Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
My teammates—every fucking one—hold nothing against me. There was no recrimination or blame for the way the team has faltered a bit over the last few weeks since my injury. Just genuine happiness I was back and incredible support of the silent variety, which I appreciate. Even Rafe Simmons, who had moved up from second line to first to take my spot, welcomed me back with a huge smile. Told me he was still going to play his ass off to keep the top spot once I was medically cleared, but that he realized it was a pipe dream.
“You’re the best center in the league, Tacker,” he’d said with a light clap on my shoulder. “Our team needs you on the first line if we’re going to take a solid run at the Cup.”
As good as it was to be on the ice, it was frustrating as well. Obviously, my stick handling is clunky with the cast and despite still hitting the gym during my recovery, my legs were easily gassed. I’ve got some major work to do to return to peak performance.
I also saw Nora twice this week, having to shift to Tuesday and Thursday because of conflicts with practice. On her end, Nora shuffled her schedule to accommodate me, for which I’m grateful. She’s incredibly busy and overworked. Since I hadn’t been able to make our regular sessions, it would have been easy for her to refer me out to someone else.
That’s really not an option for me, so I made sure she knew how thankful I was. I wasn’t sure if it was kosher or not, but I brought her a bouquet of flowers on Tuesday to let her know it was appreciated.
No other therapist is going to work for me. Has nothing to do with the unique nature of this ranch or how the horses are used to get people to open up. I haven’t touched a horse yet—thank fuck—but it has everything to do with Nora.
Not only was a bond established when she told me about her past, letting me know I’m not alone in my feelings, but trust was formed when she shared with me first. Just knowing she has experienced every terrible feeling I have and still managed to overcome her pain gave me a renewed sense of purpose.
For fuck’s sake—the woman gives me hope.
While it’s been hard talking through my feelings this week, it had to be done. We spent our entire Tuesday session talking about MJ. Not about the crash or how she died, but about what MJ meant to me. Nora encouraged me to spend that time reflecting on happier moments. Had me really latch on and savor them. At one point, she even got me to laugh when she asked me to tell her the funniest thing MJ had ever done. I relayed a story about how she’d pranked me once by putting a fake spider in my car. After I laughed until my stomach hurt, I got incredibly sad and depressed, though.
Didn’t cry, but I went utterly quiet, feeling the weight of what I’d lost.
Nora just let me be alone… in my silence. She waited until I was ready to talk again.
Yeah… rough, but also incredibly helpful. By Thursday, I felt stronger. I didn’t flinch when Nora had me talk about my grief.
I got through it.
Which makes me wonder if our sessions are why I’m out furniture shopping right now. Have I moved into a headspace where I can think about establishing a real home?
It has to be something like that because I fucking hate shopping. And yet, I follow the saleswoman around the store while she shows me living room and bedroom sets to choose from. It also makes me think I may perhaps need something a little bit better than the dumpy apartment I’m currently in. It’s not exactly in the best neighborhood, and there’s a lot of noise through the night with people yelling through paper-thin walls and parties going on.
My phone chimes to alert me to a text, and I pull it out of my pocket. It’s from Dax.
Think you can swing by my place to check on Regan?
My heart rate speeds up a bit as I reply. She okay?
Yup. Fine… or so she says. But I’m a worrier. Can you check? Don’t let her know I sent you.
I snort, wondering if I ever acted that way about MJ. I can’t recall going to that extent, but I certainly appreciate Dax’s concern.
Dax’s wife, Regan, holds a special place in my heart because of the way she’d once gotten me to open up to her. Last week, she landed in the hospital due to her exceedingly rare blood disease. She needed a transfusion, which righted her symptoms for the time being, and she was supposedly doing well.