Page 25 of Penalty to the Heart

“Roxanne,” he starts to argue, but I interrupt him again before he says something that will change my mind.

“I’m not the right person for the job. Ask someone else.”

“Actually, I think you’re the perfect person,” he retorts with determination.

“Trust me, I’m not,” I reiterate with the same steel conviction.

No matter how Trent spins this, I am not taking Caleb on as a patient. I know what I saw today, and… it frightened me. No way would I willingly offer myself to be around that type of pain again. I refuse to revisit such agony for anyone’s benefit. Not for Caleb, who I barely know, and definitely not for Trent, a man I considered to be one of my closest friends—something that I’m now doubting, considering his audacity for making such a request.

Trent should have known better than to ask me for my help. Then again, it does explain his initial resistance.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe you were up to the challenge, Roxanne. You’ve been in his shoes. You know exactly what he’s going through. And the kid needs someone to guide him through this. But what he needs most is a fucking break,” Trent explains frustratedly.

I almost laugh at his use of the word ‘kid’ to describe such a man.

Yes, Caleb might be young—probably in his early twenties if I was to venture a guess—but pain like the type he’s carrying around has a way of maturing you well beyond your years—a fact that Trent seems to be oblivious to.

“He’s spiraling. Every day that he doesn’t get the professional help he needs is another day he gets worse.”

“I agree with you. From what I’ve read online and in the papers, he does need help,” I explain, omitting the fact that I just had a front-row seat to his star goalie’s depressive state. “But I’m not the one who will give it to him. What he needs is grief counseling, and that’s not my area of expertise.”

When the line grows silent, I bite down on my bottom lip, refusing to say anything more than that.

No should have sufficed.

No should have been enough of an explanation on why I don’t want to be Caleb’s therapist.

“Roxanne,” Trent finally says, with an eerie calm in his voice. “You know grief. Don’t insult my intelligence by saying it’s not your area of expertise. You’re more than qualified to help him. More so because you came out on the other side whole. All I’m asking is for you to give him the chance to do the same.”

Whole.

What a word to describe such an accomplishment.

No one comes out whole after losing someone they love.

A piece of them will always be missing.

I’m nowhere near whole, nor will I ever be.

Nor will Caleb.

“Trent—”

“The kid is in self-destruct mode right now, and if he doesn’t get a handle on his shit, then he’ll force my hand,” Trent warns solemnly.

“You wouldn’t,” I blurt out, shocked by him resorting to manipulation. “You wouldn’t dare suspend a man who is going through what he is now. The Guardians’ fans will eat you alive if you even consider doing such a thing. You wouldn’t do that. You’re not that heartless.”

“That’s just it. I might not have a choice. Need I remind you that Preston is the new owner of the team? He makes the rules now. And since he doesn’t have the same connection with the players as I do, he sees things differently. Practically. He won’t think twice about suspending or even firing Caleb if it means it will guarantee the club wins the Stanley Cup this year. So even though you might think me callous in asking you for such a favor, I fear that you’re the kid’s only shot.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on me.”

“Like I said, I know you can handle it. So what do you say?”

I’m about to reject his request again to show that he can’t manipulate me into doing something I don’t want to, but he then says the one word I never thought I’d hear coming out of his mouth.

“Please, Roxanne? For me? I owe his brother that much.”

Damn it all to hell.

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