Carson begins shaking up the tiles in the bag, before holding it out for me to grab my letter tiles.
I pull the letter “I” and hold it up for him. “Looks like I’m going to start off.”
“Game on, Super Nanny.”
I’m not sure what game we’re playing at this point, or who the opponent truly is. I know that Carson wouldn’t play games with me. But that doesn’t mean my heart isn’t playing tricks on me, making me consider what it would be like if I did decide to cross the line of friendship with him.
Carson
I’m barely able to keep my eyes open as I stumble my way into the bathroom the next morning. I’ve got no clue how early it is, so I try to be quiet as I take care of business.
When I go to wash my hands and brush my teeth, I notice a blue post-it note on the mirror that reads:
Repeat after me, Golden Boy: My emotions are valid and worthy.
I smile as I repeat it out loud. “My emotions are valid and worthy.”
My smile fades as I think about last night. Would Dakota still think these things if she knew some of the emotions I feel toward her are anything but friendly? Would she find me worthy of her time and attention if we were more than friends?
I’ve been giving her time to work through and process her emotions from her breakup. I knew she needed time to heal before she would be ready to try for something between us. If my breakdown yesterday was any indication, she’s not the only one who needs time to process and heal before we can be together.
I don’t hesitate as I pull up the contact information Dakota sent me yesterday for her therapist’s office. When I call to schedule my first appointment, it’s closed, so I give them a pseudonym, telling the voicemail my name is Carson Meyer. I know there is such a thing as patient confidentiality, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t people who won’t leak to the press that an NHL player is seeking therapy. I’ll tell my therapist who I am, but I’d prefer to schedule my appointments under a different name.
Besides, Carson Meyer has a nice ring to it.
14
May
Never in my life have I been as sore as I am right now. We’ve just returned home from Colorado, where I played and lost my first two playoff hockey games. Playoffs just hit differently—they’re more aggressive, the checks are harder, and the stakes are higher. My feet are quite literally dragging beneath me as I make my way inside my house and punch the code into the security system to disarm it, only to immediately set it again. Headlights fade from my driveway as Griffin heads home to Mack and Cadence.
Even though Griff is still rehabbing his knee, he was able to travel with the team for the away stretch of our playoff series. I love having my best friend and soon-to-be brother-in-law on the same team as me. But I also know how hard it is for him to sit out the playoff series against his former team.
It’s just after midnight, so I try my best to stay quiet and not wake Dakota. But I can’t help the groan that slips out when I step on one of Cadence’s oversized Lego blocks in the living room as I go upstairs to my bedroom.
“Ah, fuck!” I shout just as I hear a woman shriek from the couch beside me.
“Dakota?” I call out.
“Carson?” she asks.
“Yes, it’s me. Are you okay?”
“You just scared me. I’m fine. Are you okay? What happened?”
“It’s nothing. I stepped on one of those Lego blocks. I’m just sore and in need of an Epsom salt bath.”
“I’m so sorry. I thought I picked them all up after they left. They stayed here for two nights so Kenna could study and pack up their rooms to move to their place. I hope you don’t mind, we kept quite a few things of Cadence’s here in case she stays over or I watch her over here occasionally. We combined her toy room and her nursery into just one room, and Kenna thought her old playroom could be your new guest room. At least while I’m still staying here,” Dakota explains somewhat frantically.
“That sounds great. Thanks,” I say in a subdued voice, even though I want to reassure her that I’m being sincere. I’d never admit it out loud—because I am truly happy for my sister, Griff, and Cadence—but I can’t help the cloak of melancholy that has fallen over me since Mack told me they’re moving out. Maybe it’s the fact that they don’t need me anymore, along with the thoughts spiraling in my head telling me that’s for the best.
It’s probably a good thing I booked two follow-up sessions for this week with the therapist Dakota recommended. My third session is tomorrow, which could be a terrible idea, seeing as I need my head to be on right for these next two home games if we have any chance of winning the series in this first round of playoffs. But with how many panic attacks I’ve had since the accident, I know I shouldn’t wait to get help. It’s just that, after the first two sessions, I was left drained. The mental load I’ve been carrying is exhausting.
“What’s sore? Did you get hurt?” Dakota asks as she walks up to me, her beautiful face now etched with worry.
“No. Thankfully, I didn’t get hurt. Every inch of my body is just sore right now,” I tell her.
“Oh,” she replies, biting down on her bottom lip. The same lip I’ve been dying to sink my teeth into for what feels like forever.
