Page 104 of Fly Boy
“But without her, you and Evan wouldn’t be competing at Worlds next week, would you?”
She groans. “Why do you always have to be so pragmatic?”
“I’m not always,” I reply, flicking the indicator and turning onto the highway leading to Greenwich.
“Sure, you’re not,” she snorts, and I can hear the sound of a zipper being pulled down the line.
I picture her sitting on the wooden bench inside the locker rooms, her bag on the floor, her skates resting against the side of it as she takes a break from practice.
“Speaking of being reasonable, how are you doing after seeing Fiona?”
“You know that was the worst segue for asking that question, right?”
“How else was I meant to ask? My bad for being worried about you.”
I smile, imagining her pout. “Baby, I’m fine. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“And how’s the search for a therapist going?”
“Good, actually, I had my first session yesterday,” I tell her, checking the rearview mirror before changing lanes.
“Wyatt,” she yells, the sound distorting through the small speaker on my phone. “Why didn’t you tell me? How did it go?”
“I didn’t tell you because you are days away from the biggest competition of your career, and you don’t need to be thinking about my shit. But it went well. She specializes in childhood trauma and attachment. We spent the whole hour discussing how her treatment can help me explore different issues I might have as a result of early relationships or…lack of them.” She’s quiet, hesitating, and I can’t help but laugh. “Pippa, ask your question.”
“Do you think she’ll help?”
I scrub a hand through my hair. “It’s too soon to tell, but I liked her. She seemed nice. Asked if I thought having a family session with Dad and Sadie one day would be beneficial, which I guess couldn’t hurt.”
“That’s really good, Wyatt. You sound sort of excited about it, I guess?”
“Excited? Not exactly. Having someone probe around my head, asking about trust and intimacy issues with the opposite sex, isn’t my idea of fun.”
Especially some stranger who’s getting paid to judge me.
Help…not judge,Sadie’s voice rings in the back of my head.
“Either way, I’m proud of you,” she says, her voice soft and soothing. “And I’m here for you. Whenever you need.”
The spot reserved for Pippa inside my heart lights up. I’m so fucking gone, it’s embarrassing. “Thanks, baby.”
“I wish I was coming home this weekend. I really hate that I don’t get to see you after everything you’ve gone through.”
“Stop that,” I admonish. “We both know you need to stay in Colorado and get your head in the zone. Not tiring yourself out by flying back, just to check I’m okay.” While I wish I could see her, this is the final competition of the season,thecompetition of the season. I’m nothing in comparison to that.
Pippa hums, the sound salacious even through the phone. “It wouldn’t be the flying that would tire me out.”
It’s as if he can tell his daughter and I are up to no good because as soon as she says that, Mr. Cartwright’s name flashes on my phone. My stomach drops as thewaiting callbeeps start ringing out. Each one more imposing than the last.
“Shit,” I mutter, my eyes flicking between the screen and out of my windshield.
“What’s wrong?” Pippa asks, her tone urgent, and I can picture her sitting ram-rod straight, her face pinched with concern. “Are you okay?”
I grimace at the phone. “Yeah, but your dad’s calling.”
“Shit,” she echoes. “Okay, go answer it. I need to get back on the ice now, anyway. I’ll call you tonight.”
I don’t have time to answer her because the call clicks over. “Mr. Cartwright, how are you, sir?”
