Page 69 of Replay

He was right.

Cooper scrubbed a hand over his face. “Management wants all of us to talk to some sports psychologists they’re bringing in.”

Royster protested. “They had us do that after last season.”

He shrugged. “The problem has to be in our heads. You’re right—we have the skill, we can play in practice, and we killed it on the ice last season. So it’s in our heads.”

“Sorry.” Mitchell hadn’t played but he looked as defeated as any of us on the ice.

“No way, Mitch. That wasn’t all on you.”

Players chimed in, the ones who’d been on the ice that last shift, taking the blame. We all felt it. Like, if just one of the shots I’d missed had gone in…

Mitchell still was carrying that burden. So was Cooper. And Crash, JJ and Petey—we all would give our left nut to get that game as a do-over. But that wasn’t how life went.

I hadn’t scored or assisted in the game tonight, so I missed the press interviews. I felt sorry for the guys who did—it was more a punishment than anything else with the way this season was going. I was glad Cooper had found someone to be serious about over the summer because he carried most of the burden as captain, and he needed something to go right for him. His girl knew nothing about hockey, so it was probably a relief to leave it all at the rink.

And me, I got to see Katie now, when our schedules synced up. I didn’t know how I’d lucked out finding her again, but she was my happy place, since hockey was majorly sucking.

I wasn’t excited about seeing a shrink, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt. When my appointment came up, I went in to practice early and knocked on the door of the office they’d given the doc.

A middle-aged Black woman sat across the desk and invited me to sit down. There was no couch to lie on, since this was a spare office and kind of pokey. Just the desk, her on one side, and an empty chair on the other.

“Good morning. I’m Dr. Rogers.”

I sat in the chair. “Uh, hi. I’m Josh Middleton.”

She glanced down at the paper in front of her. “Thank you for coming in, Josh. You know why you’re here?”

“Because we suck.” Her eyebrows lifted. “I mean, we’re not playing well.”

A faint smile crossed her face. “I understood what you meant. You believe I’m here to help the team play better?”

I shrugged. “Honestly, yeah. They didn’t have anyone come in last year when we were playing good.”

She rested her forearms on the desk. “There’s a difference in play this season?”

“You must know that.”

She tilted her head. “The team record is different, but are you playing differently?”

I frowned. The difference in our play was the reason for the difference in the results. “It’s almost all the same players, but we’re playing like sh—crap. We’re okay in practice, but we’re terrible in a game.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“We’re spooked, after last season. The last game.”

She nodded. “You’ve heard of the yips?”

“Yeah, it’s like that.” Perfect way to describe us.

“So do you believe the issue is more mental or physical?”

“Mental. Obviously.” She didn’t respond, so I kept going. “We can play in practice, so we have the skills, we’re in condition, we know what we need to do. We just can’t execute when we’re in a game.”

She stared at me for a moment and I fidgeted. “Do you feel responsible?”

I splayed out my hands. “For last season, or this one?” She waited again. “We all feel responsible for both. Except for Fitch, and probably Petey.”

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