CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Thad settled into a seat in the waiting area with a familiar sense of dread.
He always went to his therapy appointments reluctantly, and with the sense something terrible was about to happen.
Not because he didn’t like his therapist. Harlan Sparks knew his shit.
But Thad always hated the way it felt to have someone peel back the layers of protection he’d painstakingly built over the years and dig into the soft bits underneath.
Even if, in the long run, it was doing him good.
When Thad had been hired by the Harriers, one of the HR people had discussed benefits with him. He’d almost wept at the thought of good dental care and a 401k.
But she’d mentioned therapy too.
She’d said, “If you’re interested, you can find a list of in-network therapists. Or, if you have someone out of network you’d prefer to see, you can submit a claim to your insurance, and they should reimburse a portion of it.”
He hadn’t had a therapist at the time, hadn’t even considered getting one when he barely had enough money to put gas in his car and still have enough left over to feed himself.
But the idea had stuck in his head and with a couple of paychecks in his account, he’d found himself browsing Boston-based therapists one evening in his new studio apartment.
He’d nixed the religious ones, the ones focused on women, the ones for couples—obviously none of those applied to him—but when he’d skimmed Harlan’s bio, he’d paused, his gaze lingering on the line, After serving seven years in prison, Harlan completed his Associate of Arts degree with a Sociology Concentration from Bunker Hill Community College, his Bachelor of Science in Psychology from University of Massachusetts Amherst, and his PsyD in Clinical Psychology from Boston University.
The guy was an ex-con.
And the more Thad read, the more interested he grew.
Harlan’s wrongful conviction led to various state-level judicial reforms and his work with the Innocence Project has created a passion for working with formerly incarcerated men.
By creating a therapeutic environment where formerly incarcerated persons can heal from the trauma of the carceral system, he hopes to empower them to reach their fullest potential.
Thad had felt the words like a blow to the chest. It left him feeling oddly shaky, gasping for air and surprised by the emotion thickening his throat.
He wanted that. He wanted it more than he could put into words. And maybe, just maybe, this guy Harlan was the key.
For a few days, Thad had debated contacting him, but he kept returning to the bio and the picture of the broad-shouldered, white-haired Black man with kind eyes.
Eventually, he’d reached out, set up an appointment for a brief consultation, and nearly bailed on it.
The intake form hadn’t really allowed Thad to elaborate on his prison experience, so as he’d sat in Harlan’s office and told his story, he’d watched the man’s bushy white eyebrows climb higher and higher on his forehead, wondering if he’d made a mistake.
Harlan had told him, in the deep resonant voice he had, that he didn’t typically work with men like him.
Thad wasn’t sure what he meant at first.
“Your experience as a white man is different,” Harlan had said in that measured tone of his. “And if we are going to move forward, I’ll need you to do some work to understand it has given you privilege the Black community isn’t offered.”
Thad had nodded, agreeing.
“But mostly …” Harlan had given him a disbelieving look as he shook his head. “I need you to acknowledge that while it doesn’t negate any of the trauma you experienced while incarcerated, you walked into what many of us were forced into.”
“I get that,” Thad said hoarsely. “I know—I know my decision seems a little, well, fucking batshit crazy to you, but uh, hockey players are kinda nuts and—”
Harlan had laughed. He’d let out a deep belly laugh of genuine amusement. That had been the first glimmer of a professional connection between them. They’d talked some more, and in the end, he’d agreed to take Thad on as a client.
Harlan’s office offered a sliding pay scale and worked scheduling around his travel with the team, so for nearly a year now, Thad had been seeing him for an hour every two weeks.
And still, when the tall, beautiful mahogany-skinned receptionist called his name today, his stomach dropped to his toes.
“Thanks, Joi,” he said as he passed her desk and walked down the hall to Harlan’s office.
She smiled warmly at him, and it didn’t do a thing to make him feel any less anxious about what he needed to talk about today with Harlan.
After he’d shaken Harlan’s hand and settled onto the comfortable green tweed couch and Harlan was seated in his matching chair a few feet away, Thad felt even more antsy.
“What would you like to discuss today?” Harlan asked.
“I don’t like the fact that—that I’m lying to my boyfriend,” Thad said, glaring across the small, cozy room.
Harlan Sparks raised an eyebrow, used to Thad’s glare by now. “What are you lying to Graham about?”
Thad crossed his arms. “Well, my history.”
His thick white eyebrow rose even higher. “I was under the impression you’d told him about your incarceration.”
“No, not that. He knew about that when we were still … buddies.”
“So, what part of it doesn’t he know?”
“The part where I went to prison for my brother.” The words came out in a little bit of a rush.
Harlan nodded slowly. “I see. And why haven’t you told him?”
“It’s not my story to tell. Not without Gavin saying it’s okay, at least.”
“It sounds like that’s very important to you.”
“Well, yeah.” Thad looked down at his hands. “I mean, things are starting to get better between Gav and me, and I don’t want to do anything that would jeopardize it. But I am also starting to feel—feel like maybe it’s getting between Graham and me now.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Frustrated. Stressed. Worried I’m gonna fuck up a relationship. Like, either relationship.” Thad swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Has something prompted this feeling recently?”
“Yeah.” Thad sighed. “A few days ago, Graham and I went out on a date. I made some off-hand joke about how Gavin was pretty rebellious growing up, and Graham got all confused. He said he thought I was the one who was always in trouble.”
“How did you respond?”
Thad shrugged. “Kinda blew it off. Made a joke about how we both got up to some shit when we were kids, then changed the subject.”
“Did Graham accept that at face value?”
“Yeah. Which maybe makes it worse? Like … Graham is a trusting person. If I tell him something, he believes it because he’s not the kind of guy who lies and so he assumes everyone else is like that too.”
Harlan nodded.
Emotion made his voice tight. “That’s the thing, he’s a good person.”
“Do you think you’re a good person?”
“I’m okay.”
“What makes you okay when Graham is good?”
“I don’t know,” Thad said. “I … I’m not …” He shrugged again because he didn’t really have the words to explain it.
When Harlan remained silent, Thad said, “Graham is the kind of guy who, if he was in my shoes, would have figured out a way to save his brother and himself instead of lying to everyone and making them believe he was the one who—who committed the crime.”
“You don’t believe he would sacrifice himself for someone he cared about?”
“What? No. I don’t mean that. I am sure he would. He’s … he’s smarter than me. He would have found a better way.”
“Why do you believe he’s smarter than you?”
“Well, he has a fucking college degree.”
“And you were denied the opportunity to pursue one because of your incarceration.”
“I … true.”
After he fell silent, Harlan said, “Do you believe higher education is the only type of intelligence out there?”
“No,” Thad admitted. “I know I’m way more street smart than a lot of people. Graham would not do well in prison. But I mean, you’ve said it yourself, how education opens doors.”
Harlan nodded.
“And you’ve also said the way society is structured right now, that lack of education is used as a tool to deliberately close doors to certain parts of the population.”
“Yes, I have said that.”
“And I—I had all of the opportunities in the world,” Thad said thickly. “And I threw them away.”
“I’m hearing some grief around that. Would you like to talk about that more now?”
“I can’t help but wonder what my life would have been like if I’d made a different choice.”
Harlan looked him in the eye. “In the past, you’ve said you believe your choice to lie to the police about who was involved in the burglary saved your brother from harm.”
“Yeah.” It wasn’t the first time they’d discussed that idea.
“Do you still believe that?”
“Yes.”
“So, if you believe you made the right decision, why are you so hard on yourself about it?”
“I don’t know. I guess … I guess I tend to look at myself through other people’s eyes.”
“If you told Graham the truth, would he leave you? Would he view your decision to protect your brother negatively?”
“No.” Thad laughed at the idea. “God, no. He’d …
he’d probably get kind of sad about it. Like he’d be upset I’d made my life harder but if I explained my reasoning and told him I don’t regret the choice, I think he’d understand.
Shit, if he didn’t look down on me for being in prison, I can’t imagine he’d look down on me for going to protect my brother. ”
“But you don’t feel comfortable sharing it with him?”
“It’s not my story to tell,” Thad repeated, his voice breaking. “And I can’t risk torpedoing Gavin’s career.”
“Do you think Graham might tell someone else? Do you feel he’s not trustworthy?”
“No. Not at all,” Thad protested. “Graham would never tell anyone if I asked him not to. It’s … Gavin is his boss. I feel weird about saying something that would make him view Gavin differently. And honestly, what if someone found out?”
Harlan frowned. “If Graham didn’t tell someone directly, how would they find out?”
Thad laughed softly. “You have no idea what a hockey team is like.”
Harlan offered him a small smile. “That I don’t.”
“Guys are gossipy as fuck. It’s … it’s a bonding thing, I guess? And they’re all up in each other’s business. In that regard, I suppose it’s not so different from inmates.”
Harlan chuckled.
“The other day, Graham’s teammate Tanner pulled his phone out of his hand and went through his texts. He wasn’t doing it to be a dick. It was a playful thing. He was teasing Graham about a text he had from his ex-girlfriend.”
Harlan’s eyebrow rose again. Thad idly wondered if they taught therapists how to do that. Maybe it was a test before they graduated with their degree or something.
Thad waved off the implied question. “We can talk about the ex thing later.”
“Okay,” Harlan said, looking a little amused.
“So, like, what if I told Graham and it somehow came up in text? And what if Tanner saw it and put the pieces together?” Thad considered the idea. “Okay, maybe not Tanner. But some guys on the team are very astute. Jesse Webber—the goaltender—he notices everything.”
“And you believe Jesse is someone who could put the pieces together?”
“Yes.” Thad frowned. “And I don’t like putting Graham in that position, you know? Where he feels like he has to keep secrets from his teammates for me.”
“Thad, I am hearing a lot about you looking out for your brother and your boyfriend, but nothing about how you’re looking out for yourself.”
“You know that’s hard for me.”
“I do. I also know we talked about how important it is for you to continue to work on that.”
“At their expense though?”
“No.” Harlan’s tone was reassuring. “I’m not suggesting that.”
“So what do I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Have Gavin magically not care Graham and I are together and be okay with me telling him, I guess? And know there’s no risk of it ever getting out to anyone.” Thad slumped back on the couch and rubbed his face.
“Is that realistic?”
“Probably not. I mean, definitely not the second part. And probably not the first part.”
“You believe Gavin would be upset about you dating one of the guys on the team?”
“Yes. Last year, he flat-out told me if I fucked around with anyone in the organization, I’d be out on my ass.”
“And you don’t feel it would make a difference that this is a committed relationship instead of fucking around?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Thad looked down at his hands. “A part of me wants to think so but I’m afraid I’m wrong. And afraid of fucking things up. This is the closest Gavin and I have been in years. That’s—that’s a big fucking deal to me.”
Harlan nodded, listening intently as the conversation continued from there.
After his hour was up, Thad left the therapy session no closer to a decision than he had been when he arrived.
That wasn’t to say it hadn’t been helpful. It was. It always was. Even when it left him feeling emotionally wrung out, he knew it was worth doing.
It wasn’t a magic solution to all of his problems. He still had to put in the work.
Annoyingly, trying to unpack all of the bullshit in his head was a lot of fucking work.
So as Thad left the building, he didn’t turn toward where he’d parked his car, but headed in the other direction on foot.
It was late evening, the sun well below the level of the city skyline, the air crisp, the orangey-brown leaves that had fallen onto the sidewalk crackling as he stepped on them.
It was a beautiful autumn night and when a couple passed, walking hand-in-hand and laughing about something, it made Thad wish he could do that with Graham.
He wanted to hear his laugh, see the light in his eyes, and feel him squeeze Thad’s hand back.
But wanting Graham was never the problem. It was having him. Keeping him.
Because what was the solution here? Tell his brother he was in love with—
Thad stopped abruptly and someone behind him clipped his shoulder, skirting around him with a muffled curse that didn’t even register.
That was it, wasn’t it? He was in love with Graham.
That was what his circling thoughts in therapy had led him to.
He loved Graham.
And while the thought filled Thad with a surge of fear—what the fuck do I know about love?—it also filled him with a peaceful certainty. A sense of rightness.
That was what all this had been leading to, wasn’t it?