Page 18 of Penalty to the Heart

“Caleb,” he starts, his black eyes guilt-ridden with my unexpected remark.

“Don’t worry, boss. You’ll get your cup. I’ll make sure of it.”

I then let go of his hand with a jerk and walk away.

Chapter 3

Roxanne

“Don’t you get tired of coming to this dreadful place all the time just to see me?” Lenny grumbles, disheartened, as he plays his hand.

“Not at all. I’ve grown very fond of our little card games,” I reply warmly while placing a three of clubs onto the discarded pile that lies on top of his overbed table. I fetch a new card, smiling when it turns out to be a queen of hearts.

“That’s because you always beat me at this damn game.” He chuckles in amusement. “Aren’t you supposed to let me win a game or two? It does very little for my ego getting my ass handed to me by my own shrink.”

“Therapist,” I correct with a broad smile. “And letting you win won’t improve your self-esteem if you feel it wasn’t hard fought. This way, when you do win, you know that you’ve bested me. Fair and square.”

“Yeah, I guess it is better this way. I have enough people in my life feeling sorry for me as it is. At least I can always count on you to give it to me straight and treat me like I still have some dignity left,” he laments with his frown lines returning to his face.

“Is that how you feel? That people pity you?” I ask, lowering my gaze and fixing it on my hand.

He nods despondently while staring at his own cards.

“Not that I blame them. I mean, what else are people supposed to feel?”

“Empathy for one,” I suggest.

“Right. Empathy.” Lenny scoffs. “No one in their right mind wants to think about putting themselves in my shoes. Not even for empathy’s sake.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because then they’d be just as unlucky as I am. No one wants my bad luck. Not even in a made-up scenario.”

“Is that how you see yourself? As unlucky?” I probe further, gently aiding him to open up more.

“What else could you call me? I blew up my knee before the season even started. I lost my winning ticket with the Guardians before I had a chance to show everyone my worth. Who the fuck does that if not a loser?” he exclaims, exalted, still showing signs of inner rage.

“I’d say a hockey player,” I chime in evenly before retrieving another card from the pile.

“An unlucky hockey player, you mean,” he mumbles, his moment of fury morphing again into self-pity.

It’s been like this since I’ve known him, unfortunately.

One second, Lenny is angry at the world, throwing punches left and right, and then the next, his critical self-loathing and melancholy kicks in. His healing journey has proven to be a difficult one, both physically and mentally. However, my main concern and focus is on the latter.

In the early stages of our counseling sessions, Lenny refused to give me any insight into his inner struggles and turmoil, adamant that he didn’t need therapy. Hard as he tried to push me away and deny my help, I was never dismayed. I’ve become quite accustomed to these types of rebutting challenges when dealing with professional athletes, therefore, I already expected his reluctance going into it.

Most athletes—no matter the sport—have been groomed from a very early age to never show any weakness. Talking about their insecurities, fears, or feelings doesn’t come naturally, so patience is essential in these cases.

It took me months to build up a solid rapport with Lenny, one that enabled him to lower his guard enough to let me in. After much trial and error, I found that the best strategy to get him to open up was to pull the focus off the therapy session in its entirety and instead create an environment that nurtured his competitive side—one that made him feel empowered and safe.

Hence, the card game.

“Do you believe that luck plays such a large role in one’s life?” I ask patiently, giving him a minute to consider the question carefully. “And if so, then wouldn’t it make more sense to assume that luck was always on your side whenever you entered a rink before your accident?” I add while making sure to keep my tone soothingly calm and even. “Every sport has its risks, do they not? None more so than ice hockey, I would imagine. So, by that logic, wouldn’t you say that you’ve actually been extremely lucky? So lucky, in fact, that throughout all the years you’ve ever played such a high-risk sport, you can boast at only having been injured once?”

“I guess,” he mutters noncommittally before retrieving a card.

“Isn’t it also fortuitous that despite your injury being severe, your doctors still remain optimistic about your recovery?”

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