Page 12 of It’s A Little Bit Bunny (Fangs on Ice #4)

Eleven

Nikolai

B ack in Veitsreuth, I wasn’t sure anymore that my mind hadn’t been playing tricks on me.

It had felt real. But what if my brain had invented Jules as some sort of trauma relief?

Your brain is like that.

It would make sense, too. Jules had been too cute, too perfect, and too kind to me to be real.

To take my mind off him, I threw myself into training. I still wasn’t on the roster, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t be my best.

I destroyed myself at the gym when I wasn’t on the ice or taking walks in the court gardens, which sort of passed as a forest. Well, it did for me, and I loved colouring in another of the tree outlines on the workout tracker Dr Schmidt had given me. My brain saw right through his scheme, but it still worked every time. The buzz I got when I managed to keep my streak was a little embarrassing.

I also picked up a book, a queer romance book with an interspecies love story, from the Little Free Library we had at the rink. Ollie was such a caring person. I bet he left it in there. Leave it to him to send treats for the team and stock our free library. Damn. It felt like it had been ages since I’d hung out with Bo and Ollie or any of my teammates.

Two days before the game, I had another appointment with my neuropsychiatrist. For the entire bike ride through the city on my way there, I contemplated telling him about Jules. But in the end, I chickened out.

I didn’t want him to think I was so desperate that I’d invented an imaginary friend.

“Hello, Mr Lorenz,” he said and invited me into his office. “Please take a seat.”

“Thank you.”

Schmidt settled in his blue office chair, leaned back, and smiled at me.

“How have you been?”

A reluctant grin spread on my face. I tried to stop it but couldn’t. Not that I thought he’d take me less seriously if I grinned, but a persistent voice in my head kept telling me that I was depressed and depressed people didn’t smile.

When I’d said the same thing on the phone to my mother she had called me out on my ableist bullshit.

My grin widened.

I love my mum.

“I’ve actually been doing pretty well.”

I filled Dr Schmidt in about the little things I’d been doing.

“I bought myself one of these zen colouring books. I don’t have a lot of time to sit and colour, but I like it.” My cheeks heated. But, fuck, if I couldn’t tell my therapist, I couldn’t tell anyone.

“I’m glad to hear that. I think having a hobby is something you could profit from. Maybe you can think of something else that interests you? Something you’ve been wanting to try for a while but never got around to doing?”

“Well, I’ve been reading, and I like watching those pottery videos on Kraken…”

“Good. Maybe don’t buy a kiln just yet, but I’m sure you could find a pottery class in Veitsreuth. Just an idea,” he hedged.

“I’ll look into it, yeah. I don’t have a lot of time, though.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that. Perhaps it isn’t so much about having time but making the time to do something for yourself that isn’t part of your work.”

Ouch.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I also wanted to show you this.” I pulled out my phone and opened my photo app. I held it up so he could see the picture I’d taken before I left for the appointment.

“You’ve been going on daily walks?”

“Yeah, I have.” I rubbed a hand over my nape. “Even on the days when I didn’t feel like it. You know, I can see through your scheme there but skipping a day isn’t an option for my brain.”

“Gamification. It works.” Schmidt grinned. “So do daily walks. It sucks but that’s just how it is.”

I snorted at his words. “It totally sucks. Like, I find it offensive how great I feel when I walk in the forest. I was never an outdoorsy person, but the other day I bought a pair of fucking hiking boots?!”

Schmidt chuckled. Then he gave me a list with three appointments for the tests he had scheduled for me.

“Each will take about an hour. Do you think you could organise it so you won’t have anything strenuous going on at work afterwards? These tests can be quite taxing.”

“Oh, yeah, sure thing.”

Should I be nervous?

“Great, I’ll see you next week.”

I took my leave. I grabbed a second workout tracker on my way out the door. I wanted to keep colouring in those damned trees.

On Wednesday and Thursday my walks were hasty turns around the court gardens right after getting up. With the games in the evening, I had no time for longer strolls, but if I squinted I could pretend Jules was waiting under one of the archways in the ancient stone walls that crossed through the garden.

Never tell anyone you’re imagining this, Nikolai. They’ll think you’ve lost your marbles.

On Saturday morning, I threw a few things into a backpack and got in my car. I hadn’t managed to convince myself that it had all been a dream. A sliver of doubt and hope mingled in my heart.

He has to be real. I can’t meet a sexy hermit twink daddy in the forest and have it all be a dream.

Life was cruel, but not like that. Please.

Well, if it was a dream, you’ll see in a couple of minutes.

I had a vague idea where the arch was. If Jules was real, I should be able to find it again, shouldn’t I?