Where We Belong (Carolina Rebels 6)

Trace smiles. “We’re supposed to share some information with one another so we can better help you. Today, we’ll just get to know each other a little better, okay? Relax. This won’t be hard unless you make it, Collin.”

He’s already irritating me. “Do you even know what you’re talking about? What makes you qualified to be my therapist? To be a therapist to anyone?” I ask, my anger shining through.

“Because we’re alike,” he answers simply. “I didn’t want therapy either. I became a therapist specifically so I could handle my depression on my own. It didn’t work.” He shrugs as if he didn’t just lay a bomb out there.

“Wait,” I interrupt. “You’re a therapist who needs a therapist?” This is fantastic. There’s no way this will work. How is he supposed to help me if he doesn’t have his own life together?

Trace shrugs. “We all need a little extra help sometimes, Collin. My point is I know what you’re dealing with in more ways than you know. My wife struggles with some mental health issues too.” He points to the photo behind him. “She had three panic attacks that night and the last thing I wanted to do was go to that game.” They’re smiling like it’s the best night of their lives, though. “But we had the tickets. Our kids were excited about their first game, and we weren’t letting them down. I know about pushing through, dealing with it, and being in a relationship during it all.”

Now, I narrow my eyes at him. “Dr. Gressley told you about Julie.”

Trace shakes his head. “Your coach did, actually. I called him prior to you coming to get his take on things. He said she seems to be a good rock for you. The relationship is new, isn’t it?”

“Yes and no.” Trace waits for me to expand on my answer and I do, telling him how we were friends first and about recent events. I even tell him the ordeal with my brother. “Julie is amazing; we’re doing great.”

“It’s not stressful to be living with someone while you’re dealing with this when you’re used to being on your own?”

Trace better watch himself. Some of his questions almost make me feel like I’m doing something wrong. Or as if Julie isn’t good for me.

“Yeah, it’s stressful; she knows that. We’re learning how to make it work. I’m not closing her out, but I’m taking space if I need to.”

“That’s good,” he replies with approval. “Just be sure you’re constantly talking her through it and that she knows what’s going on and what you need. How are you feeling about this time off?”

My shoulders slump. “I hate it. Hockey is everything to me and now I don’t have it because my head is fucked up. But I’ll do whatever it takes to get it back.”

The rest of my forty-five-minute session passes by like a quick breeze. I’m pretty surprised by the end of it. I didn’t feel as if I was in therapy; for the most part, it felt as if I was simply having a conversation with someone. I even feel a little better as I leave, not that I’ll ever tell anyone.

Well, maybe Julie.

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

Maybe, just maybe, I can do this after all.

Julie perches on the edge of the couch when I walk into the apartment. Her face asks about thirty million questions while her mouth stays silent.

“How did the interview go?” I ask, sitting next to her. Marmalade jumps onto my lap, purring as he rubs against my chest.

“Fine. I’ll hear back by the end of the week.” Her eyes are wide as they watch me with so much interest and worry. I should end her suffering before she goes overboard.

“He’s a Rebels fan,” I blurt out. Okay. Not sure why I wanted to say that first, but okay. “His wife is a bigger fan, but they plan to get season tickets next year.” Julie frowns. “What is it, Jules?”

“Is that what happened in therapy? You talked shop?”

“No.” I shrug. “We talked a little about everything. It’s just crazy that out of all the people who could be my therapist, it had to be a fan.”

Julie watches me for a minute or so. “It went well, then?”

“As well as expected. I see him again next week.” That answer does little to satisfy her. “I don’t think I’ll hate it, okay?” That’s really what she wants to know. Whether this is something I might can deal with or something that will stress me out further.

She smiles wide. “Good. I’m happy to hear it.” Julie snuggles into my side as close as she can possibly get. “Everything will work out. You’ll feel better and be back on the team in no time.”

Yeah, let’s hope so.

“What are the guys on the team saying?” I ask later that night at dinner. Cal joined us, for better or for worse.

“Nothing.”

My fork stops midway to my mouth. “Nothing? Nothing at all?”