Page 97 of The Trouble with Players

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“I’d finally let down my guard with someone. I finally trusted a ball player. And what did it get me? The rug ripped out from under me and a broken heart,” I said, playing with the squishy ball I’d grabbed from the fidget basket.

“Tell me how you felt when he was saying all of those things to you,” Blythe said.

“Hopeful. Which I know is crazy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with feeling hopeful. But I will say I’m concerned with what you’ll do with your feelings when hope runs out.”

I said nothing, knowing the hope I felt was momentary and reality had quickly set in.

“Let’s talk about your father,” she said, switching gears.

“Let’s not.”

“I think we can both agree he is the root of all the issues you’re facing.”

I didn’t respond because it was the truth.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she continued. “Your panic attacks began when the truth about his infidelity came to light.”

I nodded.

“And they intensified being around him this summer.”

I nodded.

“We need to address these unresolved feelings you have toward him.”

“I hate him.”

“But you didn’t always. It’s why your mom wanted you both under the same roof. She knew that you’d both have to finally address the issues. She couldn’t have planned on his presence eliciting a physical reaction in you. But her intentions were good.”

“All we do is fight,” I said.

“Yes, but have you gotten the opportunity to say anything you were holding inside?”

I thought back to our interactions. I had definitely made my hate clear.

“If he were in front of you right now, what would you say to him?” she asked.

“You destroyed my life.”

“That’s a start. Anything else?”

“You’re deceitful.”

“Good.”

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“Stop there. Can you think of a time when he did care about you?”

“Up until last summer, I felt it my entire life.”

“Could all of that been deception?” she asked.

I shrugged, not wanting to admit there had been many good times with him.

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