Page 1 of One Goal in Mind

PROLOGUE — RUSS

“We’ve been through this,” I huff. “It was just an accident. I don’t have anger issues.”

My friends in my online group therapy sessions don’t understand. I never would’ve tried to slice his throat with my skate if he wasn’t touching my girl. Consequences. The whole ‘fuck around and find out’ thing.

Except, admittedly, Imayhave taken it too far.

On top of my suspension, they have added individual therapy on top of the group I meet with. A year ago, I chose an online group with three other athletes—Ronan, an Irish footballer; Will, an American Football quarterback; and Lucas, an Australian rugby hooker. These men have become more than men I attend therapy with; they’re friends. Our meetings are once a week on Mondays, but we talk daily in group texts.

Our therapist has me recount the incident for what feels like the hundredth time, and everyone’s sick of hearing it; all of them are preoccupied. Ronan’s smirking at something he’s reading awayfrom the video call. Deflection is my specialty and I ask, “What’s so fucking hilarious, Ronan?”

“Nothing,” he rushes out, eyes wide.

I continue, “As I was saying??—”

“Actually, it’s not nothing. I have something I’d like to share,” he steamrolls over me, and I’ve never been so grateful for his admission. “I’ve met someone.”

Intrigued, I ask, “Met someone?”

“I suppose I’m using ‘met’ loosely; we’ve been talking for over a year. This past month, things have been shifting between us to the point that I haven’t dated… anyone. No one interests me. I know this isn’t meant for dating advice, but I don’t know what to fucking do!” He takes a deep breath, raking his hand through his hair. “I’m like a damn teenager with a crush.”

Sadly, I can relate; I’m in love with a woman I can't have. Though to say I have a crush on Scarlett would be the understatement of the century.

Vicky, our therapist, interjects. “Ronan, we’ve been over this. We’d like to keep our f-bombs to a minimum here. This is a safe space. Russ, can we pause on your incident and circle back to it?” I nod, reining in my amusement and grateful the spotlight is off of me. “Ronan, feel free to tell us about this woman.”

“How do you know it’s a woman?” Lucas asks curiously. For a man who dominates the pitch, I’m always surprised when he chimes in with his calm, quiet voice. His question doesn’t surprise me; he falls in love with people for who they are, not giving a fuck if they identify as a man, woman, or non-binary—and this man fallsoften.

“True, a valid point, Lucas,” Vicky agrees.

Ronan rolls his eyes and groans, but it doesn’t feel directed at Lucas. He’s only here based on a mandate from his football league and keeps to himself most days. “Yes, it’s a woman. She’s my mate’s ex.”

Oh, shit! This is worse than I thought!

“No, nope, noooo!” Will barks. “Run away, change your name, change your phone number.” I couldn’t agree more. He’s in the same predicament as I am: forced into therapy to save our careers and have feelings for women we can’t have. Will’s one of the top quarterbacks in American football and was traded to New York after an altercation with a New England linebacker. The PR manager who helped him change his image is also the woman he’s been pining after.

“It’s not like that,” Ronan insists. “They dated over a decade ago, and we’re just friends. She interviewed me when I played for Ireland in the World Cup, and we kept in touch. She’s smart, fucking beautiful…” Vicky gives Ronan a look of warning at the curse, and he blows out a long breath. “In the last month, we’ve been… flirting? At least I am. She’s coming to Ireland in a few weeks for work. What should I do?”

Vicky smiles with a nod and offers, “You could ask her on a date when she’s there, after discussing it with your friend? But as far as relationships are concerned, I’d highly recommend that any potential partners you gentlemen court are privy to the fact you’re attending therapy. Don’t wait until eight months into the relationship to discuss your mental health.”

“I don’t have mental health issues,” I growl, folding my arms over my chest.

“We know,” Will, Lucas, and Ronan say in unison, and I can’t help but chuckle.

“I say go for it,” Luc suggests with a wide grin. “What’s the worst that can happen? Single mums are hot.”

“When was the last time you dated, Luc?” Will asks, and I’m also curious; he hasn’t mentioned anyone new recently.

“It’s been a while,” he admits. “I think I need a change. The new Irish rugby league has been interested in me for a while. I should move to Cork, then Ronan’s girl can match me with one of her friends.” He winks, and Ronan cocks an eyebrow, then they both burst into laughter. “What do you say, mate?” Ronan smirks but doesn’t reply.

We discuss Will’s predicament with the PR manager. He makes her out to be an ice queen, but she’s holding him accountable for the first time in his career. Vicky wraps up our call, and as soon as I close out of my laptop, I send a text to Will.

Stop being an ass to Elle. She’s doing her job.

Will

Of course you would take her side.

She’s not like Scarlett, she’s a fucking pain in my ass.

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