Page 129 of The Future Play

That crushing feeling of being alone hits me all over again.

Part of me wants to hang up, but another part of me is just mad. Mad that once again, he couldn’t put me first, even for a few minutes.

“Today sucked,” I whisper into my phone. “And I really need you right now, and it pisses me off that you aren’t showing up for me.”

Tears stream down my cheeks as I continue talking, letting out every broken feeling as I tell him about what happened today, even though he won’t hear a word of it.

19

RESTLESS HEART

Amanda

Therapy isn’t asscary as I thought it would be.

Granted, this is mostly a get to know each other session, but still. I’m not sure why I thought therapy would be a therapist judging me, but it hasn’t been that way at all. It’s very supportive. The only assignment she’s given me is to do something for myself. Not for my business. Not for Jamie. For me. Something that fulfills me, not drains me.

Admitting that I didn’t have a clue where to start with that was hard, but again, she was supportive, not judgmental.

She also offered to look into resources for partners of professional athletes, since it’s possible what Jamie and I are going through is a common issue. I hadn’t thought of that. I hadn’t thought to look into it. But it makes sense. These kinds of growing pains can’t be unique.

That makes me feel a little better, but not great, mostly because Jamie still doesn’t know what happened last weekend. It’s been six days, and I’m not exactly withholding the information, but I haven’t made another attempt to tell him.

I tried the following morning, starting with mentioning therapy,but he got distracted by some guys on the team and had to go. I told him when I headed for the office this morning that I had my appointment, but he was still in bed and barely responded. I’m not going to seek him out and beg him to pay attention to me if he can’t be bothered to listen.

I haven’t mentioned any of this to my therapist yet. That’s next week’s problem. I don’t want to scare her away after only one session.

When we finish up, I walk out of the spare room and into the kitchen, where Jamie is cooking at the stove.

“Morning,” I say, trying to be my cheery self, but the weight of what’s unsaid between us is crushing me.

He turns around and meets my eyes. “Hey. What were you doing in there? Potential client?”

Well, unless I want to straight up lie to him… here we go.

“No. I had a therapy appointment.”

He turns off the burner and puts something on a plate, then walks over to the counter, eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t know—when did you start doing therapy?”

“This was my first session,” I say tightly.

Something like guilt crosses his face. “When did you—why—why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did.”

He leans back like I hit him, throwing his arms out. “What? I think I would’ve remembered that.”

“You would’ve had to have been listening in the first place to remember it.”

“What are you talking about? When did you tell me this?”

“The night you won your game. But wait, you fell asleep the second I started talking about my shitty day.”

He looks pained for a second. “I called you back the next morning.”

“And I said it then too, but you got distracted by your teammates and hung up.”

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