Page 45

Chapter 44

Brooks

You never know what you’re in for when it comes to a therapy session. Some feel like a casual chat with a friend, while others are the equivalent of staring at pieces of a puzzle that never seem to fit together—like they’re not even from the same box.

My foot taps as I settle into the leather chair, my usual spot, as Jen sits across from me. With the season in full swing, our visits are sporadic and typically virtual. Today, all the stars aligned to bring me in person for my session.

“We haven’t talked since your shoulder injury,” she starts. “How are you feeling?”

“Today I feel good. It’s not something that should have long lasting issues, not like the knee, so it seems to be trending in the right direction.”

Jen pauses—the thing she’s so good at. Before asking another question, she always gives me the room to keep going.

“At first, it was terrifying,” I continue. “Like, being on the court, having everyone run over to me. It brought up a lot of what the knee injury felt like.”

“How did you cope with that? I know that time was difficult. You put in a lot of work, mentally and physically, to get back where you wanted to be.”

I go back to my bedroom, to the moment before I took the sleeping pill and needed a break from everything. Even being a few days removed, I could look back and know it wasn’t all that helpful, but sometimes you have to fucking feel.

Rubbing my hands together, I admit, “The first couple days were bad. It was Thanksgiving and my mom was supposed to come to my place, but she had travel delays that kept her from coming home. That sort of set me off, or over—however you want to view it.”

Jen nods, her face completely neutral. “Tell me about the last part. Setting you off.”

Something I respect about Jen is that she doesn’t judge me or ask me questions which make me feel like I didn’t do the right thing.

My knuckles strain against my skin, turning white. “I don’t know if you’d call it a depressive episode or what the term is, but I felt like I flew back. Almost to how bad it was when I was trying to get through the knee injury. The thought of doing anything was fucking overwhelming. I turned my phone off. I didn’t want to text anyone or see another notification. Basically, I spent two days in bed, one of those being Thanksgiving.”

“What happened after that?” Jen asks.

Part of me is grateful she doesn’t want to dwell on this. Saying it out loud kind of makes me feel like a fucking loser. Like I can’t handle basic emotions. But that’s probably not true.

“I did some at home rehab with the training staff and then I went back to practice. I felt better.”

“What does better look like?”

“Like I could get up and do something. It wasn’t that I really wanted to, but it was something I felt was possible. Like I wasn’t a complete dark cloud but almost like a light gray.”

“And how do you feel today?”

“Good.” I let the smile spread on my lips and watch Jen smile back at me .

She sets down her pen and looks at me. “Brooks, I’ve never seen you smile like that. Why do you think you’re feeling this good? Sometimes with therapy, people think we should only focus on the dark, but that isn’t true. It’s important to examine and understand all the light.”

Well… here goes nothing. It’s not that Jen doesn’t know about Lia, but we’ve not talked about her a lot. Mostly because there were lots of other things to cover and it didn’t feel like the right time. I guess that’s what happens when you find out you have secret siblings and a parent later in life.

“Do you want the long or short version?” I joke with her.

She looks at her watch and replies with, “Long version. Always. We’ve got time.”

I tell her everything. About how I met Lia that first night and for the first time felt like something was finally right. About how she ended up working for the Jags. About the secret. About Rebecca. About Lia staying with me.

“Brooks Pittman,” Jen gushes, “I fear you’ve been holding out on me. Which is fine, but know that here, everything is safe. You don’t need to carry all this alone. Let me have some of it… even if it’s for only a few minutes.”

I let out a sigh and sit back.

“There’s a lot to unpack, but let’s start with what I think is the most important.” My stomach flips at her words, even though I knew this part would come next. “First, it sounds like Lia is a lovely person. Hearing you talk about how important it is for you to help her when she needs it is a sign of a solid relationship. Also, it shows real maturity to own your misstep when it came to Rebecca. Accountability is hard but it’s important.”

“It’s like part of me was too afraid to bring it up. Like I didn’t want to ruin anything,” I admit .

Jen nods. “I get it. Especially in a scenario like yours where you’re trying to keep this under the radar. But you know the power of honesty.”

“I do. I know. Fuck, I know.” My head falls into my hands.

“Brooks,” she prompts, waiting for me to pick my head up and look at her. “You can’t beat yourself up about things that are resolved. What’s the point in that? The lesson here is you move forward, being as open as possible.”

She’s right. The words hit me and it’s like a piece of the heavy I’ve been wearing lifts.

“Something you need to consider is the pull of your profession and things you can’t control,” Jen adds. “Injuries are pretty common, and you’re never promised a certain amount of time. While you can’t determine what injuries are waiting for you, I think it’s important to catalog things you have outside of that. Besides basketball, who or what else makes you happy? Those are some of the things you can control.”

My brain starts making a list. My family. Lia. Rocky.

“Athletes are a different type of person. It’s like your whole life is typically devoted to a sport that is impossible to serve you forever,” Jen reminds me. “Even for people who still work in their sport, whether that’s coaching or working for a team, it’s not the same as being an athlete. You’ve done amazing things when it comes to basketball, but you’ll do even greater things outside of it. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, but I’m sweating thinking about it.” The honest reaction comes quickly, and I wipe away the sweat that smatters my brows with the back of my hand.

Jen chuckles and replies, “A fine reaction.” She closes her notebook, meaning our time together is almost up. “I have a few things for you to consider before our next session. First, it may be beneficial for you to keep a short journal for your mood. Depression isn’t a line, and it isn’t the same for everyone. I know you’ve never wanted to get on an anti-depressant or anxiety med, but a low dose is something we may want to consider. Maybe during the off-season? But the first step is trying to understand how you’re feeling.”

The suggestion for a medical approach doesn’t turn me off as much as it did the first few times we discussed it. I’ve never needed some sort of regular med, and at first it felt like a cop out, like I wasn’t trying hard enough. Now I’m wondering what it’d be like to try something like that.

“Next, be open with Lia,” Jen continues. “With the good and bad. It sounds like she’s taken care of herself and those close to her for a long time. It might be hard for her to let you do things for her, like helping her with a place to stay. Keep the conversation going.”

She’s right. To be fair, she’s usually right. I nod. “Yes. Thank you, Doc.”

“And lastly, go Jags. Y’all are on fire lately.”