Page 18 of Sleepless Nights and Hockey Fights

He narrows his eyes, having clearly heard me. “Would you consider yourself a boob guy?”

That gets a smile out of me, even in the midst of torture. Boobs are always smile worthy. “Fuck, yeah.”

Benny nods. “I’ll forward the contact of someone who runs a charity centered around boobs.”

Well, shit. Maybe this maturing stuff isn’t so bad.

We finish up our workout and are finally allowed to leave after taking a dip in the ice baths. Every muscle aches, but I know a good night’s sleep is all I need to kick ass on the ice tomorrow. Benny and Druggy might need more recovery, but I’m still a spring chicken. I stop at my favorite salad place and grab a Mediterranean bowl with extra steak before heading home.

Richie occupies my couch in a pair of sweatpants and no shirt. An empty bag of chips lays forgotten on my end table and one of my video game controllers is clutched in his hand. I’ll take that over his dick.

“Dude. Did you bring me something too?” he asks, pointing at my to-go bag.

“No, dipshit. Make your own lunch.”

“That’s why I’m here. I ran out of food.”

I have a seat on the couch and open the lid to my salad, inhaling the scent of meat and immediately salivating. “That’s what the grocery store is for. You know, the place with the carts and the food on every shelf?”

Richie pouts, somehow always forgetting that he’s the older brother. He should be taking care ofme. That fact always got lost somewhere along the way. My older brothers never went easy on me, that's for sure. Probably why I got so good at hockey. I wasn’t afraid of hard work. I just had to have an equal amount of time for play.

I eat my salad like a hungry pack of wolves would devour their prey, then reach for the other video controller.

The alarm on my phone goes off and I groan. “Shit.”

“What? Got a bunny mad at you?” Richie doesn’t even look away from the television. Something blows up on the screen.

“No, I have my anger management session,” I grumble, standing to take my trash to the kitchen before I hop on my laptop.

Richie lets out a strangled yelp and literally falls off the couch laughing his ass off. I toss him a dirty look, but he’s too busy wiping his eyes to see it.

“Fuck off,” I snap.

“Careful. That sounds veryangery.” Richie bursts into another round of laughter I can hear from the kitchen as I stuff the to-go container in the trash.

“Angeryis not a word, Dick!” I yell back. I roll my eyes when he just keeps laughing. I grab my laptop off the kitchen counter and head for my bedroom where I can get some peace and quiet to bare my soul.

“Wait ‘til I tell the boys!” he hollers at my back, referring to my other jackass brothers.

I shake my head but keep walking. Great. Each of my brothers will be blowing up my phone with commentary about my anger management sessions. Just what I need. I stop at my door and yell back. “Tell those fuckers and I’ll tell Mom you’re the one who put the scratch in her bumper when you took her new car out for a joy ride at twelve!”

I can hear his gasp. “You’re the devil, Bobby Rhodes!” he shouts back in an accent to match the characters in the movieWater Boy.

My laptop takes forever to boot up as I sit on my bed, and I’m two minutes late when I finally connect to the Zoom call. I’m sure Kaitlyn will rip me a new one for each second I’m late, but she doesn’t understand the pressure of having a sibling always in your home. Richie’s worse than a newborn, I’m sure of it.

A woman appears on the screen, big black glasses covering her baby face. Jesus, are the social workers from high school these days? Surely, I need someone a little older to understand my troubled past?

“Hello!” she says, bubbly as shit. “I’m Ashley! You must be Bobby?!”

Everything she says comes with an exclamation mark at the end. “Yes! Nice to meet you!” I answer, matching her energy. Her smile only amps up so I must not have offended her with my imitation. After a few minutes of further introduction and small talk regarding why I’m even seeing her, Ashley gets down to business

“Great! Let’s start talking about what you feel when you start to get angry. Can you close your eyes and think of a time you got really mad?” I’m one thousand percent certain this won’t help me, but I close my eyes anyway and envision Coach telling me I’m a screw up. I wonder if I can ask Ashley to call me a good boy. I think I might like that.

“Good. Just visualize the scene,” she instructs. “Tell me what’s happening and what you feel in your body.”

“My coach is yelling at me. I think he’s being unfair. I guess my hands go tingly first. Then my chest puffs up and my eyes feel like they’re full of pressure. Like my whole body is going to explode if I don’t yell or tackle someone.”

“Great job, Bobby!”

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