Page 72 of The Last Guy On Earth
“Then you should have pretended to be asleep,” the psychologist says as I follow him down the aisle toward the office. “I mighta fallen for it.”
“Next time.”
He gives me a friendly grin and holds open the door. We settle on opposite sides of the little table, and I speak first. “I suppose you’re wondering why I played so badly last night. Why I keep getting worse, instead of better. You and everyone else.”
“It hadn’t crossed my mind,” he says. “I really just hauled you back here to ask what picture you’re putting on Stoney’s vision board.”
“Dude.”
He snickers. “Yeah, I noticed you’re still struggling, and I wondered if you had any thoughts about it and how you’re feeling today.”
“Um…”Sexually satisfied, but otherwise hollow?“It’s been a rough patch. And everybody else’s anxiety about it isn’t helping.”
“I’ll bet.” He drums his fingers on the table between us. “So what did you put on Stoney’s board? Serious question.”
“Nothing,” I admit. “I don’t believe in that stuff.”
He shrugs. “Fair. But let’s pretend for a second that the exercise has value. You cut out some pictures of how you want your life to look, paste them on the board, and suddenly your lifewill head in that direction—like a freight train on a greased track. So what would be on Jethro Hale’s personal vision board?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m asking,” he replies with frustrating calmness.
“Um…” I’m almost too tired to play these games. “A glove save? A clean sheet? Another championship ring.”
“Really? That’s all?” The words drip with skepticism. “This isn’t the team board; this is just yours to fill up. So what else is on there?”
“Um…”Just Clay’s face. And some of the meals he used to cook for me. “Black-and-white cupcakes and chili.”
He laughs. “Okay, now you’re on the right track. But a guy needs more than hockey and food. You’re thirty-seven and your current contract—which is probably your last—will end in eighteen months. What then?”
“Christ,” I curse under my breath. “Like a lot of guys, I have no idea. And are yousurethis is what we should be talking about? You think staring into the void is going to unfuck my game for tomorrow night?”
He leans back and crosses his arms. “I think there’s no harm in it. And I think your personal vision board needs some work and probably always has. Maybe your core belief is that hockey is all you’ve got in your life...”
“Hockey and cupcakes,” I remind him.
He ignores the interruption. “And suddenly hockey and you aren’t working so well. Maybe hockey is fixing to dump you out on your ass. That would fuck with anyone’s concentration.”
My jaw ticks. “It’s not all I have,” I argue. “I have a nephew who needs me. His smile would be in the center of this hypothetical board.”
“Admirable,” he says. “But give me something foryou.”
“Why? And how does that help me midseason?”
“The thing about the tough questions is that it’s never the right time. But they’re out there waiting for you anyway. There’s never a convenient day for unfucking your life. That’s why we have to do it a little bit at a time. So what’s thefirstthing you’ll do when you retire from hockey, whenever that might be. Take me through it.”
“Um…” I sigh, and I’m suddenly so tired my eyelids feel heavy. “Maybe I’ll think about going back to school.”
He perks up a little. “Really? What were you studying in Wisconsin?”
“I left to go to the minors before I had to decide,” I admit.
“Were you sick of school?” he asks.
“Nah.” I shake my head. “But I found it hard to balance academics with hockey, and my grades were always rocky. I needed to keep a certain GPA to keep my scholarship. And then my sister…” I stop short when I realize this conversation won’t do a thing to cheer me up.
“Your sister?”
