10. Ty
TY
Isit in a comfortable chair across from my therapist, Dr. Sedona Hale, in a small sitting area that feels more like someone’s living room than an office.
There’s a bay window off to the side, looking out onto a garden that’s colorful and filled with summer blooms. A short bookshelf lines one wall, filled with hardcovers and paperbacks that look like they’ve actually been read.
The light is warm, coming from lamps instead of anything overhead, and the whole place smells clean in a way that’s hard to pin down. It’s nice. Pristine. Clean.
Which, honestly, feels like a bit of a trap.
Dr. Hale taps her pen once against the edge of her notebook, not impatient—she doesn’t do impatient. But, I have noticed she does it when she’s about to speak, like a professor tapping their lectern to get their students’ attention.
“Let’s come back to patterns,” she says. “How you see them, how they make you feel.”
I nod, because that’s the assignment. Pay attention, take in the information. Don’t fix. Don’t optimize. Don’t run it through five different scenarios until it makes sense.
“Okay,” she says, leaning back slightly. “What do you tend to do in certain situations? What works for you? What doesn’t?”
I rest my forearms on my thighs, hands clasped loosely. This part is easier for me when it’s structured. Clear questions mean clear answers.
“I rehearse conversations,” I say.
She nods like it doesn’t surprise her. “Before or after?”
“Both.”
A small smile. “Okay. What else?”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“That’s fair, I’m not a fan either, really,” she says easily. “Tell me why.”
I shrug, but it’s not really a shrug. It’s more like I’m trying to find the exact wording.
“I like to have a map,” I say finally. “Of things. I want to know where it’s going.”
She tilts her head. “A map.”
“Yeah.” I nod once. “I focus better when I know the outcome or at least where I’m going.”
“That makes complete sense,” she says. “Predictability helps you allocate your energy.”
I nod again. That feels accurate.
She taps her pen lightly. “How does that work with hockey?”
“It’s structured,” I say, sitting up taller in my seat. “There are variables, but they’re contained. Systems, plays, positioning. Even when it’s unpredictable, it’s still inside a framework I understand.”
“And your role in that framework?”
“It’s defined.”
Another small nod from her. “Okay,” she says. “So you function well in environments where there’s structure, predictability, and a clear role.”
“Yes.”
She watches me for a second, like she’s lining something up.
“And in your personal life?” she asks. “Outside of hockey.”
I don’t answer right away. I can talk about my own challenges with communication all day long.
From the problem I sometimes have trying to get all my information out.
Like I can formulate it, but I can’t share because I need to slow down my thoughts, like they’re all happening at once.
I can also talk you to sleep about my overanalyzing.
From the smile I gave my neighbor at the condo this morning to the last thing I said to Vivian, I go over it at least ten times when I’m walking away… and that’s to start.
Don’t get me started on social situations these days. Suddenly, they’re the simple things that keep me up at night. It can be debilitating when you spend all of your time after a press briefing wondering what you said, how you came across, and what people think of you.
I’m not in a position where I should be worried about what people think about me, really. They talk crap online if I don’t play well, they talk about me like a hero if I do. I just try to keep my head down and enjoy the game, because that’s why I’m on the ice.
But, Dr. Hale wants to talk about my personal life. Off the ice.
“Has there been anything recently in your personal circles,” she continues, “where you don’t know the outcome? Something that feels less mapped out?”
My brain doesn’t even hesitate. Vivian’s face appears as if on cue. Standing on her porch. Barefoot. Hair damp. Holding a pizza like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Laughing at herself. Looking at me like she didn’t expect me to be there.
“Okay,” Dr. Hale says lightly. “What was that face?”
I stare at her, refocusing. “Nothing.”
She raises a brow. “That was not nothing.”
I exhale through my nose, glancing down at my hands. “It’s about a person,” I say.
“Ah,” she says, like that explains everything. “Those are tricky.”
I huff out a quiet breath. “Yeah, she is…but also, she isn’t.”
“Do you want to tell me about her?”
I hesitate. Not because I don’t have the words. I do. I always do. It’s more that once I start, I don’t know where it ends.
“She’s…” I pause, adjusting slightly in my seat. “She’s not predictable.”
Dr. Hale smiles a little. “And that’s a problem for you.”
“Yes.” I take a beat, shaking my head after. Then I add, “No.”
Her smile widens just slightly. “Interesting.”
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. “I don’t know what she’s going to say. Or do. Conversations don’t follow a pattern. She…” I stop, recalibrating. “She’s made me pause and question my own way of doing things. I guess she’s made me look at my own patterns.”
“How does that feel?”
I think about it. About the bracelet. About the way my focus narrowed without me meaning it to.
“Like I’m paying attention,” I say. “Because I want to know what she says.”
Dr. Hale does her therapist nod. “And that’s different from usual?”
“Yes.”
She nods slowly. “Okay. That’s important.”
I frown slightly. “Why?”
“Because it’s not overwhelm,” she says. “You’re not describing distress. You’re describing engagement.”
I sit with that. Engagement. Huh. That’s not the word I would’ve picked.
“Do you find it hard to navigate?” she asks.
Well, that’s not a simple question. “I can engage with people, I just usually don’t like to.”
She chuckles. “So you like talking to her.”
I look at her, and she holds my gaze, steady. Patient. “I do, but I wonder how long until she realizes I’m operating on a different frequency.”
She looks at me with her head tilted to one side, like she expected me to say that.
“Your other friends have been helpful. Liam right?”
“Yes. A few of the guys on the team know now that I’m seeing you.”
“And do they treat you differently?”
I think about Liam dropping me off for my first appointment, and how he’s checked on me every few days since my diagnosis.
Not in the in-your-face way, but a “hey, I’m here if you want” way.
The other guys that know are nonchalant about it.
Owen asked me questions when I found out, but he hasn’t treated me any differently since I told him, too.
“Can’t say that they do.”
“Okay,” she says, jotting something down. “Then your homework stays the same. Notice your thoughts and any pattern that jumps in front of you. Don’t judge them, sit with them and note them. Tell me about it next week, how you handle them.”
“Got it.”
“And,” she adds, wagging a finger in the air, “don’t try to control the outcome of anything. Practice letting go when you walk away from something, like a dinner out or an event. Let’s work on your overthinking.”
I exhale. “That seems unlikely.”
“That’s why it’s practice,” she says simply. “And why maybe you let one thing this week be unmapped.”
I think about that. “Like, I don’t plan it out?”
“Exactly. One thing needs to be unplanned in your mind.”
“Define ‘one thing,’” I say, bargaining. I’m not sure why, but the new addition to my to-do list is causing mild panic deep inside my chest.
But Dr. Hale’s smile is calm. Unhelpfully calm.
“I think you already know.”
Yeah. I do. And I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
A soft chime sounds from the small speaker on the shelf behind her, signaling our time is over. Dr. Hale glances toward it, then back to me. “Okay,” she says, closing her notebook. “That’s good enough for today.”
I nod once, already moving forward like my body’s been waiting for the release.
“I’ll see you next week?” she asks.
“Sounds good to me. Thank you,” I say, standing.
She smiles, easy and steady. “Have a good week, Ty.”
I grab my keys, push the door open, and step out into the hallway, the quiet of her office giving way to the low hum of the building. By the time I hit the street, the air and space around me starts to feel different. Sharper. Louder.
Alexandria moves around me like it always does. People with places to be. Coffee in hand. Conversations mid-stride. It’s all so…normal.
Sheesh. Must be nice.
I start toward my car, keys already in my hand. Captain’s practice. It’s an informal one since we’re in the offseason, but that’s the plan. I’m headed to what I know. Ice. Structure. Systems. I exhale, rolling my shoulders back. Just get to the Birdcage and then I can leave it all on the ice.
I reach my car, pull the door open, and slide in, tossing my keys into the ignition. The engine turns over, familiar, grounding. I pull out onto the street, merging into traffic, already running through drills in my head. Positioning. Footwork. Timing. Clean. Predictable.
Yep, it’s the way I like things.
The sound of Darth Vader’s theme from Star Wars fills the car, breaking the tension I have with myself and making me laugh out loud when I jump. I glance at the screen, but I already know it’s Emma.
I hit accept, switching to speaker. “What do you need?”
“Wow,” she says. “Not even a hello.”
“You only call when you need something.”
She laughs. “That wasn’t nice to say, but it’s true so I’ll accept it.”
“Well, what do you need?”
“I need you to please talk to Ava Thompson’s mother if you can. She’s left a few messages on my phone asking some questions about practice this week, so I was going to give her your number to connect with you if that’s cool?”
“Easy enough,” I say, my shoulders already relaxing. “I thought you were gonna ask for something way worse.”