Chapter 18
Caleb
I don’t care what people tell you. Therapy is hard.
Fuck that.
It’s fucking brutal.
How can talking about feelings be so goddamn painful?
It feels as if I’ve been stripped naked and pushed to stand in the middle of a full arena while everyone is pointing and laughing at me.
It exposes vulnerabilities in you that you didn’t even know you had.
Thankfully, I have the best head shrink in the business. Excuse me—therapist, as Roxie so loves to correct.
I have to admit, no matter how grueling the last few weeks have been, spending time with Roxie has been great. Yeah, I might walk into her office on lead feet, worried about what new hidden trauma I’m going to have to face, but the minute my eyes land on hers, all that shit just drifts away.
Roxie has a certain magical quality about her. Like she understands my shit before I’m able to properly vocalize it.
I don’t feel self-conscious about telling her what’s on my mind or divulging all my secret fears and doubts because I know that she won’t judge me for them.
She just gets it.
She gets me.
It’s only when I’m not around her or feel her influence on me that I get antsy, though.
As if I wanted to fuck shit up just for the hell of it.
This burning need that arises says that I need to do something reckless to take the edge off.
Roxie says that’s my self-sabotage mechanism at work and that I shouldn’t give in to it. I don’t need to have a degree in psychology to know she’s right. The dumpster fire that has been my life these last couple of months is more than enough proof that my go-to move is to create havoc instead of facing my troubles head-on.
I honestly believed that’s just how I was built.
It took me opening myself up in therapy to discover that’s not necessarily the case.
Roxie says that I feel undeserving of love and healthy attention, so I try to obtain it in all the wrong ways. After some deep conversations in which she forced me to talk in-depth about my childhood, she concluded that this self-sabotage mechanism must have been provoked into existence by my father’s lack of interest in me.
I didn’t see that one coming.
But after she said it, something just clicked inside me.
She’s right.
From an early age, I did start acting up and getting myself into trouble.
I felt better if my dad punished me for something I did or said than if he ignored me completely. I just couldn’t live up to the idea he had of what a perfect son should behave like. He already had Jack for that.
Roxie also thinks that after my father passed away, Jack became a parental figure rather than sticking to our sibling dynamic. As such, all those survival instincts I had accrued and used with my dad were somehow transferred onto Jack. That’s why I never outgrew my rebellious phase and was happy to be as co-dependent on him as I was with my dad.
Because it was the only way I felt loved and protected by my brother, not only with him but with anyone else who meant something to me.
To say that my mind was fucking blown when she told me that shit is an understatement.
Not only because everything Roxie was saying actually struck a chord inside me but because I would never have connected those dots if she hadn’t taken the time to show them to me.
Told you my girl was the best in the biz.
Like any good Bostonian would say— she’s wicked smart .
But now it’s time for me to break away from all those bad habits and start creating healthier ones. Hence why I’m having Sunday dinner over at my mom’s house, per Erin’s invitation.
If I’m to start making amends for all the shit I’ve put people through, then I have to start with my own mother first. Like me, she’s been stuck in a dark place for far too long, and it won’t do us any good to keep ignoring it.
Thankfully, Erin was on board the minute I told her my plan to confront my mother.
“Ma, do you mind if we talk before dinner?” I ask after ensuring that Erin is occupied with the girls in the other room, not wanting my nieces to overhear what I’m about to discuss with their grandmother.
“Not right now, Caleb. As you can see, I have my hands full,” she says, opening the oven lid and pulling a large tray out with a turkey big enough to feed a family of ten.
“Let me help you with that,” I offer, grabbing a pair of oven mitts and quickly putting them on.
“I can do this on my own.”
“But you don’t have to. I can do it,” I say, trying to grab the tray from her.
“I said I got it.”
“Ma, it’s too heavy.”
“I got it, Caleb!”
“Let me help!”
With all the push and pull of the tray, my grip suddenly slips at the same time as hers, making the large bird fall ass-first to the floor.
“Look at what you’ve done! Dinner is ruined because of you!” she shouts, red-faced.
“It’s okay, Ma. Three-second rule, remember?” I joke before grabbing the turkey and placing it on an empty tray sitting on the kitchen counter.
“It’s so typical of you. You ruin everything and then act like it’s nothing. Well, it’s not nothing, Caleb! I will not feed my granddaughter’s trash that’s been on the floor.”
“Then we’ll just order in if that’s what you want. It’s not the end of the world, Ma.”
“And there you go again!” She scoffs. “You always have an answer for everything, don’t you? It’s always been so easy for you to shirk your responsibilities to someone else. Shit happens? That’s okay. Let someone else deal with the consequences.”
Words leave me with the hate that flickers in her eyes, and all I can do is stare at the woman who not only birthed me but who raised and took care of me all her life. After Dad died, she had to work three jobs just to keep a roof over our heads, and she still managed to find time to be at every game I played, always with a kind word and a gentle smile for me.
Not once did I ever hear her complain about the sacrifices that she made for us.
But drop one lousy turkey on the floor, and she acts like I just killed someone.
But it’s not about the turkey.
It’s what the turkey represents.
I know it, and she knows it.
“Okay, Ma. Let it out. Tell me what a rotten son I’ve been. Tell me everything you’ve been dying to say since the accident. Do it, Ma. I know you’ve been dying to. So let’s just stop beating around the bush and just say how you really feel about me. Come on, Ma! Say it!”
But just as the words leave my mouth, it’s my mother’s turn to stare at me like she no longer recognizes me.
“Well, Ma? I’m waiting.”
“Caleb, I have no idea what has gotten into you today, but I’m in no mood for your games.”
“This isn’t a game, Ma. I’m giving you carte blanche to tell me how you really feel. To say everything that has been eating you alive since I put your favorite son into a coma.”
She covers her ears with her hands and starts shaking her head.
“Stop it, Caleb! Just stop this right now!”
I gently pull her hands off her ears, her eyes red with unshed tears.
“I’m not going to stop, Ma,” I choke out, my own raw emotions getting the better of me. “Not until you tell me that you blame me for what happened to Jack. I need you to let it all out. All of it, Ma. Let all that poison out. It’s the only way we can get back to who we were to each other. We have to do something, Ma. Because I can’t go another day seeing the hate in my own mother’s eyes. It’s ripping me apart.”
Tears fall fiercely down her cheeks as hatred is replaced by pain.
“Is everything okay in here?” Erin asks, popping her head into the kitchen.
“No, everything is far from being okay,” my mother whispers before pulling away from me to walk over and stand beside Erin. “I’m sorry, dear, but it’s best you and the girls go out to eat. I’d rather be left alone tonight.”
“Ma,” I call out, but she just shakes her head.
“You have said enough for one night, Caleb. Please… just let me be… please.”
She then turns around and heads to her bedroom, locking herself inside.
“Well, that didn’t go well,” Erin says with concern. “I’m sorry, Caleb.”
“It’s not your fault,” I mutter, shoving my hands inside my pockets.
“Nor is it yours,” Erin is quick to add.
“It fucking kind of feels like it is.”
“I know it does, but deep down, your mother knows you aren’t to blame. For any of it. She just needs time to process her feelings.”
“I don’t know, E. I don’t know if I’ll ever get my mom back,” I say with a bowed head, kicking the air at my feet.
“You will.” Erin smiles assuredly. “She loves you, Caleb. Just give her some more time, okay?”
“Do I have a choice?” I grumble, wiping the water from my eyes.
“Time heals all wounds, Caleb. Remember that, okay?”
I just nod because what else can I do—admit to myself that my mother might not look at me the same way ever again?
Not happening.
I’m not that much of a masochist, thank you very much.
If what my mom needs is time, then that’s what she’ll get.
I just have to hold out hope that she’ll come around eventually.
And if she doesn’t?
Then I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
After last night’s fiasco at trying to make amends with my mother, the last thing I want to do is talk about it.
Roxie must have been prepared for the possibility of things not working out for me because the moment I walk into her office and she catches sight of my forlorn expression, she quickly gets up from her desk, grabbing her purse and coat on the way.
“Tonight, we’re going on an outing,” she announces cheerfully.
“Oh?” I ask, confused. “I don’t think I’m in the right frame of mind to be around anyone right now.”
“And that’s exactly why we’re going out.”
“Roxie,” I start to protest, but she’s not having it.
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do,” I say, insulted that she would even ask me such a thing.
“Good.” She throws that radiant, warm smile of hers that always does my heart in. “I promise you’ll feel a whole lot better about yourself before the night is done.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?”
“Just come with me and find out.”
Half an hour later, Roxie parks her car in the parking lot of a worn-down building on the poorer side of town.
“What is this place?”
“What does it look like?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A place where horror movies are filmed?” I give my best guess since the building looks like it’s about to cave in on itself any minute now.
“Close.” She giggles. “Actually, it’s a rehabilitation center of sorts. People who can’t afford to go to licensed physical therapists or mental health professionals like me come here to get the care they need. I volunteer twice a week on my time off.”
“You have time off? How come this is the first I’m hearing of it?” I laugh to lighten the mood since I’m pretty sure if we go into this building, we’ll end up getting murdered. “I can think of a million ways to best use your free time that don’t include spending it in a deathtrap.”
“I’m sure you can. But this isn’t about me or you. This is about putting someone else’s needs above our own. It’s about us not dwelling on things we cannot change and instead putting all that negative energy into something productive, such as trying to make someone else feel better about themselves.”
My heart swells two sizes at how passionate she is about the things that matter to her.
I swear, this woman is a goddamn angel. All that’s missing is the halo above her head.
“Are you ready to go in?” she says, her amber eyes twinkling brightly as she holds her hand for me to take.
Little does she know that I’d willingly go to hell and back if it meant I got to hold her hand.
With Roxie’s fingers laced with mine, she pushes open the squeaky door of the center, the chipped paint barely clinging onto the wooden frame. Roxie keeps smiling encouragingly at me as she leads me down a long corridor to a room where, according to her, she spends most of her time when she’s volunteering here.
The outside exterior of the building, even in its shitty condition, couldn’t have prepared me for what I was about to find inside.
The smell of disinfectant and sweat greets me as I step inside a dimly lit room filled with a mix of amputees and other men and women with various disabilities. Aside from the people here, the first thing I notice is the worn-out equipment scattered around the room, which is a stark contrast to the state-of-the-art facilities I’m used to as a professional hockey player.
My eyes travel to a man in a wheelchair, missing both legs below the knee, as he laughs with his therapist, his determination shining through. Another man, with a prosthetic arm and a broad smile, struggles to lift a weight with his functioning arm while his friends cheer him on. My gaze continues to scan the room until it lands on a therapist working with a teenage girl who is missing a foot, guiding her through exercises with gentle encouragement while talking about her favorite boy band.
This place isn’t the dire abyss I presume it to be, but rather a magnificent sanctuary—a safe haven for every soul that refuses to give up, no matter their circumstances. I can’t help but admire the resilience and strength of all these individuals. Despite their disabilities, they are here, putting in the effort to improve themselves and overcome the obstacles life has thrown their way. They all seem so content, so at peace with their circumstances, that a pang of guilt accosts me at my own recent self-pity.
Now I get why Roxie was so keen on bringing me here tonight.
My own struggles pale in comparison to the challenges these men and women face every day. Surrounded by broken equipment and peeling walls, I feel a sense of gratitude for the opportunity she’s given me by bringing me here, to learn from these incredible individuals who embody the true meaning of perseverance and determination.
“So what do you think?” she says cheerfully, eyeing the room with admiration.
And as I stare into her beautiful face, only one answer comes to mind in reply to such an innocent question— I think I’m falling in love with you.
Fuck.
Things are about to get messy.