Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rebel Arena, Freedom
D’Angelo
I adjust my cuff links three times, anxiously standing in the narrow corridor outside the small room, which is hidden at the back of Rebel Arena.
Fuck coach for firing half the staff and bringing in this woman instead as a mental skills coach.
Why would coach do that?
Olivia is a psychiatrist. But she isn’t a therapist.
I wipe my sweaty palms down my trousers.
It took me years to trust that my last therapist was truly there to help rather than hurt me, unlike the ones in the Discipline School. He didn’t twist my words and use them against me. He didn’t report back what I said as a reason for the teachers to punish me.
He made me feel like I deserved to feel good about myself, as if I was no different to anyone else, rather than someone who had been born wicked.
Fuck this.
I take a steadying breath, running my hand through my sweaty hair.
If Olivia thinks that she can make me talk to her, then she doesn’t know how stubborn I can be. She hasn’t won my trust yet.
I won’t lower my guard.
You can lead a hockey player to water, but you can’t make him drink.
My eyes narrow, as I remember how Olivia grabbed Noah at the arena, before caging him against the glass. Then how she leaned in, making him uncomfortable.
If Olivia thinks that she will give me a hard time, then she’ll find she isn’t the first bully to try and take me down.
She isn’t even the first who I have currently faced this week with Wilder playing in the arena.
She’s half his size. What am I worrying about?
I chuckle.
I better get in there before Shay tries to cheer me up by sending more nudes to my phone. I don’t know what will be written in my evaluation file if I walk in holding an actual dick pic.
I mean, there is worse in my former therapist’s notes.
Shay has been taking the photographs from every room in the mansion at bizarre angles: a flash of hip in the bathroom, an artistic shot of his glistening abs in the gym, just shy of a dick pic in the kitchen that can’t be hygienic.
I blink with realization.
Wait, was Shay sticking his cock into my special raspberry jam…?
The brat.
Then I shudder at the thought of the mess he must have created, as well as the desire to have been able to suck the sweet jam off.
Determined, I lift my head.
Coach will regret forcing me into this session, as much as I miss being able to wrap my lips around my bad pet’s sweet tasting cock.
I rap loudly on the door.
“Come in,” a cool voice calls.
I push open the door, swaggering into the small office.
The walls are painted muted gray. As if attempting to appear as neutral as possible, there is little on them, only a single picture of the Bay Rebels arena.
Also, one word in large lettering: MINDSET.
Deceptively soft light pools from a lamp in the corner.
My gaze locks with Olivia’s.
She is waiting for me on one of two chairs that are set in the center of the room. The chairs are angled toward each other on two sides of a low table.
I wish that there was a tall desk between them or more space at least.
I scan the room just in case there is somewhere else to sit.
There isn’t.
I adjust my tie, before forcing myself to stroll to the chair opposite Olivia and sprawl in it. “I was summoned. Here I am.”
Did I imagine that her cheek twitched?
Olivia is wearing a suit in the team colors. Her blond hair spills over her athletic shoulders. Her makeup is immaculate.
Olivia would be pretty, apart from the fact that she reminds me of Blythe in the worst way.
If she turns out to be an abusive dom — Noah’s dom — then I will destroy her.
Am I merely imagining things?
I guess that this meeting is the best way to test what she is like.
Huh, and she thinks that she’s testing me.
“Are you the devil?” Olivia deadpans.
“You tell me.”
She picks up a notebook from the low table, which is covered with coasters, bottles of water, and a pair of headphones.
I cross my arms to hide the way they start to shake, when she pulls a pen out of her top pocket and begins writing. “Is that what you call yourself because you don’t believe that you deserve to be cared for?”
I suck in a breath through my teeth. “Don’t…”
She tilts her head, still writing. “Who taught you that?”
My throat is suddenly thick with tears. My eyes burn.
How does she know? How could she have broken me down with a couple of sentences?
I’ve only just sat down and already, I feel like she has broken through my defensive walls to that nighttime when…
I grit my teeth.
I’m not doing this.
Not now.
This is a battle off the ice, and it doesn’t matter that Olivia is smaller than I am because this is a fight between minds.
Olivia is ruthless, manipulative, and cruel.
Psychologically, she is stronger than Wilder.
But why is she fighting me?
My eyes blaze.
Spiraling, I grip tighter onto my suit jacket. “I’m not talking about—”
“When was your Fall?” Olivia glances up. Her sharp gaze feels like it’s peeling back my skin. My breathing picks up. I suddenly feel more alone than I have in years. Trapped. “What did you do that meant you deserved to be cast out from heaven?”
I take a deep breath, remembering the feel of Robyn and Shay in bed with me this morning, while Eden was safe on the other side of me.
I didn’t deserve any of it.
“Nothing,” I growl. “Now, can we get onto why we’re here? You know, hockey? Coach wants me to be on my top performance tomorrow.”
“Don’t we all?” Olivia taps the pen on her notebook.
Startled, I realize that she’s doing it in rhythmic patterns of three.
Is she doing that on purpose?
I drop my hands into my lap, clutching them together in a desperate attempt to keep them still.
To my relief, she responds as if lowering her own sword, by placing her pen back into her pocket.
“Now, this is just a preliminary meeting to get to know each other. Then I can work on a plan for you. In later sessions, we will work on your breathing, attentional exercises, and emotional regulation.”
My shoulders relax marginally. “That sounds fine.”
Olivia studies me far too intently, making me uncomfortable. “Don’t worry, D’Angelo, I insisted that this room be soundproofed. Both players and staff have full confidentiality when they’re here with me. It’s a good place to talk and take off the pressure.”
Not going to happen.
Olivia looks at me expectantly.
When I don’t reply, she gives me a disappointed look that doesn’t work either.
“Well,” Olivia’s lips pinch, “I’m sure you know that I will be working on pushing you to peak performance.”
I snort.
“Something to say?” She gives a thin smile.
I shrug.
“I’ll also be helping you handle pressure better and build more resilience. Then when you face unexpected challenges, you are less likely to fall apart.”
“What?” I narrow my eyes.
“Don’t you want that as a goal? I thought that you would after what happened when you faced Wilder Talon in that first game. Your coach was clear to me that I needed to teach resilience to every member of the team but especially to Mr. Prince and you—”
“Fuck coach.” The words spill from me the moment that Olivia mentions Shay, before I can hold them back.
The words hang between us.
Violent.
Exposing.
She holds my gaze, searchingly.
I am the first to look away.
“This is a safe space,” Olivia reassures, patronizingly. “Nothing that you say will be reported back to the staff. Why are you so angry at your coach?”
“I’m not.”
I can’t meet her eye.
“Is it because he gives you orders?” She asks. “Has control over you? Is an authority figure? Do you hate anyone who holds you accountable?”
“I don’t hate coach.” Why am I sweating?
I should stand up and leave.
But I need my meds. They’re the only thing that allows me to keep functioning, playing hockey, surviving.
And this week is the most important of my career.
I can’t let my pride make me walk away. If I do, then I would need to find both a new therapist and psychiatrist, reliving everything all over again to be prescribed my meds.
I don’t have time for that.
I can’t do that.
“Do you hate me?” Olivia arches her brow. “You’re glaring.”
I am.
I struggle to blank my expression. “I need my meds.”
My skin crawls, when Olivia’s gaze slides to the way my fingers are tapping on my thighs.
She hums, but I can’t tell if it’s in agreement or dismissal.
She reaches inside her suit to pull out a folded bunch of papers. “Firstly, I need a couple of signatures, for example, that I have your informed consent for evaluation and treatment. But you’ve been through all this before.”
She tosses the papers at me, and I catch them.
“Unlike you,” I say, “I’m not organized enough to walk around with a pen in my pocket. Or am I meant to sign in blood?”
“Only if you believe that I am Satan, and you’re signing over your soul.” Olivia’s lips twitch.
I shift in my seat. “I may have already done that with coach.”
Olivia tosses her pen to me.
I take my time, deliberately slowly reading through the small print of everything that I sign. It’s something that I’ve learned the hard way.
I will need to warn Shay because I have no doubt that he is going to be hauled in here as well, and he’ll merrily sign without even reading the headings.
When I reach the final page, I frown. “Wait, this gives you permission to read my former therapist’s notes.”
“Of course. I need to catch up quickly on every member of an entire team and their staff, making sure that their care is continuous. Or don’t you want your new meds?”
“New?” I hurl the pen down onto the paper along with the final — unsigned — page.
Olivia continues to sit calmly and doesn’t react to my outburst.
She is like a crocodile who lies still under the water, until she ambushes and drags her victim into a death roll.
“I can run through why it will work better for you,” Olivia points out, “once you sign that.”
“And can I take it that you have already read my notes?”