Page 89 of Love Lessons
“Fuck, Doulie. Your guru thing is out of control.”
He points a screwdriver in my direction. “I said that just to make you cringe.”
“It worked.”
He grins. “Any final thoughts on the captain appointment?”
“Not now, man. I don’t want to choose. I already have survivor’s guilt over this trade.”
O’Doul laughs. “Fair enough. I think I know who I want in that seat anyway.”
“Don’t tell me, so I don’t have to try to act surprised when I hear it.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
The doorbell buzzes, and the effect it has on me is strange. I immediately thinkVera, and then feel a lift inside my chest. It’s been a constant struggle not to think about her. And as I nearly trip myself sprinting for the buzzer box, I realize I’m failing.
But who else would arrive at my door?
I press the button. “Hello?”
“Hey Ian, it’s Doc Mulvey.”
My head swivels to O’Doul, who already looks sheepish. “Oh, did I forget to mention that your appointment is today?”
I press the button that unlocks the door, but I also glare at my teammate. “That’s a dick move, Doulie.”
“Is it?” He gives me a smirk. “Easier than hounding you to lock in an appointment. Later.” He heads for the door, greeting the shrink in the hallway on his way out.
That’s how I find myself standing in the middle of my living room, trying to hide my scowl as Doc Mulvey strolls in wearing khakis and a polo shirt. He’s the least intimidating man in the world. He’s a nice enough guy, but I still don’t really want to talk to him.
“Didn’t know you made house calls,” I say grumpily, closing the door behind him.
“It’s nice to get out of the office sometimes. This is a great apartment. Did I hear you’re working on it yourself?”
“I did the dumb-guy work—sanding and painting. I can hold a paintbrush as well as anyone. But I hired contractors for the electric and the plumbing. Want a soda?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I get two drinks from the kitchen, but then the conversation stalls. After sitting down, I take a sip of my drink and fidget while he makes himself comfortable.
“Mr. Crikey, you and I talk several times a year. This is no different.”
“Isn’t it? Usually, we’re talking about sports psychology. Maintaining my focus and all that. But nobody wants to hear a professional athlete whine about his nightmares.”
“We’re here to talk about your focus and well-being, same as always. It’s just that you happen to be struggling a little bit right now. And Ian, everybody struggles. It’s how you face it that makes you who you are. I can tell you for sure that ignoring your problems is a crappy strategy.”
“All right,” I grunt.
“So tell me how long you’ve felt unsteady. Patrick says you’re having trouble sleeping. Has this happened all season?”
“No way.” I shake my head. “It started in the spring. After that, uh, incident.”
“Defineincident.”
“You know the one.” This is what I don’t like about shrinks. They don’t let you get away with anything. “I sent a player to the hospital. He’s had—what—three surgeries already? And he’s not coming back.”
“You feel responsible.”
