Page 29 of Goalie Lessons

And that the ultimate goal is to convince Callie to talk to heractualtherapist, or at least agree to see one that she likes more. Whom she’ll be willing to talk to.

In exchange for that, I agree to let Astrid study me. Use me as a little research experiment.

I’m not a huge fan of that part—would have much preferred if her request was what I originally thought—but at this point, I’ll do anything to help the girls. With Athena crying through the nighteverynight, and Callie already getting two letters back from the center for behavioral issues, I’m worried about what it’s going to look like when the two of them start school in September.

I realize, with a start, that their first day is likely only a week or two away.

Astrid strides ahead in front of me, legs and arms pumping as she makes her way up the incline. It’s early in the morning—earlier than I would even get up for practice—so it’s still dark out here, moths fluttering around the lamp lights. Up ahead, there’s a large wooden sign that I imagine details the trails in this park.

By the time I catch up to her, she’s already studying the sign.

“Alright,” I say, realizing I might be very under prepared, compared to her. “What are we doing here?”

“Lots of studies about the efficacy of natural exposure on mental health,” she says, running her finger down the list of trails, then checking over on the map. “Positive correlation to improved symptoms. But for this case study, we’re looking at theelite athletespecifically, so I need to observe you. Hiking every morning this week, then we’ll compare to the baselines we took yesterday.”

“I resent the tone you used when you saidelite athlete.”

Astrid snorts, but still doesn’t glance over at me. “And what tone is that?”

“A sarcastic one.”

Yesterday, I sat completely still in Sloane and Cal’s kitchen while Astrid measured my vitals. I’d said she could come over to my place instead, but the look on her face told me it wasn’t up for discussion. I’d be meeting with her on her terms at her place—or, Sloane’s place, rather. Since Astrid’s staying with them.

After taking my vitals, she asked me the longest string of questions I’d ever endured in one sitting. All numbers based.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is your baseline anxiety?” she’d asked.

“Well…that depends. What’s one, and what’s ten?”

“One being the mildest, ten being the most severe.”

“No, like—is ten the worst I’ve ever felt in my life? Like during an anxiety attack? What is one? Like practically nothing? Is zero nothing?”

“Just answer the question, O’Connor.”

We’d just been finishing up when Callum and Sloane got home, and I didn’t miss the way Sloane’s eyes popped at the sight of me in her kitchen. She sent one of those silent, wide-eyed looks Astrid’s way, but I knew what it meant.

Sloane knew. And she probably had far more information than I did. For a wild, stupid second, I thought about asking her—hey, why did your best friend run away after a great night with me?

Athena and Callie had been watching a movie in the living room. When we walked in, a different movie auto-queued, and both girls were limp, draped over different areas of the couch. Callie was curled into a ball so tight, it was hard to tell where her limbs stopped, and her torso began.

I tried to wake her up, but she’d grumbled and started to turn away, then sleepily held her arms out. In that moment, I’d had to pause, imagining Josh there, scooping her into his arms, carrying her to bed. Sleeping, Callie was probably existing in the reality where her parents were still alive, and her dad might pick her up when she fell asleep on the couch.

Callum helped me scoop them up and carry them out to the car.

“Must be brutal,” Sloane had whispered, staring at them with soft eyes. “Plucked out of your life like that, getting carried around by strangers.”

Now, Astrid pivots, drawing me from the memory and pointing down the wide dirt trail. At the fork is one of those stacked arrow signs, pointing in different directions to indicate where to go for each trail entrance. “This way.”

I follow along behind her. “So, you need to watch me walk? What kind of data are you collecting about me walking?”

“First, I can’t tell you what I’m taking notes on. It might affect your behavior. And second, it’s more…making sure you actually do it. Spend the time in nature.”

“If you tell me to do it, Astrid, I will.”

The look she shoots me is surprisingly heated, and I hold it until she glances away, a blush blossoming over her cheeks. Everything about this situation between us is confusing to me, and I have the wild urge to ask her again, point blank, why she left that night.

“Here,” she says, gesturing to a little wooden sign, nestled just within the underbrush. “This is the start of our loop.”

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