Page 90 of Even Odds
Chapter Twenty-Nine
There’s a song forevery moment, and Mallory is the queen of finding the perfect one.
MalPal
*Without Me by Eminem*
Because GUESS WHO’S BACK. BACK AGAIN
Congrats on being cleared, Cader Tot! ILY
It chimes five more times as I readjust in bed, shifting my computer to rest on my lap. After three practices at full intensity with no pain or tightness, I got the stamp of approval from Isla and Rio to play in tomorrow’s game.
“Seems like people are excited about the good news,” Armin says from my screen. Self-help and psychology books with worn and cracked spines fill the shelves behind him. There isn’t a photo, plant, or personal effect in sight. “How are you feeling today?”
“Much better,” I answer, silencing my phone. “Sorry about that.”
The first rule of counseling is no phones.
“No need to apologize.” As usual, his cadence is unhurried. “I’m sure missing fourteen games wasn’t easy. It’s nice to see a real smile today.”
Within ten minutes of our first session, Armin read me to filth.
“You smiled, but your eyes didn’t agree with you. You don’t have to wrap hard things in a smile, you know. Want to talk about it?”
Before our first session, Reed warned me about his therapist’s unflappable reputation, stating many players consider him to be cold and detached, but Armin is exactly what I needed. From the moment I saw his cream sweater vest and the practical leather watch on his wrist, I knew he was perfect. There’s no feigned warmth or performative empathy. No fangirling or flattery.
He’s just Armin, and I’m just Cade.
“Let’s continue a discussion from our second session.” He flips through a small journal, pausing when he finds what he’s looking for. “We role-played a session as if the ‘golden boy’ version of you was in the room with us. Do you remember what you said he looks like?”
Clearly. He was me until about three months ago. “Smiling all the time, even when things suck. Outwardly confident but cracked straight down the middle. Like he’s two steps ahead of everyone and ready for whatever gets thrown at him, but it’s only because that’s the way he has been conditioned to act.”
“What does he want from the world? And what’s his biggest fear?”
Saying it for a second time hurts even more. “To be exactly what people expect of him, and he fears losing the golden boy title. He believes it’ll be the end of him.”
“That’s a lot for him to carry every day, don’t you think?” Green eyes flicker behind thick lenses. “I know your mother gave you the nickname as a child, but when did you start feeling”—he pauses to check his notes—“the invisibleweight?”
Grabbing a pillow, I press it against my chest. “I’m not sure, but I remember the day I became aware of it. It was my freshman year of high school at the state championship.”
The newspaper clipping Rio keeps in his office flashes in my mind. Every newspaper ran with the nickname, spreading it like wildfire around the baseball world. That’s when colleges started reaching out, wanting to talk to the golden boy.
Not Cade. Never Cade.
Clear Lake University was the first team that wanted to speak tome, so I signed there.
“Would you say the nickname was always tied to baseball?”
“It didn’t start off that way, but after that game, yeah. Then it became a cage. ‘The golden boy should worry about baseball rather than try other sports’ or ‘Why do you care so much about a college diploma? You’re going to be a star.’ It sucked to know that they looked at me and only saw baseball.” My laugh is dry. “Everyone wanted the charming, reliable, and always-okay guy with softened edges, tucking away real emotions.”
Armin doesn’t press or jump in. The quiet stretches as if it’s part of the conversation.
I hate it as much as I need it.
“Not my friends and family,” I add. “I’m sure they don’t expect the golden boy all the time.”
“That’s good.” His ballpoint pen scratches against the paper. “Does that mean you let them see the sharper edges and the real emotions?”
