Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Leo
“How are you feeling?”
I sigh heavily, trying to figure out how to answer. It’s not something I can put into one or two words or even a single sentence. But that’s why I’m here. I spend my entire hour-long sessions with my psychiatrist, Dr. Laudner, talking about how I feel, and I still never fully understand it myself.
“About the same as last week,” I say. “I spent the past few days taking care of my buddy’s pets while he went on vacation with his family. And I still have the dog I told you about last time. I don’t think I’m going to be able to rehome her.”
Dr. Laudner pushes his glasses up on his nose, looking pleased. “You’ve said you have trouble forming close attachments, but a pet can be just as important as a person in your life.”
“Yeah. Birdie’s great, but I didn’t love being trapped in the house for four days. There was no escaping my own head. I couldn’t get in good workouts. A friend of my friends came by to help, and even though I don’t like her, it was just good to see another face.”
“Are you feeling any differences with your new medication dosage?”
I shift on the loveseat I’m sitting on, shaking my head. “I feel the same.”
“Still having intrusive thoughts?”
I look away. I fucking hate this. I don’t like talking about my feelings, but these sessions are required for me to get refills on my medications, and I can’t function without them.
For years, I refused to get professional help.
I’d still be refusing, but I had a panic attack before a game last year, and our team doctor, Caroline, treated me for it.
I thought it was a heart attack. I had to miss the game to go get tests at a hospital, and when everything else was ruled out, the doctors said it was a panic attack, and that those don’t happen for no reason.
Yeah, no shit. I knew I was struggling, but I thought I was managing. Well, other than not sleeping well and having panic attacks.
Now that I’m on meds for my depression and anxiety, it’s more manageable.
I’m not fighting myself as hard as I used to.
I don’t worry constantly about getting cut from the team.
But I still have issues, and now I have the additional worry that people will find out I’m wearing a mask and taking medications to keep me from falling over the edge.
“I’ve been thinking I’m not good enough my entire life,” I say. “There’s no medication that’s going to change that.”
The doctor nods. “What do you think you’re not good enough for?”
I cross my arms in front of me, agitated.
“You already know. My place on the team, my friends ...” I run a hand through my hair.
“My whole life, I guess. It feels like I’m a fucking fraud and everyone around me is going to realize it.
If I get cut from the team, I’ll lose my friends.
My parents will be ashamed of me. Even if they don’t admit it. ”
Dr. Laudner is in his mid-fifties. He embraces his baldness, shaving his head almost to the skin. He does triathlons and makes homemade pasta. I like him. But I still don’t like these conversations.
“Do you think your friends only value you because of your career success?”
I shake my head. “I know, I really do. I know they wouldn’t tell me to fuck off if I got traded. But I’d live somewhere else. I’d be on a different team. It wouldn’t be the same.”
“You find change hard.”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
“What are some of the changes you’ve experienced in life that have been hard for you?”
I study the pen on his coffee table, considering stabbing myself in the eye with it so I don’t have to talk about this. We’ve been over it many times. It’s best to just get it out of the way, I guess.
“You already know the biggest one. Kyle.”
“The death of a sibling is incredibly difficult, especially for a child.”
I rub my chest and take a deep breath. Just thinking about Kyle is enough to bring on an anxiety attack, even on my meds.
“I just want to be normal. I mean, look at me. I’m six-three, I’m fit, and I’m a professional athlete. People look at me and think I’ve got my shit together. But I can’t fucking stay in a room when a song by Foo Fighters comes on. I get physically ill.”
“Why do you think that is?”
I take a few more deep breaths, the tightness in my chest worsening. “That was his favorite band. We listened to their albums all the time.”
“Do you have happy memories of him?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Yeah, of course. I need a subject change.”
He straightens the frame of his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Tell me about your new dog. Birdie, right?”
“Yeah. She likes to be with me all the time. I think she’s afraid I’m not going to come back when I leave.”
“Is she playful?”
“Sometimes. I’m trying to teach her to fetch tennis balls, but she doesn’t like bringing them back to me.”
He smiles. “I had a dog like that once. She’d fetch the ball and just keep running.”
“I guess as long as the dog’s having fun, that’s what matters.”
“That’s a good way to look at it.”
Before he can ask me another question, I ask him one. “Am I going to be like this forever? Are the medications doing as much for me as they’ll ever be able to?”
“We can always try new medications and dosages. Tell me what you mean by like this .”
“A mess on the inside who’s trying to make it look like I’m fine to anyone who sees me.”
He writes something down on his pad of paper. “What do you think would happen if you shared what’s on the inside with someone?”
I hum a note of amusement. “They’d tell people. Think I’m nuts. Worry about me. Feel sorry for me.”
“Is there anyone you trust enough to tell? One of your parents, maybe?”
I shake my head. “No, I’d never put this on them. They think I’m doing great.”
“A friend?”
“If I had to pick someone, I’d tell Carter. But he’d see me differently, and I don’t want that.”
“You know, many people have anxiety or depression. Or both. A lot of the time, sharing it with someone you trust can strengthen the relationship.”
I look at the clock on his bookshelf, eager to stop talking about something I’ll never do. “Is it okay if I cut out a little early today? I have a team meeting later and I haven’t been home from the pet sitting thing yet. I want to take a shower.”
“Of course.” He sets his notebook on the table next to his chair. “Do you want to stick with the new dosage and give it more time? We can try a different medication if you want to.”
I stand up. “I’ll stay with what I have. See you next time, Doc.”
A little over an hour later, I walk into the Italian restaurant where our team dinner is being held, seeing the long table filled with my teammates from the hostess stand.
“Hey, man.” Carter smiles as he stands up to give me a one-armed hug. “I heard Darling gave you some trouble.”
“Nah, it’s all good.” I take the open chair next to him and scan the table. “Is there bread coming? I’m starving.”
“Yeah, I ordered bread and a bunch of apps.”
“You managed to get a tan in four days?” I ask.
“The girls wanted to be in the water all day, every day.”
“It was a good trip, though?”
He nods. “Yeah, it was great. Didn’t realize how much I needed it until we were there.”
Bash is sitting across from me, talking to Andrei. The chair next to me is open, and I force myself not to react when Anson takes it.
“Hey, man. How’s the new dog?”
“I named her Birdie. She’s good.”
He gives me a knowing look. “You were never gonna be able to find her a good home. I could tell by the way she wanted to be next to you all the time.”
“Yeah, she’s a sweet dog.”
I inhale the scent of garlic bread and glance over my shoulder, hoping there’s some arriving at our table soon.
“Do you have plans for New Year’s Eve?” Anson asks.
“Uh ... I’ll probably be doing something with Carter and Bash.”
He grins, looking excited. “Addison’s coming to town. Can we all do something together?”
Fuck. I just gape at him, unsure how to handle it. Then I clear my throat and recover.
“Hey, cool. I’d definitely like to meet her. But I am seeing someone, just so you know.”
His smile drops away. “What? Bullshit. You weren’t seeing anyone a week ago.”
“It’s brand new.”
“What, like one date? That’s not a serious relationship. Do you just not want to date my sister?”
I’m knee deep in shit. Anything involving me and Anson’s sister is a minefield I’m not walking. Good thing I have a perfect excuse.
“It’s not like that. Mara and I have known each other for a long time. She stayed over at Carter’s with me while he was gone, and we decided to make things official. We’ve been sneaking around for a while now.”
Bash’s chin is practically on the table. “No fucking way, man. Mara?”
It would be fantastic if he would shut the fuck up, but that’s unlikely. I shoot him a look.
He doesn’t pick up on it. “How did I miss that? You guys are so convincing with the hating each other act.”
“We did hate each other until ... we didn’t.”
“I have proof.” Carter turns his phone screen around, showing the guys the selfie Mara took of us.
Bash bursts out laughing. “What? How did you get her to stop hating you?”
“Well, Bash, when a guy has a big wrench and he knows how to use it, he can be very convincing.”
“You’re telling me you guys have ...” He looks over both shoulders and lowers his voice. “Fucked?”
I grin, enjoying his disbelief. “Many times. Many ways.”
Bash looks at Carter. “Why didn’t you mention this?”
“I just found out on my trip.”
Bash takes out his phone. “Does Lainey know?”
Shit. If he texts Lainey, she’ll text Mara, and Mara could come storming into this restaurant and blow my story.
“Mara wants to be the one to tell her,” Carter says, saving me. “I saw her earlier today and we talked about it.”
I shoot him a grateful look.
Anton looks almost sick over the news. “Addison’s gonna be crushed. She wanted to kiss you at midnight on New Year’s Eve.”
“We can still be friends,” I offer.
He nods weakly. “Yeah. I’ll let her know.”
I breathe a little easier, swiping a roll from the breadbasket as soon as it hits the table.
I’m saved. All I have to do is pretend I’m with Mara, and Anson won’t try to set me up with his Bert-look-alike sister.
Well, I have to get Mara to go along with it, too. I wonder if I can convince her the tacos, wine and brownies were worth a favor of this magnitude.
I should probably have an entire case of wine in hand when I ask. And more brownies.