Page 29 of Desire or Defense

I’m in an Eagles tee and jeans, I wonder if other people dress up more for therapy… but I also don’t really care.

“Mitch, good to see you,” he says calmly.

I grunt and sit in my usual spot, the large, dark-blue armchair. Closing my eyes, I inhale a deep breath and hope he doesn’t make me talk about what happened last week. I hear his footsteps as he moves across the room, then the rumpling of fabric when he takes a seat across from me. When I open my eyes, he’s typing on his tablet—a picture of cool, calm, and collected.

He finishes whatever notes he’s making and looks up at me, those warm brown eyes making me feel just a little more relaxed. The brown makes me think of Andie’s eyes, but hers have gold flecks throughout the brown. Mesmerizing. I blink a few times, wishing away thoughts of the woman I can’t seem to keep out of my mind no matter how hard I try.

“I realize you’re not ready to talk to me, Mitch. And that’s okay, you’ll talk when you’re ready.” He sets his tablet on the side table and crosses his legs. “But I want to give you some tools to calm your racing thoughts, if and when the situation occurs.”

“Are you going to hypnotize me?”

Dr. Curtis’s cool facade cracks and he laughs, it’s a warm, hearty sound. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been asked that. But no, no hypnosis.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, which draws another laugh from my shrink.

“We’re just going to work on some breathing techniques, and it doesn’t require any talking. Sound good?”

I exhale an annoyed breath, but it’s better than talking about my family history, so I nod my head once.

“Alright.” Dr. Curtis uncrosses his legs, leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “So, this is the 7/11 method. It’s very simple, first you inhale for seven seconds, then exhale for eleven seconds. You can count fast, no Mississippi or anything. Go ahead and try it.”

He waits expectantly. I roll my eyes but oblige his request, and count while inhaling and exhaling. I look out the window while I’m breathing, wishing I was outside enjoying the sun.

I glance back at him when I’m done and raise an eyebrow as if to ask, what next.

He chuckles. “Good, good. Now let’s try it again, but this time, think of a scenario that could cause you to feel angry, and think about the consequences of reacting in anger in such a situation.”

I narrow my eyes at him, knowing he tricked me here. I might not be talking about my shit outloud, but now I have to actually think about it. Dr. Curtis is unfettered, waving his hand in a silent decree for me to begin again.

Looking out the window again, the first thing that pops into my mind is, of course, my dad. The day he got arrested, leaving me without a mother or a father. If it wasn’t for my granddad, I would’ve ended up in foster care. The rage starts to burn deep down in my gut and moves up to my chest and shoulders, I tense.

“Don’t forget to breathe,” Dr. Curtis says quietly.

I inhale, counting to seven. I think of what the anger makes me want to do: punch anything or anyone in sight, or drink myself into oblivion. All of which would ruin my career. That’s the consequence. And the reason I don’t drink.

Exhaling for eleven seconds, I feel my shoulders relax a little and the feeling in my chest start to ease. Not completely, but enough to make me realize this stupid breathing thing may actually work. Not that I’m going to admit that to the shrink.

“Great work,” Dr. Curtis says. He has his tablet again and starts typing. “How do you feel after that?”

I grunt and shrug one shoulder.

Dr. Curtis smirks, like he knows it helped and that I won’t admit it.

CHAPTER 13

MITCH

Wednesday, I’m at the ice rink where the Wombats practice. I reserved one of the rinks for me and Noah, I don’t care about the cost as long as I don’t have to deal with a bunch of fawning NHL fans.

I have a net set up for us and a dozen pucks. I’m waiting for Andie and Noah to arrive, and it’s embarrassing how many times I’ve glanced at the door to the rink. It’s also embarrassing how much time I took on my hair this morning, even though I have my helmet on.

I tell myself I’m just excited to work with Noah and to see what he can do without the other boys here to tease him, but deep down, I know I just want a glimpse of Andie’s brown eyes, and maybe that dimple too.

When the door finally opens, it’s not Andie who appears at Noah’s side, but an older woman with salt and pepper hair, brown skin, and eyes that seem to see straight through me.

I skate toward them and the woman’s eyes rake over me slowly… not in the way someone would check me out, but more like how a bodyguard would survey a threat. She takes in my beard, my probably narrowed eyes, then my shoulders and down my tattooed arms, which are on full display since the sleeves of my grey henley are rolled up to my elbows. Her eyes continue all the way down to the laces on my skates, not missing a thing.

She allows her eyes to drift back up and she meets my gaze, her own eyes cold and calculating. Noah skates onto the ice, smiling, and I can’t stop the smile that dawns on my own face. I’m not used to seeing him smile, but it seems to brighten up the entire rink. A trait he has in common with his sister.