Page 43 of Getting the Grinder
He shakes his head, taking a pill from one of the bottles. “It’s okay. The meds are for anxiety and depression. So there you go. You were right all those times you said I’m not right in the head.”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Probably because I’m the world’s biggest asshole and there’s literally no response to what he just said.
Chapter Fifteen
Leo
* * *
“I didn’t mean—I’m so sorry, Leo. When I said that, I was just being brash and reactive. I never really thought that.”
I shrug as I walk over to the fridge to get out a bottle of water. “It’s the truth.”
“No, it’s not. I was being an asshole. Just like all the times I said you probably have to pay for sex—obviously, you don’t. I just run my mouth. It’s a problem.”
After twisting off the cap of the bottle, I put the pill in my mouth and swallow it with water. Even though it doesn’t work this quickly, I immediately feel better. This medication is for situational high anxiety, and I really need to start carrying it with me all the time.
“I don’t care about the shit you’ve said about me,” I say. “Just please don’t tell anyone about this. No one knows.”
“It’s not something to be ashamed of. I took depression medication in college, and I went to therapy. Both things really helped me.”
I nod. “I go to therapy, too. But I’m nowhere near ready to go off my meds.”
“So what? Who says you need to?”
Birdie is nudging at Mara’s hand, trying to get some attention. Mara sits down on the kitchen floor, letting my dog into her lap.
“Did it come out of nowhere tonight, or was it something specific?”
Her tone is conversational, like we’re discussing our schedules or the weather. I expected her to be taken aback when I told her, and I’m not sure how to handle her reaction.
“Uh ...” I sigh deeply. She already knows about my mental health issues and medications, so why not just tell her everything? “I have a knee injury, and I’ve been hiding it. When I got hit tonight, it made it worse. Now the pain is constant. So I’m fucked.”
She smooths her hand over Birdie’s back as she speaks. “Because you won’t be able to play?”
“Yeah. Our team trainer knows I’m hurt. I don’t know what the fuck I did to give it away, but she knows and she wants to look at it. It’s a torn meniscus. I’ll either need major rehab or surgery. I might never be the same again.”
“You might be even better, though, once you’re not trying to play with an injury.”
I run a hand through my hair. She doesn’t get it. Hockey is my life. I don’t know who I am without my team and my routine.
“The fear of not making it back is real, though,” she says. “I don’t mean to minimize it.”
I don’t know if it’s my medication kicking in or if it’s because she didn’t flip out when she found out about my conditions, but I’m feeling more relaxed. Comfortable, even.
“Are you hungry?” I turn on some lights. “I can make us something to eat.”
“I’m starving.” She gets up from the floor. “I’ll help.”
I scan the contents of my fridge. “We could have some omelets ready pretty fast.”
“Yeah, I love a good omelet.”
She rolls up the sleeves of her sweater and washes her hands at the sink. That’s when I see part of my last name on the back of the sweater, her long dark hair obscuring some of the letters. I stop breathing for a few seconds.
“You did that,” I say.
She looks over her shoulder at me, her brow furrowed. “Hmm?”
