Page 48 of Hard Pass

I choose the patterned chair farthest from her desk and sit like I’m preparing for a deposition instead of therapy.

Her mouth twitches like she notices. Probably because she does. She’s too observant.

She settles into the leather chair across from me, crossing one leg over the other, and placing a notepad on her knee. “Coach Brooks mentioned that you wanted to talk, and I’m so glad you decided to.”

Wanted.

Interesting way to frame being sent to the team psychologist because your entire, very early career, feels like it’s already circling the drain.

“Something like that.”

Silence stretches.

I glance around the room again, trying to decide what I’m supposed to say here.

Hi. I can’t throw a football right anymore and apparently my brain is broken because of it.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” she asks.

“Nope.”

“That’s okay.”

Doesn’t feel okay.

She studies me for a second. Her measured patience makes me even more uncomfortable.

“So,” she says gently, “where would you like to start?”

I bark out a humorless laugh. “That assumes I know.”

“Fair.”

Another pause as I lean back in the chair and scrub a hand over my jaw. “Coach thinks this might help.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think I have a game on Sunday.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “That’s not what I asked.”

Of course it isn’t.

I exhale slowly. “I think I need to get my shit together.”

“And what does that mean to you?”

Jesus Christ. I shift in my chair. “Is this how this goes? You answer questions with more questions?”

“Sometimes.”

I stare at her. She stares right back.

No judgment. No pity. Which honestly might be worse.

“Cole, I can help you,” she says. “But I need something to work with. Right now you’re circling every answer instead of actually giving one.”

My jaw tightens. “I’m not used to talking about my feelings.”