Chapter 7
Roxanne
Sitting on my favorite park bench, I close my eyes and tilt my head back to soak in the early spring’s rays of sunshine. I let it warm my cheeks as I listen to the cheerful chipper of the tiny sparrows soaring in the sky above me, rejuvenating my spirit with their gentle song.
This moment of peace and quiet is just what I needed.
And if the serene smile tugging at Rex’s lips is any indication, this is exactly what he was in the mood for, too.
In every bustling metropolis, finding a quiet retreat for moments of solitude and reflection can be challenging. None more so than my beloved city of Boston. I’ve lived here most of my adult life and never found a place quite like this one, where I could just sit in silence, away from the noise of the hectic urban jungle I live in. Fortunately, Rex introduced me to this hidden spot when he hired me. Hailing all the way from Texas, he astonishingly navigates the city with much better ease than I do. Though, in all fairness, it’s really not that surprising. His beloved Martha loved this city with all her might and went to great lengths to make sure her husband saw the same beauty in it as she did.
She didn’t have to try so hard, though.
Rex would have loved anything Martha did because he loved her just as fiercely.
And now that she’s gone, every corner of the city she once loved serves only as a painful reminder of what he lost—hence his decision to leave Boston and return to Dallas.
“Are you going to miss it?” I ask him with my head still laid back, enjoying the sun’s warm rays.
“Yes,” he replies without missing a beat, his tone sounding slightly conflicted.
I straighten up and turn to face him.
“Are you having second thoughts about leaving?”
“No,” he retorts, resolute in his decision. “You and I both know leaving is the only option for me. Martha wouldn’t want me to spend the rest of my days like this. Suffering.”
“No, she would not,” I add sweetly, placing my hand on top of his and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Still, it’s going to be hard not seeing her everywhere I go. Not sure how I’ll be able to cope, to be honest,” he admits pensively.
“You’ll be fine, Rex. Yes, the first few weeks, maybe even months, will be hard on you, but pretty soon, you will settle into your new norm and start living again. Just like Martha would have wanted.”
He smiles meekly, patting my hand with his.
“I will miss our afternoon talks, sweet girl. You always did have a way of making me feel better.”
“I should hope so. Otherwise, I’d be one lousy therapist,” I joke with a light laugh.
“A person can’t learn empathy and compassion. That comes from you.” He points at my heart.
“Stop.” I wave him off. “I’m not going to let you make me cry on my lunch break when I still have patients to see this afternoon.”
“Fair enough.” He chuckles. “And how is business treating you these days?”
“As expected. Some patients are more open to therapy than others.” I shrug.
“Anyone in particular giving you a hard time?”
“The new player Trent sent my way for one,” I frown, thinking about yesterday’s session with Caleb Donovan.
“Ha. I assume you’re referring to the younger Donovan.” Rex smiles. “Yes, I was there when Trent gave him the ultimatum to sharpen up. I think you’ll have your hands full with that one.”
“So I’m starting to learn,” I mutter, my frown deepening. “He’s quite… quite… what’s the word I’m looking for…”
“Smart-mouthed? Defiant? A bit of a class clown?”
“No, I was going to say… lost,” I reply in earnest, coaxing Rex’s teasing smile to fade away.
“Yes, well, that’s to be expected, too, I guess.” Rex lets out a sigh. “The Donovan brothers are thick as thieves in their own brotherly way. What happened to Jack was a tragedy beyond measure. Everyone is feeling the loss, but I’m sure none more so than Caleb. Poor kid.”
“They were that close, huh?” I ask, trying to get more intel on my reluctant new patient.
“Where one went, the other was sure to follow.”
“I’m surprised to hear that. Most siblings lose that type of bond when they grow into adulthood.”
“Well, that’s just the thing—Caleb Donovan hasn’t grown up yet. However, I fear that with his brother no longer in the picture, he’ll be forced to. I’m not sure how he’ll react to that.”
I take in Rex’s words of caution and chew on my lower lip.
“I don’t know, Rex. Maybe I’m not the right person to help him. What he really needs is grief counseling. He needs to be around people going through the same thing. Maybe I was too quick to accept this job from Trent.”
“Hogwash. I can’t think of a better person to help Caleb than you. You helped me, didn’t you?”
“So much so that you’re moving to another state. I hardly think that qualifies as me helping you.” I laugh, disheartened.
“But you did. You made me see that I still have life in me and that I should take steps to embrace it. That I should honor my Martha, not by dwelling in my own self-pity but by living the rest of my days as she would have wanted me to—happy,” he declares tenderly.
“You’re a sweet friend,” I say, leaning my head on his shoulder.
“I’m an old man with too much time on his hands, but it’s thanks to you that I now know how best to use it while still on this godforsaken earth. I’m sure you’ll give Donovan all the tools he needs to see his way out of the dark abyss he finds himself in. I have no doubt you’ll find a way.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I know I am.” He pats my knee affectionately. “But word of caution—don’t let his grief pull you back into yours. You’ve come a long way since Gregg’s passing. Don’t ruin all the progress you’ve made in an effort to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”
I don’t say anything to that.
Mostly because I don’t want to allow myself to remember the dark hole I was once trapped in. Lord knows it took me years to crawl out of it. Though I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t still bear its scars. Wounds that cut the soul that deep don’t ever truly mend. Instead, they transform into this dull ache you just learn to live with.
“Fine. I’ll do my best to help him,” I retort, needing to push those thoughts out of my mind and concentrate on something else. Even if that something else is helping a patient that doesn’t want my help.
“I know you will.” Rex smiles, his faith in my abilities making me feel humbled.
“I am going to miss you, dear friend.”
“So will I, sweet girl. So will I.”
After finishing my lunch date with Rex, I embark on my customary walk through the park while he heads off in a different direction to visit Trent.
I know he’s looking forward to this next stage in his life, but leaving Trent behind will be hard for him. Though he and Martha never had children of their own, Rex dotes on Trent as if he were his own flesh and blood. Leaving such a big part of his heart behind—in more ways than one—will be painful for him.
For both of them.
Thankfully, Trent has his girlfriend, Piper Lee, by his side to support him through this arduous transition. I’m not sure how he’d cope with such a loss otherwise. However, something tells me that the moment Rex leaves for Dallas, Trent will figure out a way to manage his busy schedule and fly to see him as much as possible.
After a peaceful stroll around the park facing the Charles River, I return to my office, fully aware that I need to prepare myself for my upcoming session with Caleb Donovan later this afternoon.
Once I’m seated at my desk, I pull out his file, jot out some notes, and pick up my recorder.
“The goal of today’s session is to establish a rapport with Caleb and gain a better understanding of his pressing issues. I will focus on active listening and empathy to create a safe space for him to open up about his thoughts and feelings. I will also be exploring his past experiences and family history to get a comprehensive understanding of his background. My approach will be client-centered, focusing on Caleb’s goals and needs. I will be using various therapeutic techniques to help him gain insight into past problematic behaviors and develop coping strategies to manage his current sprouts of anger and melancholy. I am committed to providing a supportive and nonjudgmental environment for Caleb to explore his emotions and work towards positive change.”
I turn off my recorder, store it to the side, and stare at Caleb’s photograph on file. It’s the same one every Boston Guardians player is forced to take, so it can be used for the player lineup board at every hockey event.
The carefree and contagious smile in this picture is starkly different from the one he wore yesterday—one that was cruel and malicious, even if sad at times.
“This one,” I whisper with a frown, “is innocent and hopeful. It’s… free.”
Hmm.
Rex might be right.
Maybe I am the perfect person to help Caleb navigate through his grief.
There is no question in my mind that Caleb is suffering an enormous amount of pain right now. I didn’t need to witness his breakdown in the hospital parking lot last week to realize that. Simply picking up this photograph and observing how drastically he has changed since it was taken speaks volumes about the pain he is going through.
He can try to hide his agony by camouflaging it with anger and mischievous provocation all he wants. If he doesn’t get a good handle on it, soon he’ll be self-sabotaging all his relationships until there is no one left to hear his pain.
I’ve seen this movie before.
Hell, I had a starring role in it once upon a time.
When Gregg died, all I wanted was to die with him.
If that meant pushing everyone I loved out of my life, then so be it. I was good with that since I didn’t like seeing the shade of pity in everyone’s eyes anyway. It only reminded me of how truly alone I felt in the world. That the best part of me had died right along with him.
That’s how Caleb feels at this very moment.
As his brother’s life hangs by a thread, so does his.
Everything good and decent in his life is slipping away.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
Nor does he want it to.
Not if it means accepting living without him.
I get it.
God, help me, I get it.
So, even though Caleb showed me yesterday that he’s reluctant to accept my help, I’m the one who needs to stubbornly keep offering it.
Caleb Donovan will not be a lost cause.
Not on my watch.
Feeling more confident in my skills, I begin to meticulously plan today’s therapy session with the goal of demonstrating the benefits of therapy to him. If I can get him to recognize and acknowledge where he’s struggling the most, then I’ll be able to build from there.
Luckily for me, I have his session scheduled at five, making it the last one of the day, which gives me ample time to get into the right mindset.
But as five o’clock comes and passes, I can’t help feeling disappointed that he doesn’t show up.
Damn it.
I knew yesterday had gone badly, but I never thought he’d flake on our session.
When I glance over at my watch again and see it’s a quarter to six, I stand up from behind my desk and open the office door to the waiting area.
“Has he called at least?”
“No, Dr. Seymour.” Lisa, the receptionist, shakes her head.
“Okay,” I mutter in defeat. “Then there’s no use waiting any longer. Might as well call it a night.”
Lisa is quick to log off her computer and pick up her belongings to leave.
“Goodnight, Dr. Seymour.”
“Good night, Lisa,” I smile in an effort to hide my disappointment.
Trent will not be pleased when he learns that Caleb was a no-show today. Not in the slightest. And when Trent doesn’t get his way… well, let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be in Caleb’s shoes.
Defiance isn’t exactly a trait he tolerates in his players.
In fact, aside from Piper, I doubt he tolerates it from anyone.
I’ll have Lisa call Caleb in the morning before I’m forced to tell Trent that he didn’t attend today’s session. Hopefully, he’ll do the smart thing and reschedule.
If not… If Caleb is adamant never to return… then there really isn’t much I can do.
No one can force someone to undergo therapy if they really don’t want to, no matter how much Trent manipulates or bullies them into it. Just because it worked with one of his players—Nathan Wilder comes to mind—doesn’t mean it will work with all of them.
I should feel a sense of relief that I’m off the hook with helping Caleb, but I don’t.
In fact, I’m worried.
Worried for a young man who is so adrift in his misery that he can no longer see his way to shore. Who knows what he might do to curb the agony he’s feeling.
Feeling discouraged, I walk back into my office and quickly glance over tomorrow’s schedule, grateful to see most of my afternoon off.
I’m still staring at my computer screen when a light knock on my door pulls my focus from it.
“You’re still here?” Caleb says, strutting into the office like he owns it.
I’m so stunned by his blasé attitude that I have to blink twice to make sure he’s not some sort of apparition.
When I finally find my voice, I reply, “Yes, Mr. Donovan. I am. You, on the other hand, are extremely late.”
“Had shit to do,” he says with an unapologetic shrug before plopping onto the couch and making himself comfortable. “Just be happy I came at all.”
“You do realize that’s not how therapy works. I’m not on your time, Mr. Donovan. You’re on mine. If you cannot respect that, we’ll have a significant problem on our hands.”
“Then I’ll just add it to the shit pile of problems I already have.” He smirks. “And my name is Caleb, Roxie. I thought we covered that already.”
Upon hearing him giving me such a ridiculous nickname, my knee-jerk reaction is to put him in his place and give him a good telling-off for wasting my time.
But then it occurs to me that’s probably exactly what he’s banking on—me losing all composure and getting so upset with him that I’ll eventually give up. That way, he could go back to the GM pretending to be blameless about my refusal to treat him.
A child.
I’m dealing with a child.
Lord, help me.
Determined not to give him the satisfaction, I grab my notepad, pen, and recorder before settling into the armchair nearest the couch.
“Today’s date is March the thirty-first. The time is a quarter past six. This is Caleb Donovan’s second therapy session,” I speak into the recorder before placing it on the coffee table by my side. “Before we start, I’m interested in knowing the reason for your one-hour delay today. May I ask what you believe to be a priority over your own mental well-being?”
“You can ask all you want. Doesn’t mean I’ll tell you. What I do on my time is my business.”
“Did you go to see your brother at the hospital? Is that why you’re late?”
His cocky grin falls off his face and is replaced with a threatening scowl.
“Again, none of your business.”
I straighten my spine so he can see I’m not easily intimidated.
“Very well. Then let’s discuss something that is my business. Yesterday, you acknowledged that you started the fight in the Florida game because you were bored. Can you elaborate a little more on that?”
“Elaborate?” he parrots, confused.
“Yes. For example, can you pinpoint the exact moment you felt that way? What triggered such boredom?” I insist calmly.
“How the fuck should I know? Maybe it was because the Blackhawks can’t play for shit. Or maybe it was because I would rather be playing on my own turf than have to go all the way to Tampa to beat those guys. All of it bored the shit out of me. Much like how this conversation is right now.”
I make a point of noting down his frustration with such a question.
“And have you always felt the need to act out anytime you feel bored?”
“I didn’t act out. I just spiced things up. There’s a difference.”
“I beg to differ. By your own account in yesterday’s session, that’s exactly what you said you do from time to time. It’s very reminiscent of a child’s behavior when he doesn’t get his way.”
“I’m not a fucking child,” he says aggressively, turning on the couch so he can sit facing me.
“Does that also happen a lot? Boredom morphing into anger?” I question patiently.
“I’m not angry.” He grits his teeth.
“No?” I arch a brow.
“No,” he snarls. “Stop making assumptions about shit that isn’t there.”
“Funny. And here I was, thinking that’s exactly how you wanted this dynamic to continue. Me making assumptions only for you to deny them.”
“Okay. I see what you’re trying to do. Fine. You want to get to know me, the real me, I’ll play along. But I’ll play this game my way. How about we do a little quid pro quo, Doc? I ask you something, and then you get to ask me all the infuriating questions you want. How does that sound to you?”
“That’s not how therapy works.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that shit before. But let me remind you that I’m not here of my own volition. If you want something from me, then you’re going to have to give me something in return. Take it or leave it, Roxie. Ball is in your court.”
“Very well,” I relent since this is the first time he actually looks interested in sitting down with me and answering any of my questions. “Who goes first?”
“You just did.” He grins mischievously. “My turn. How old are you, Doc?” he asks, the question coming out of left field.
“I don’t see how this is relevant to our session.”
“Indulge me. How old are you, Roxie? Late twenties… early thirties? Forty, maybe?”
“I’m thirty-three,” I reply matter-of-factly. “Satisfied?”
He nods, lying back on the couch and placing his hands behind his head. “Ask your question.”
“Why did you really start the fight in Florida?”
“Like I said, I was bored. Hitting someone felt like the right thing to do at the time. Like it would make me feel better.”
“And did it?”
“Nah, huh, Doc. It’s my turn now.”
I frown at his insistence on this game.
“I don’t see a ring on your finger,” he says, his gaze fixing its sight on my hands.
“That’s not a question.”
“No, it’s an observation.” He smiles devilishly. “Why is that?”
“Why don’t I have a ring on my finger?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t like wearing jewelry.” I offer a fake grin.
“Cute.” He smiles. “And to answer your previous question, yes. It did help. Hitting that guy helped for a second, at least. Then… it just didn’t.”
“Why? Why did it help only for a second?” I retort, happy that we’re finally getting somewhere.
“My turn. God, Roxie, for a well-educated, intelligent woman like yourself, you sure suck at this game.”
I bite my inner cheek, frustrated with the rules of this game.
“Now, let me repeat the question in a way that you’ll have to answer truthfully. You’re thirty-three. Accomplished and fucking drop-dead gorgeous. So I must know why you don’t have a ring on your finger? No way a woman like you would stay single for long. Not unless she doesn’t want to.”
“There you have it. You answered your own question,” I quip back.
“Bullshit.” He calls me out on the lie. “Tell me why, or we can end our little convo right here,” he threatens, glancing over at the door.
Unfortunately for me, this ridiculous game marks the first instance where Caleb has exhibited a willingness to engage in honest conversation with me. As much as I find his questions intrusive, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“If you’re curious as to why I’m not married, the simple answer is… I used to be. Once. But not anymore.”
“Interesting,” he muses, getting up from his seat again, just so he has a better vantage point to stare deep into my eyes. “See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it, Doc? You can ask me your question now.”
His penetrating gaze is so unnerving that I have to check my notes to get back on track.
“Why didn’t it feel good after the fight?” I ask once I’ve pinpointed where I am.
“I haven’t the foggiest.” He shrugs. “One second, I’m running on pure adrenaline, and the next, I’m…”
“Numb?” I finish for him, his expression turning once again lethal when I get it right.
“My turn,” he says, leaning forward in such a way that our knees almost touch.
My spine goes ramrod straight as I try to push away, only to have Caleb invade my safe space by grabbing the arms of my chair and pulling me in closer until his face is but a hairsbreadth from mine.
“How did it end? Your marriage?”
I stare deep into his green eyes, not liking where this interrogation is going. Not wanting to go into detail, I say the only thing I can, “He could no longer stay with me.”
“Ah.” Caleb smiles. “You made it that hard for him, did you?”
“It’s my turn to ask the questions,” I snap.
“Nah. Whatever question you have in mind will be pointless. You already figured out that I’m an unfeeling, shallow bastard. Why keep digging when the truth is right out there? I don’t feel a goddamn thing. Not anymore.”
“Because of your brother?”
“You must have been an only child. You are fucking terrible at games.” He tsks, his peppermint breath fanning my face.
“Correct. I am an only child. Now tell me, did you start feeling that numbness after the car accident or before?”
“I haven’t asked you a question yet,” he replies coldly.
“You did. You asked me if I was an only child,” I counter, frustrated.
“No, Doc, I simply made an observation,” he explains, leaning in even closer. “Not a question.”
I thin my lips , hating that he’s got the advantage now.
“So what happened? What could you have possibly done to make your man leave? Was he bored, like I am? Is that it? Did you bore him with all your little mind games and incessant questioning? I can see how that would be tiresome. I can see why he left.” He tilts his head to the side with a mocking grin.
Rage—unlike any I’ve ever experienced before—starts coursing through my veins, forcing me to remain silent at the risk of losing my temper. But I underestimated Caleb’s determination of wanting to get under my skin. Rather than interpreting my silence as a signal to stop this twisted game of his, he takes it as an incentive to continue to poke at the scab of a wound that has not yet fully healed.
“Did he get so tired of you always needing to know his every thought and mood that he found himself a little side piece, just so he could get some fucking peace and quiet? Is that what happened? Did he cheat on you with a younger model? Someone to fuck some fun into his life?”
“Get out,” I whisper under my breath.
“I’m sorry? I didn’t quite catch that, Doc,” he taunts, placing a hand around his ear.
“I said get out!” I shout, pushing him away from me and springing to my feet.
He stands up and stares at me from the briefest moment, his goading smile stretching on his lips but never fully reaching his eyes.
“Good talk, Doc. So glad we’ve finally gotten to know each other.”
“Get out,” I seethe, pointing to the door.
“Gladly.”
I then watch him waltz out of my office with a devil-may-care attitude, whistling the Guardians’ anthem, completely unfazed by the destruction he just caused.
It’s so clear to me now.
Caleb Donovan might have come into my life broken, but if I’m not careful, he’ll be the instrument that breaks me.