Page 103 of Goal Line

“Yes, but that’s my job. When the puck gets by everyone else,I’mthe last line of defense. And I didn’t do my job.”

“And you’re mad at yourself for that?”

“Of course I am.” I spit out the words. I didn’t realize that talking about all of this would dredge up the same emotionsI was experiencing almost two months ago when it happened.

“Are you mad at Colt for getting injured, or your teammates not doing a better job keeping the puck away from your net?”

That gives me pause, and I chew on the outer corner of my lip for a moment before I say, “That’s different.”

“How?”

“BecauseI’mthe one who needs to step up when the puck gets to me, and I didn’t.”

“Aren’t your forwards supposed to be able to keep the puck on the other side of the ice? Aren’t your defensemen supposed to keep the puck away from your goal?”

“Well, yeah. But hockey’s a fast-moving game?—”

“Where anything can happen,” she says quickly. “Where players can be tired because it’s the third period of the game, or upset because the best goalie in the league just got taken off the ice at a crucial moment...or distracted because the person they love might be hurt. Have none of your teammates ever been distracted?”

I think about how, just in the playoffs alone, Colt was kicked out of a game for fighting over Jules, and McCabe literally left mid-game after AJ was hurt and he thought his baby, Abby, might have been too. And earlier in the season, I know that Drew also left before a game because Audrey and Graham had been in a car accident. “I guess I’m not the only one.”

“Then why are you being harder on yourself than you are on your teammates?”

“BecauseIdon’t mess up like that.” My voice takes on an urgent, almost high-pitched quality.

“Or?”

“Or things fucking fall apart, okay?” I sound as frantic as I feel at this admission.

“What kind of things?”

“I don’t know. My team, my family.”

“And you’re the glue holding both those things together?”

“No. But I was always taught that everyone needs to pull their weight, or no one can be successful—that’s true for my family, and it’s true for a team too. Right before the game, Coach said we were the better team, and there was no reason we shouldn’t win as long as everyone went out there and did their job. I didn’t do that.”

I think about how many people I let down—my family, the coach who’s always been a mentor to me, my teammates, the fans. The pressure builds in my chest, the weight of it almost crushing me.

“Sounds like a lot of people fell apart at the end of that game, Luke. You, among others. Here’s the thing about relationships . . . ” She pauses, waiting for me to focus my attention on her again. “Whether they’re with your team or a partner or your family: No one can give one hundred percent all the time. It’s impossible. Sometimes, someone gives less and someone else gives more, and it all evens out in the end. I think the question is, why do you feel like you’re always the one who has to give more?”

Instead of insisting I don’t feel that way—which is my first instinct—I pause, then ask, “What do you mean?”

“With Eva, with your parents, and with your team, you keep describing this need to take care of everyone, to protect them, to go above and beyond. Where does that need stem from? What is its source?”

“I...I don’t know,” I say. But I fear that maybe I do.

She tilts her head again, pressing her lips together, and then asks, “Are you sure about that?”

I close my eyes, lean my head against the back of the chair, and look up at the ceiling. I sit like that for a minute, trying to force all my thoughts from my head to avoid all the fucking emotions that are crowding in. Chloe doesn’t push me to talk, but I can hear her breathing, reminding me she’s still there, waiting.

“I’m a lot younger than my brothers,” I finally say, my eyes trained on the ceiling. “Even in my earliest memories, it was always the three of them. My mom called them her ‘Three Musketeers,’ my dad called them his ‘Triumvirate.’ I was always the baby of the family...an afterthought, I guess. Not that anyone said that, but...” I think about how my brothers were all destined to run the family business, all had positions waiting for them before they even went to business school. “I didn’t feel needed.”

“Wanting to feel needed—like you’ve described with your family, with Eva, and with your team—can sometimes be a symptom of a deep fear of rejection.”

I think about the way I avoided talking to Evie about my feelings for a full decade, the way I didn’t approach my dad about what I’d overheard in AJ’s office, and the way I didn’t reach out to my teammates after Game 7. “Is avoidance another symptom?”

Her voice is soft when she says, “If what you’re avoiding is the potential to experience rejection, then yes.”