Page 8 of The Game She Hates

I had bought a book about hockey history and rules, eager to understand all the ins and outs of the game, despite Coach and Robyn not wanting me to focus on that—I still wanted to know what was coming my way. But I only read five pages before dozing off.

Why am I so backward? I should have also looked him up on social media. But here I am, barely able to keep my voice steady. And the way he’s smugly looking at me, it’s like he’s savoring every moment of my discomfort.

Ugh, I can’t let myself be attracted to someone like him.

Is it weird to feel threatened by someone you don’t know? He exudes confidence, clearly not used to feeling out of place. But then again, neither am I.

I meet so many parents and children on a daily basis. No one makes me feel out of place in my own office.

I’m not sure why I’m churning like a washing machine in my head, my thoughts are spinning at a speed that could rival a Formula 1 race. Why am I getting so worked up over this? It’s just a guy in my office, right? But those few seconds I allowed myself to get lost in his ocean-blue eyes... I got a feeling he wasn’t trying to threaten me.

I have this thing where I judge someone’s intentions by their eyes. It’s probably weird. But it’s worked for me so far, except for a few bumps along the road—namely Duke, Clay…and a few others. Or maybe it didn’t work as I like to think.

Back to Zane. He’s only here because he needs some help. If he didn’t, Kendrick wouldn’t have sent him my way. So I’m going to stick to my plan: figure out what he needs and find him a counselor who’s the perfect fit. I’m still firm on sticking to my work with children and teens.

“So, Zane,” I say, trying to sound composed despite the chaos in my mind. “What brings you to therapy today?”

“Coach thought I needed to see you,” he says, his tone casual, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his eyes that tells me he’s not entirely convinced Kendrick was wrong to send him my way.

I give a small nod, understanding. “All right. Do you have any idea why he thought it was valuable for you to come here?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you want to share with me any negative emotions you’ve been experiencing lately? This could include feelings of anger, frustration, anxiety, sadness, or anything else that’s been on your mind recently.”

“I’d say anger, but it’s part of the game. So I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you,” he replies dismissively, his words laced with defiance.

“Do you believe the anger only stems from the game itself, or do you think it’s connected to other aspects of your life off the court?”

He snorts in amusement. “You mean off the rink?”

I mentally kick myself for the oversight. I clearly didn’t learn much about hockey last night in my book.

“Apologies for the mix-up. Yes, outside the rink,” I respond, mustering a smile to cover up my embarrassment.

“I only dish it out on the ice when someone deserves it,” he says, his tone tinged with bitterness. “It can easily get ugly there. When losers’ only hope for winning is by sending the best players to the penalty box. Someone has to stand up for the team and it’s usually me.”

My intuition nudges me that the action on the ice might be a coping mechanism for a deeper issue. Taking a leap, I probe further. “Can you share a bit about your childhood and family background?”

“That’s not something I like to talk about.” His tone is guarded, but I detect a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

“I respect that. In therapy, you get to choose what you want to talk about. You don’t have to share if you’re not ready. But I’m also trying to understand your needs to match you with the right therapist. In case Kendrick didn’t mention it, I don’t take on clients who aren’t below eighteen and haven’t been in the foster care system.”

His eyes light up in surprise. “You don’t want to be my therapist? I thought Coach referred me to you because he thinks you’re the only one who can help.”

I force a smile. At least he’s open to getting help. “Kendrick has faith in me because I worked with his son, Gabe. But my expertise lies in children that are in the home. I can find you someone trained to work with athletes.”

“Is there nothing I can do to convince you to keep me with you?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and I can’t believe my eyes.

“We’re still talking about therapy, right?” I reply, keeping my tone nonchalant.

“Yeah, of course. Unless you want to talk about something else.” He smirks, testing the waters, but he’ll need to try harder if he wants to break through my professionalism.

“I’m sorry again. I can’t work with you. You need to trust me on this. It’s in your best interest to see someone who specializes in working with adults.”

“Fair. Can I at least have your number?”

I definitely saw that one coming and simply reply, “I’m sorry, Zane. You may not have my personal number, but you can always call my office.”

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