeah, but it’s okay. We’re engaged now.” She laughed, holding up her left hand. I was surprised she could lift it with that huge fucking rock on her ring finger.
“Congratulations.”
A big smile spread across her face. “Thanks. The point of me telling you all this is I wanted you to know that I’m not perfect. I’m not perfect, and I won’t judge you. I’m not a typical therapist in that I don’t follow a pattern with my clients. They’re all different, and they all require different things from me. Also, and I want you to really hear me say this, anything—every single thing—you say to me in this room stays in this room. I don’t talk about it with friends, my fiancé, no one. It’s between you and me and Muhammad Ali.” She nodded toward the large black and white picture of the legendary boxer on the wall. “I expect the same courtesy in return. Anything I say to you or tell you about myself doesn’t go past you. Got it?”
I nodded like a stubborn toddler who’d just met his match.
“I demand respect and I will give it back, but what I won’t do is let you bullshit me. I’m going to piss you off and push you out of your comfort zone. Often. But that’s my job. That’s how this works. That’s how you move forward.”
Grabbing the water bottle off of the coffee table, I cracked it open and gulped until the whole thing was gone.
“I’m assuming that means you agree?” She laughed again. “Now, tell me a little about you.”
I took a huge breath and held it for a second, finally exhaling slowly. I’d never had anyone that I could completely open up to before. The thought of spilling my guts to this woman was both terrifying and tempting. More than anything, I wanted someone I could tell everything to and be myself around without fear of judgment or someone spilling their guts to the media.
Baby steps, Viper.
“Well, you already know my name. I’m not sure what else you want to know.”
“Okay, how about I ask you questions and you answer them?”
“All right.”
She stood and walked back to the fridge, grabbing another water bottle. “How long have you played hockey?”
“Professionally?”
“Sure.” She shrugged as she set the bottle down in front of me.
“Eight years.”
“And not professionally?”
“Uh… since I was about ten.”
“Why hockey?”
I pressed my lips together and scratched my chin. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. Why hockey? Why not baseball or golf or something else?”
“First of all, golf isn’t a sport. And B, I got into a lot of fights as a kid, so my parents figured if I was gonna fight regardless, might as well do it on the ice.”
She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head to the side. “Why did you fight?”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“Next question.”
Clearing her throat, she rested her chin on her hand and her elbow on the arm of the chair, not saying a word. “I’m gonna let that go—for now—but I can absolutely tell there’s something there, so we will revisit it.”
Good luck with that.
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes.
“Why don’t you tell me about your relationships?”
“Elaborate, please.”
“Your relationships, with people. Whoever you want to tell me about. Your family. A girlfriend. Maybe a boyfriend?”
If looks could kill, she would’ve been a corpse. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” I glared. “And I don’t have a girlfriend either.”
“Really?” Her body stiffened as her head jerked back slightly. “No girlfriend? With all that charm?”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
“Okay, okay. Forget boyfriends and girlfriends. You have to love someone. Everyone does. Tell me about the most important person in your life.”
I didn’t hesitate with that answer; there was no need to think about it. “My grandma.”
She squinted at me without saying a word.
I held my hands up defensively. “What?”
“Nothing.” She continued staring at me with narrowed eyes. “I’m just trying to decide if you’re being a smart-ass or if you’re telling me the truth.”
“Here’s the thing. You want respect and I’ll give that to you. I also will never lie to you. I hate liars. Loathe them, actually. I don’t mean stupid little ‘Sure, I’ll call you in the morning’ lies, but like real ones. If you ask me a question and I don’t want to answer it, I’ll tell you. If I want to answer it, I will.”
“Fair enough.” She nodded once. “Now tell me about this grandma of yours.”
I couldn’t help but smile when I thought about my grandma. “Well, I call her Gam, actually. When I was little, I couldn’t say Grandma so I called her Gamma, and over time, the end just fell off, so now she’s Gam. Anyway, she’s my father’s mother and my only real family. I love her more than anything.”
“Wow.” She bit the corner of her lip as she smiled at me, her dark brown eyes sparkling. “I’m pleasantly surprised. If you’d given me ten guesses, I don’t know that I ever would have pegged you as a grandma’s boy.”
Nodding, I smiled back. “I’ll wear that label proudly.”
“Good, you should. Tell me more about her.”
“Well, she’s old… and sarcastic as hell. She drinks more whiskey than anyone I know and yells at squirrels all day long. She’s a trip.”
“Sounds like it.” She laughed. “And you’re closest to her? What did you mean your only ‘real family’? Have the rest all passed on?”
I shook my head. “No, my parents are both still alive, but I’m an only child. Once you have perfection, why try to duplicate it, right?”
“Oh, naturally,” she agreed sarcastically. “So wait… your parents are both alive, yet you said your grandmother was your only ‘real family.’ What does that mean?”
“Next,” I barked.
“Fine. Let’s talk about your relationships with females. Have you ever been married?”
“Fuck no!”
“Do you ever want to be married?”
“Yes. The minute Mila Kunis dumps that arrogant asshole, Ashton Kutcher, I’m going to propose to her. If that never happens, I guess I’m destined to be a bachelor forever.” I stuck my bottom lip out and pouted at her dramatically.
“Okay, let’s try that again, with less sarcasm this time.”
“Okay… then the answer changes to no, I don’t want to be married.”
She tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms. “Why?”
“The thought of waking up with the same woman every day for the rest of my life makes my fucking skin crawl. I can’t stand most women for more than twelve hours, let alone a significant amount of time.”
“So you’ve never had a serious girlfriend?”
“I lived with a girl once, but I was never faithful to her, so I don’t consider that serious. And I have one friend who I fucked regularly for over a year. Does that count as serious?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Did you love her?”
“As a friend. Not like that.”
“Why not?” she pushed.
“It wasn’t like that with me and Darla. She was like one of the guys, just with bigger tits and a hotter ass. She didn’t want commitment and she didn’t push me to give her more than I wanted to.”
“Do you still see her?”
I bounced my head back and forth, left to right, as I thought about that question. “Kinda, when our whole group is together, but not on a one-on-one basis. She started seeing someone, so that’s done.”
“Okay, interesting. Tell me about this group.”
“Why does this feel like an interview?”
“It kind of is.” She grinned. “I’m just asking questions, trying to get a feel for who Lawrence Finkle really is.”
I chuckled. “When you find out, let me know, okay?”
“Come on, we’re getting there. Don’t fizzle out on me now. Tell me about your friends, this group.”
“There’s just a group… of people… I hang out with. There’s not much to tell. We haven’t seen each other much lately.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged.
“Hey, Pinocchio, you just lied to me again,” she said sternly. “You promised never to do that.”
Holy fuck.
“Things have just been different lately.”
“I’ve let you blow me off twice now. This time I’m pushing. What’s different and why?”
“One of the members of the group passed away.” A huge lump formed in my throat. I did not want to talk about what had happened with a stranger, and as much as she was talking to me like we were, we weren’t friends.
“I’m so sorry.” Her tone was soothing and her face softened.
“So, anyway, it’s just kinda changed the dynamic now. I don’t know if they all hang out a lot or what, but I haven’t gone if they do.”
“Wait.” She turned her head to the side and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “Someone dying shouldn’t make you want to leave the group. There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Do it. Tell her. Rip the fucking bandage off.
“I killed him.”
“You killed him?”
I stared down at the coffee table, not wanting to make eye contact with her, and nodded. “Yep.”
She sat up straight in her chair, her eyes glued to me as she processed what I’d just said.
“What do you mean you killed him?”
“He was a teammate and we were playing a game, one on one. He was winning and I am too competitive. The game got more physical than it should have, and as he was about to score the winning goal, I checked him from behind. He slid into the boards really hard and all hell broke loose in his brain. He died a couple days later.”
Her hand shot up and laid flat at the base of her neck as her mouth fell open. “Wow. I am so sorry, Viper.”
“Needless to say,” I continued, “I haven’t hung out with that group much lately, because, you know… it’s awkward.”
“Okay, I get that, but you didn’t kill him. It was an accident.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.” I leaned forward and snatched the extra water bottle off the table.
As I cracked the bottle open a light bulb near the door turned on, distracting both of us.
“Shit.” She looked down at her watch. “That’s my next client. And we were just getting into something.”
“Oh no we weren’t.” I stood up and took my keys out of my pocket. “That’s something we never have to talk about again.”
“Fat chance,” she argued. “I want you to come back tomorrow, okay?”
“Fine,” I agreed, “but not before ten o’clock. This early shit is for the birds.”
She walked back over to her desk and pulled her calendar out. “Damn.” She tapped her finger on the page. “I’m booked up tomorrow. You know what”—she sighed, looking up at me—“I have a lunch break from one to two. Be here at one—not a minute later. There’s a little deli one block north of here. Tell them you want a number four for Shawn. They know me there. They’ll make it just the way I like it.”