Page 21 of Breakaway
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Chapter 8: Luca
The hallway past the training room goes left where the treatment rooms are and right where the offices start. I have walked this hallway a hundred times since September. Strength room, video room, the nutritionist's door with the laminated food pyramid taped at eye level that someone has drawn a mustache on. Today I go past all of them to the last door on the right.
The nameplate reads DR. ALAN PRYCE, TEAM PSYCHOLOGIST. Below it, a small printed sign: BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.
I have an appointment.
The waiting area is two chairs and a side table with a box of tissues and a small green plant that is either fake or receiving more care than anything else in this building. I sit down. The chair is deliberately soft, the cushion shaped to make you settle. I check my phone. The wallpaper lights up. Blue water, white railing. I put it face down on my knee.
The office door opens. A man in his fifties, trim, glasses, a quarter-zip pullover that I would give a six-two for color choice.Muted olive. Safe. The shirt a therapist wears when he wants you to forget he is taking notes.
"Luca? Come on in."
The office is small and warm. Two chairs angled toward each other, a desk pushed against the wall, a window that faces the parking lot. No couch, which I appreciate. A framed diploma from Emory. A photograph of a dog on the desk, medium-sized, indeterminate breed.
I take the chair closest to the window. He sits across from me and opens a folder on his lap.
"So," he says. "Welcome. Thanks for coming in."
"Happy to be here."
"How's the transition been? You've been in Atlanta for about six weeks now."
"Good." I settle into the chair. My ankle crosses over my knee. "Really good. The team's been great. The facility is incredible. I came from Miami, but honestly the setup here is top-tier. The weight room alone is a solid eight-five."
"You rate the weight room?"
"I rate everything. It's a system. Ask Marchetti."
He smiles. "Tell me about the team. How are you fitting in?"
"Fast, actually. The expansion draft is a weird way to arrive somewhere, but there's an upside to it. Nobody has history here. Nobody has seniority, well other than the vets. We're all building the thing from scratch, which means the hierarchy is still forming, and that's kind of exciting. I walked in on day one and by lunch I was arguing about barbecue with six guys I'd never met. That's a good sign."
"It sounds like the social side has been smooth."
"The social side is where I live. Give me a room and I will find a way to talk to everyone in it."
"And the hockey side?"
"Sharp. I feel good on the ice. The coaching staff has clear expectations. I'm getting minutes, which is what you want in a new situation. My release point is back where I want it. I had a stretch where it was off, but it's dialed in now."
He writes in the folder. I cannot see what. The pen is one of those roller-ball types that glide too smoothly. Three-point-nine for the pen.
"What about the adjustment off the ice? Moving to a new city, new place to live. How is that going?"
"Fine. The apartment is good. I found a neighborhood I like. There's a pour-over place on Piedmont that Marchetti turned me on to that's become part of the rotation."
"Sounds like you're settling in."
"I am. It's been a smooth transition."
The system wants to hear that the new player is adjusting, that the expansion draft was manageable, that the distance from his previous team is a chapter he has processed and filed and moved past. The system wants smooth because smooth means the system does not need to act.
"Let's talk about the trade for a second," he says. "How did you experience that? The expansion draft."
"Honestly, it was a shock. Nobody expected it. My agent didn't expect it. I had two good years in Miami but was third-line so didn’t really expect to be on anyone’s prospect list. When the call came, it was like, okay, new plan. But that's hockey. You go where they send you and you make the most of it."
