Chapter 11 #2
I haven't. I've been busy developing an obsession with Rosie.
But I knew I was going to be okay without soccer.
I saw how she handled herself without ballet.
Her strength made me believe that I could be okay.
After all, I always knew this was a college thing only.
It was never supposed to last. Having it end almost two years early sucked, but I would survive.
Anything was better than this limbo.
"Yeah, I'll be fine, no matter what happens. But I won't be fine working myself to the bone just to be untrusted. It sucks more. And once I know, I'll be able to see what the future holds."
Max gave me a long look. It was the psychologist in him, trying to get a read on me, which he probably was. He always read me like an open book. But still, he nodded.
"I'll talk to Coach, and we'll review the formation tomorrow, making sure we keep people away from you as best we can.”
"Appreciate it," I nodded, relief washing over me. "And Max... sorry I was so hard on you for that goal.”
Max smirked. "Yeah, it was a shit thing to do, but when I'm in the zone... I love you, but I love the game more."
A low laugh escaped me. "I know, no one can compete with your love for soccer."
"Maybe Ivy," Max shrugged, making me laugh a long belly laugh.
"Definitely Ivy."
The waiting room of Dr. Morrison's office always smelled like lavender and something clinical I could never quite place. I bounced my knee, scrolling mindlessly through Spotify while pretending I wasn't counting down the minutes until I could leave.
My phone buzzed.
Rosalie
Just finished my Calc exam. Pretty sure I failed, but at least it's over. How's your day?
A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.
Practice. School. Therapy. The usual fun.
Rosalie
Want to call after? I can listen to you complain about Dr. Morrison's leading questions.
He doesn't ask leading questions.
Rosalie
"And how does that make you FEEL, Derek?"
I actually laughed out loud, earning a look from the receptionist.
Okay, fine. Maybe a little bit.
Rosalie
Knew it. Good luck. I believe in you
The heart emoji did something stupid to my chest. Before I could respond, the door opened, and Dr. Morrison appeared, his grey hair and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, wearing the same navy cardigan he wore to every session.
"Derek, come on in."
I pocketed my phone and followed him into the familiar office. Leather couch, bookshelf full of psychology texts with titles like Trauma and Recovery and The Body Keeps the Score, a spider plant that somehow stayed alive despite the lack of natural light. I dropped onto my usual spot on the couch.
“So," Dr. Morrison said, settling into his chair with his yellow legal pad. "How was your week?"
I'd learned he always started with this question, even when we both knew something specific was on my mind.
"Good. Better than usual, actually." I shifted on the couch, trying to find the right words. "Practice went well. My knee felt strong. No panic attacks during drills."
"That's excellent progress." He made a note. "What else?"
And there it was. The real question.
I'd been seeing Dr. Morrison long enough to know he could read me like a book. The way I was fidgeting with my phone. The half-smile I couldn't quite suppress. The fact that I'd shown up fifteen minutes early and spent the entire time in the waiting room grinning at my phone like an idiot.
"I think I'm falling for someone," I admitted.
Dr. Morrison's pen paused mid-stroke. "That's... unexpected. Tell me about her."
"She's my teammate's little sister." I ran a hand through my hair. "Which is already complicated. But it's more than that. She's... she gets it. The injury stuff. The identity crisis. All of it."
"Because she's been through something similar?"
"Hip replacement at seventeen. Ended her ballet career before it really started." I leaned forward, the words coming faster now. "She was supposed to audition for companies this year. Instead, she's doing Pilates and teaching me how to not fall apart during recovery."
"And you have feelings for her."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yeah. I do."
"How long have you felt this way?"
I thought about it. Really thought about it. "Honestly? Since the first time she showed up at the hospital with those terrible cupcakes. But I didn't let myself acknowledge it until recently."
"Why not?"
"Because of Aaron. Because of the team. Because I didn't think I deserved to want something good when I was such a mess." I met his eyes. "Because my parents' marriage taught me that love is just people hurting each other with extra steps."
Dr. Morrison set down his pen. "Derek, we've talked about this. Your parents' relationship doesn't define what love has to be for you."
"I know. Logically, I know." I slumped back. "But it's hard to believe in something you've never actually seen work."
"What have you seen with Rosalie? In your interactions with her?"
I thought about the hours we'd spent together. Her showing up consistently, even when I was at my worst. The way she pushed me in Pilates, but knew exactly when to back off. How she'd made me laugh when I wanted to give up. The playlists she'd created just for me.
"I've seen someone who shows up. Who doesn't try to fix me but sits with me in the mess?
Who makes me want to be better, not because I'm not good enough, but because she makes me believe I could be.
" My throat tightened. "She makes me feel like I'm more than just my injury.
More than just soccer. Like I'm enough as I am. "
"That sounds significant."
"It is. That's the problem." I stood up, needing to move. "Because I'm Aaron's best friend. And she's his little sister. And there are rules about this kind of thing. Bro code or whatever."
"Are there?" Dr. Morrison asked mildly. "Or are there just fears disguised as rules?"
I stopped pacing. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, 'bro code' is a convenient excuse. What you're really afraid of is risking both relationships. Your friendship with Aaron and your connection with Rosalie. You're afraid of choosing wrong and losing everything."
Damn. He was good at this.
"So what do I do?"
"What do you want to do?"
"I want to tell her how I feel. I want to see where this goes. I want to stop pretending she's just my teammate's sister when she's become so much more." I sat back down, defeated. "But I also don't want to blow up my best friend's life. Or hers."
"Those desires aren't mutually exclusive, Derek. You can pursue Rosalie and respect Aaron. It might be complicated, yes. It might require difficult conversations. But complicated doesn't mean impossible."
I pulled out my phone and looked at our text thread. Her last message was still fresh on my phone from when she was making me laugh in the waiting room. She was always on my mind.
"She makes me want to try," I said quietly. "Even though I'm terrified. Even though I might screw it up. She makes me want to be brave enough to try."
"That's growth, Derek. A few months ago, you wouldn't have admitted that to yourself, let alone to me."
"Yeah, well. She's been teaching me that being vulnerable isn't the same as being weak."
Dr. Morrison smiled. "She sounds like a good influence."
"The best." I checked the time. "Shit, I'm supposed to meet the guys for coffee in ten minutes."
"Before you go," Dr. Morrison said, "I want you to think about something this week. You've spent a lot of time focusing on what you've lost, including your old knee, your fearless playing style, and your pre-injury identity. But what have you gained?"
"Therapy bills?" I tried to joke, but Doc remained unimpressed.
"Besides those. Really think about it. Sometimes we're so focused on the cost of change that we miss the gifts it brings." He stood, walking me to the door. "Same time next week?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Doc."
I left his office still thinking about his question. What had I gained?