Page 91 of Love Lessons
Another shake of my head. “No. We danced around for a minute. I had trouble getting a grip on that kid. He was fast, but his reach wasn’t as long as mine. I was getting frustrated. And he kept up with the chirps…”
Ugh.
“What were the chirps? Do you remember?”
I swallow. “Yeah, but it shouldn’t make a difference. Chirps are chirps. That kid didn’t know me from Adam.”
“What, though?” the shrink presses. “Did he say, ‘I heard your ex is marrying your cousin’?”
I laugh, because it’s so ridiculous. “He said, ‘You’re old and fucking slow. No wonder the women don’t want you.’” My heart starts to pound as I raise my eyes to the doc’s. Because that lame-ass chirp practically made me lose my mind. “I mean, a fourth-grader could do better.”
“But this isn’t a playground, right?”
“No.” I shake my head. “He was trying to bait me. It worked, and I hit him hard. Twice. Got lucky to land the left lead to his jaw. His head snapped back, so the right cross landed here.” I stop and press a hand against my own collarbone, as if testing its strength. “And I felt it go. It just…popped.” Reliving that awful moment makes me visibly shudder. “He went down so hard. Like instantly. His head bounced off the ice, his helmet flew off…” I stop and breathe, tasting bile at the back of my throat.
Doc nudges my soda toward me on the coffee table. “Then what happened?”
I gulp my drink for a moment and pull myself together. “They took him off on a stretcher, and he was vomiting blood in the locker room before the ambulance came. Someone said maybe a bone fragment caused internal bleeding. He might have died.”
The shrink sits back in his chair. “Ian, that is a really bad day at the office, don’t get me wrong. But this guy skated up to you, insulted you, and asked you to fight him. And that same thing happens at every rink on the continent.”
“Yeah, but how often does it end likethat?I must have lost my mind out there, Doc. Or else I have fucking terrible luck. How do I figure out which it is?”
And what if it happens again?That’s the scariest question of all.
Doc studies me with kind eyes. “The fact that his injury bothers you says important things about you. You’re allowed to feel however you feel. But you’re never getting a note from God, Ian. Perfect clarity is too lofty a goal.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t find some peace, though. It happened, and we can’t change that. But you’re sitting here, doing the work, asking the hard questions. You’re struggling with yourself. None of this is easy. But the next time you come up against a fight, this work you’re doing will make you better able to handle it.”
“Hope so,” I grit out.
“How often do you have these dreams about the fight?”
“I had a lot of ’em during the playoffs. Had one last night, too. But Italy was better.”
“Interesting.” He folds his hands over his knee. “What was different in Italy?”
One word: Vera. “Well, I wasn’t alone. Lots of friends around. But also…” My chuckle is awkward. “I hung out with a great woman. But then I screwed that up, too.”
His face fills with empathy. “Did you tell her about the dreams?”
“No way.” I shake my head. “Nobody wants to hear about that.”
“Hmm.” It’s the sound of someone who’s about to tell you something you don’t want to hear. “In my experience, no relationship can survive without the truth. You know what Ari tells you guys in yoga class—no mud, no lotus.”
“People love that expression,” I grumble.
“Maybe because it’s true,” he says.
* * *
By the timethe doctor leaves, my eyes are drooping. Who knew the truth was so exhausting? I stretch out on my sofa to take a nap, but after just a minute or so, somebody rings the doorbell.
Just like before, I leap up, excited by the possibility that Vera has come to see me. I buzz the visitor in, sight unseen.
But it’s not Vera. It’s a stranger bearing a garment bag. “Sign here, please.”
