Page 10 of Loving the Legend
I swallow, grimacing from the ache in my throat. “Sometimes…randomly.”
“Randomly, as in a couple of times a week? A month?” Concern drenches his voice. He will not let this go quickly.
“A few times a week,” I mutter.
“Is it the same nightmare where you’re the drunk driver that killed your parents?”
I nod.
“My God. It’s been too long. Can I set up a session for you with Michael?”
He found Michael, a grief counselor, when my parents passed. I attended a few sessions before I called it quits. It was too hard to open up back then and not much has changed for me since.
I shake my head as I crawl to a sitting position and tuck my knees into my chest. “Nah. I’m good.”
“Tyler, this isn’t healthy. I can’t force you to get help, but you need it. I love you, and seeing you like this is torture.”
I rub my neck as a familiar gnawing creeps up—guilt. I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m not a kid anymore. If I say I’m fine, then I’m fine.
“I love you too, and I need you to trust me. They’re just nightmares. No need to stress yourself out.”
As I climb to my feet, my legs ache like I ran twenty miles. I steel myself, not wanting to appear weak in front of him.
“I’m going to shower and get rid of this.” I gesture to the soiled waste basket.
“It’s not just nightmares, though, is it? You’ve also refused to make friends or have a semblance of a social life. I know basketball has always meant everything to you, but something changed when your parents died. You don’t play because it’s fun anymore. You play like your life depends on it. No, that makes it sound healthier than what this is. You play like the game is more important than your life.”
It is more important!
How the fuck wouldn’t it be? I grit my jaw to keep from blowing my top. He’ll never understand.How could he? Hisparents, my grandparents, died of old age. My parents were murdered trying to support my dreams. The least I can do is see that those dreams come true. The last thing I need is some head doctor poking around, twisting my shit up.
I screw my eyes shut. “Today was supposed to be a good day…maybe even a happy one.”
“You trying to convince me or yourself of that?” he asks quietly.
The whole day was different from how I imagined it. After the sadness and anxiety passed, I've just been…low.
“Can we just let it go for now?”
He grunts. “Fine. Go shower. Don’t think for a second that this conversation is over. Basketball will never be more important than your health. It’s my job to remind you of that.”
I turn and nod to the ice bucket. “Thanks.”
He grunts.
I stand under the showerhead, letting the hot water wash away the sweat and stench of sickness. Rolling my neck and shoulders, I try to release the knots of tension pinching my nerves. I focus on the lines of grout lacing the shower tiles to block out the nightmare. The pained look on Adam’s face sits stark in my memory. Then there’s the familiar voice—it’ll be so much easier to end it.
Just. End. It.
I shake my head, pushing the thought away, and scramble for another that's tied to less pain.
Sid.
It wasn’t all a nightmare. He smiled at me. For a moment, I was the most important person in his world. I wasn’t myself. I was laughing gas. Weightless.
If the ghost of his smile has that kind of effect on me, I can’t imagine what it’d feel like to know him. I shake my head at the thought.
CHAPTER THREE
