Page 12 of From Wink to Kink

I blink. "Professional help? What, like a life coach? A matchmaker? A really patient bartender?"

"A therapist," Vince clarifies. "Someone who can help you work through whatever's causing these... outbursts. That’s step one."

I laugh, but it comes out sounding hollow. "A shrink? Come on, guys. I don't need someone poking around in my head. I just need to, I don't know, take up knitting or something. Channel all that energy into making really aggressive scarves. You can’t be serious."

"Dead serious,” the general manager replies. “Work on your anger issues, talk about your feelings, do whatever it takes to work it out. Then we’ll focus on rebuilding your image, on making fans forget you have a hair trigger temper. But first comes the therapist. And, Chuck, if you refuse, our future with the Aftershocks won’t look so pretty. This isn't a request, you see. It's a condition of your continued position on the team."

And there we have it.

The room falls silent. I look around at faces full of concern, frustration, disappointment. It hits me then, really hits me, how serious this is.

Time to eat some serious crow.

"Okay," I say finally, my voice rough. "I'll see the therapist. But I'm not promising any breakthroughs or life-changing moments. I’ll do what it takes, and I appreciate the chance you’re giving me.” Which is true. I do know they’re giving me another chance. I’m not going to screw it up.

“Good,” Coach says cheerfully. “Because BJ found you one who will see you this afternoon.” He glances at his watch. “One hour from now.”

“Oh.” I blink. “That was… fast.”

“You should be able to make it back to your PT session after, so it all works out. Go get some lunch, Chuck, and think about all of this. I want you on the team, son.”

I nod and stand, shaking everyone’s hand before leaving. I’m dazed. A therapist, for fuck’s sake. Not that there’s anything wrong with therapy if you need it. I just don’t need it.

There's a collective sigh of relief in the room. But as I head for the door, I learn these people are not done dropping bombshells.

"One more thing," Coach says. "Your teammate, Tyler Brooks, suggested something we think might be beneficial."

I perk up at that. Tyler's a good guy, always looking out for his teammates, and he’s been a good friend to me since the dayI arrived. Some of the guys take a while to warm up to you until they see how you play and what you can contribute. But Tyler’s always been a cool dude. Maybe he's proposed some kind of team bonding exercise. Paintball, perhaps? I could get behind that.

"He mentioned a wellness retreat," Coach continues. "A place where you can... relax, reflect, and hopefully, refocus."

My jaw drops. "Awellness retreat? What, like yoga and wheatgrass smoothies and talking about our feelings? Coach, come on. I'm a hockey player, not a Gwyneth Paltrow wannabe."

"It's not up for debate, Chuck," the GM says. "Think of it as a vacation. A very structured, potentially life-changing vacation."

I hold my posture strong but, on the inside, I’m defeated. Hell, I thought I’d help out in a soup kitchen a couple times and that would be that. "Okay then. But I'm not doing any of those men’s groups where you sit around a bonfire and cry and spend the night in the woods with no food or shelter.”

Okay. That got me a couple smiles.

The meeting wraps up and I trudge out of the room, trying to shake the feeling that my life is veering seriously off course. Therapy, wellness retreats... what's next, book clubs and afternoon tea?

For fuck’s sake.

But as I catch sight of my reflection in a trophy case – the bruises from the bar fight still vivid, the shadows under my eyes deep – a small voice in the back of my head whispers that maybe, just maybe, they have a point.

I shake it off. Clearly, I need a nap. Or a drink. Or both.

As I head for the exit, I hear footsteps behind me. It's Tyler, looking annoyingly chipper for someone who just threw me under the yoga bus.

"Hey, man," he says, clapping me on the shoulder. "Heard about the meeting. How'd it go?"

I fix him with my best death glare. "Oh, just peachy. Thanks for the wellness retreat suggestion, by the way. I've always wanted to learn how to align my chakras while doing that dog position thing."

He laughs. "Trust me, it'll be good for you. My sister's actually going to one. Who knows? Maybe you'll run into her there."

Great. Just great. Not only am I being shipped off to Zen Boot Camp, but I might have to share my ‘journey to inner peace’ with Tyler's bookworm sister.

Although the thought of seeing her in yoga clothes is… intriguing.

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