Page 84 of The Keeper
I cross my arms and lean onto the kitchen island.
“I just know he will want to know why I want to see a therapist, and I don’t know if I’m ready to tell him.”
She reaches across and places her hand on my arm.
“I know you’re protective of your secrets, RJ, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But you might feel a lot better if you finally let someone help you carry them.”
* * * * *
I’ve never had a practice as brutal as today’s. And it had nothing and everything to do with Mack.
Rain was pouring down hard and thick, the field covered in mud. And it seemed like none of us had our heads on straight. We weren’t working as a team, and to be honest, I felt completely useless during my drills. I kept slipping. I kept throwing my body in the wrong direction.
I kept watching Mack.
And he didn’t look at me once.
I should have been happy. He was trying to make it easy, either on himself or on me. But it was still miserable to go from avoiding eye contact because I didn’t want everyone to know I kissed my coach, to desperately seeking eye contact as some sort of validation that he was feeling as torn apart as I felt.
But like I said, he didn’t look at me once.
“Well that was the worst practice ever,” Piper mumbles as we change in the locker room.
I give her a small smile.
“Yeah, we’ve seen better days.”
“Plans for the weekend?” she asks as she begins to unbraid her long hair.
“Jeremy and I are gonna see a movie or something,” I respond as I chuck my cleats and practice gear into my duffle.
I called him yesterday and asked if he was free tonight. Normally he’s traveling or has plans on a Friday night, but he just so happened to be free. Serendipitous.
“Sounds like fun. I wish I had an older sibling who wanted to take me out all the time,” she grumbles with a smile.
I laugh, say bye to the girls, then sprint from the locker rooms to the awning in front of the stadium to wait for Jeremy. And as I sit on the benches out front and wait, I replay in my mind what I’m going to say.
I’ve thought about it for two solid days, whether or not to talk to him about what happened in high school. I got shit sleep last night and woke up cranky after allowing my brain and emotions to wind up and up and up. And when I finally dragged my ass out of bed, I thought about it during my conditioning this morning, during class this afternoon, and when I got back home and began working on my Psych paper.
Now that I’m waiting for him to pick me up, I know that I’m making the right choice, no matter what happens. If I’ve decided I need his help, it isn’t fair to ask for it without being completely honest.
Two short honks have me grabbing my bag off the ground and ducking my head low as I sprint through the rain to where he sits in his SUV.
“I’m glad you called about getting together,” he says as he shifts the car into drive.
“Me too. It’s important we make sure to spend enough time together.”
He stays silent for a moment, but then makes a right out of the lot.
“I didn’t know if you were still mad about Friday.”
I roll my eyes and twirl my phone in my hand.
“Just because you were a dick doesn’t mean I’m going to stop talking to you.”
“I’ll address the ‘you were a dick’ comment later. We hitting Mama Sita’s?”
I nod.
