Chapter 31 #2
She replied immediately that she would love to chat and was free at 2 PM, which was perfect because the players were leaving at that time to prepare for an early morning flight to Toronto for their game tomorrow.
I had meetings with Aleks Kilovak, who will be a challenge to get to open up. His profession is hockey, his hobby is hockey, and his outlet is fucking, his words, not mine. He hasn’t spoken to his family in years, and he doesn’t plan to. I hope to get him to open up one day.
My next meeting was Lenzin Faulker, who is highly intelligent, but plays defense off the ice as well as in my office. He managed to manipulate the conversation so well that it was always about the game.
What I wasn’t expecting today was a call from Dr. Marin Rathburn, who kept ringing my desk phone while I was in sessions.
And now it’s ringing again.
Incoming Call: Dr. Marin Rathburn
I inhale slowly, straighten my shoulders, and swipe to accept.
“Hello, this is Claudia.”
A clipped voice answers. “Yes, well, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for two hours. Did my name not appear on the caller ID?”
“Hello Dr. Rathburn, yes, I saw the calls, but was in session.”
“You always take my call, the players know me, and understand I am privy to all the goings on there.”
Instead of telling her that, unless they grant me permission, she is absolutely not allowed into my sessions with them. I apologize for missing the calls again.
For five minutes, she talks down to me, laying out her expectations, and I take aggressive notes on the so-called rules, laws, and policies that I should already know.
None of which I read because they were not there.
But I will check into it as well as her background because this bitch is angry and aggressive and should in no way be helping anyone through.
If this is how she acts, she probably does more harm than good.
“Miss Holloway, you seem … off. If there is a clinical issue that prevents you from performing, medication can certainly assist. It is very common for new mothers. Hormonal dysregulation often leads to emotional sensitivity and exaggerated reactions, instability.”
My jaw tightens. “I am fine, Miss Rathburn.”
“It’s Dr. Rathburn.” She snips.
“So, it is.”
“I hold two doctorates, Miss Holloway,” she emphasizes, “Miss,” again, and pauses for congratulations she will not get from me.
“Most people who need support do not realize it. I work with many clients who think they are functioning at a high level and simply are not. The athletes, in particular, become very defensive when offered help. You will need to watch that when you are dealing with them.”
Dr. Benetti’s voice echoes in my mind: She loves to talk down to them. She pushes meds they do not need. She barely pays attention.
“Well, if you are already feeling overwhelmed, you may need to revisit your caseload distribution. I can prescribe something if you are finding your emotional regulation difficult.”
I blink. “I did not say I was overwhelmed.”
“Your silence implied it.” I grind my teeth together to stop myself from saying something unprofessional.
“Well, if you insist on handling things without assistance, good luck. If this matter becomes disruptive, do let me know. I am, after all, responsible for the mental health of this organization.”
“I understand that.”
“One last thing,” she says. “Romantic relationships between the staff and players are not allowed in any organization I oversee. It causes… issues.”
My pencil snaps, and I just look at it. This woman is insane. Koa and Nalani are new, but Coach D’s husband is one of the players, Drew is an agent to half the men on Dean’s team, and there are many more.
“That is everything.” She disconnects without a goodbye.
I stare at my phone for a full ten seconds.
Dr. Benetti had undersold it. Somehow.
I’m not aggressive, but when the call ended, I wanted to cut a bitch.
I don’t have time to comprehend, let alone digest, all of what was just said, when my screen lights up with an incoming call from Dr. Mara Benneti.
When I answer it, she looks at me, and her lips curl. “That’s the face of someone who has had to deal with Ratburn. That twat could land me in jail.”
To that, I just laugh, and she does too.
“I completely understand why you would want to get your MD now,” I shake my head. “She’s unhinged.”
“It’s a hazard of this job if you don’t find balance. You have that. That said, you are reaching out to me sooner than I expected,” she smiles. “Let’s dive into that before we make plans to pull back the proverbial curtain and expose her for who she is.”
“Alright,” I exhale. “To put it bluntly, I am a product of the system, I was in foster care most of my life, and I have major trust issues.”
I opened my mouth to speak again, but she cuts me off.
“Let's pause there for a second to remove the negative implication. You were in the foster care system, due to no fault of your own, you succeeded magnificently, breaking the norm and giving millions of other little girls the ability to hope they too will be a success story.”
I smile, “Thank you. Maybe one day I will be able to reach others and help them grow, but right now I am concerned with ensuring that I can do that for just one.”
“Understood. Now let's tackle these trust issues.”
“There's a man, and my gut tells me he's wonderful. But my head doesn't want to let me believe.”
She smiles. “To believe what? You're falling in love?”
“I think I could,” I whisper.
She makes some gestures, a chair dance? Whatever it is, it's in celebration of what I just shared.
When she settles back down, clears her throat, smiles at the screen, “I'm sorry about that, but what girl does not love,” she pauses and giggles, “love.”
I point to myself, “This girl.”
“I call bullshit. I know you love your daughter; you love the two women you met during your graduate studies, you love your friends, you love people, Claudia, people whom you allow yourself to love when you listen to that gut feeling. I highly suggest you allow yourself to listen to it in this instance.”
How does she know so much about me? “I—”
She holds her hands up, stopping me, “Before we move on, I need to tell you that I have a client whom I have been seeing twice a week since mid-October, before that it was every two weeks in that very office.
I ask him permission to be open about it if this moment ever happened, I am allowed to answer questions for you, and he—"
“Deacon,” I whisper.
She smiles so big, “No person is perfect, we know this, but I am telling you, Dr. Holloway, he just may be.”
I sit speechless for a few moments, looking at my broken pencil sitting on a pad of scribbles, and in the corner, I see something I doodled, DM #1, and a heart around it.
“This can go so many ways, you can give me permission as he has. I can refer you to someone I trust, or we can all agree to do couples counseling.”
“Couples counseling?” I say, and then look back up at the screen. “I’m going to need to think about that when my head isn’t spinning at the fact —”
She squeals with glee like Savannah does when… she sees Deacon and Paul.
“Did he tell you I was given a house? That Paul Bronski signed the deed over to me and—”
“Paul fucking Bronski?” She gasps and then laughs. “He did not. But holy shit!”
“It’s a lot. All of this.” I rub my temple. “Good stuff, but the bad too.”
“And I can tell you that I received a call from Deacon yesterday. He did not give me details or names, but there’s a custody concern with a man whom you gave notice to when you found out you were pregnant, and he wanted nothing to do with the child.
You had decided to raise her on your own, and we’re very happy, and in a good place to do so, then he just stepped back into the picture. ”
“And is the reason Deacon missed all those games and—”
“Your ex assaulted him?”
“My ex is a stretch, we had a fling while I was here doing an internship, it was purely sex, and until recently, I thought it was decent sex.” When she laughs, I realize what I had just said and laugh out loud.
“Savannah’s biological father, and I hate the word father because he is not one, nor does he want to be any more than I want him to be, but it's Kyle Dingy.”
“Kyle Dingy is the player that Dean got rid of,” she smiles proudly. “I may have had something to do with the restructure of the team. I thought I did well, I did well. Except for with Andy Johnson, but in my defense, he rarely spoke to me.” She takes a sip of coffee.
“Yes, that Kyle Dingy, well, he's now engaged to Emma Shaw. She—”
Coffee spews out of her mouth, and she begins choking. “Oh my God, are you okay?”
“She is a sister,” her jaw drops. “Ratburn, too.”
“KET?”
“Sadly, no.”
My wheels begin to turn, “This may be absolutely nothing but —"
“I love a good conspiracy theory, let me hear it.”
“Rathburn, who addressed me as Miss Halloway, and when I did the same—”
“Oh, I love you,” she grins. “Did she double D you?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I laugh.
“Two doctorates like her shit doesn’t stink, and not the fact she got off on staying in college on daddy’s dime, so she could advise other mean girls to torment future Tri Gam’s.”
“She went on a spiel about romantic relationships between the staff and players not being allowed in any organization, see oversees.”
“Eww, gross fucking word, and complete bullshit. Go on.”
“Is it possible that Emma Shaw was Tri Gam?”
“I don’t know, but I’m about to go down a rabbit hole,” she says as she begins tapping on her keyboard. Less than a second later, she says, “Bingo!”