“You boys are looking good this season.”
Leaning back on the brown leather couch, I lace my hands behind my head. “It feels like we finally have all the right pieces in place to make a real run at it.”
“Eli’s game-winning goal last night,” Eddie, our mutual therapist, begins. “Boy, that was pretty.”
“Yeah, he made sure to show me the replay more than a few times over drinks last night.”
Maddison always plays better at home than on the road, so it’s no surprise he’s leading the league in points after our two-week home stand. But Eddie knows Maddison as well as I know my best friend, so there’s no need to spell it out. He’s always on top of his game when his family is in the arena.
I, on the other hand, thrive on the hate from visiting stadiums. I’ve become accustomed to being my own support system in every aspect of my life, hockey included.
“How are you feeling about Christmas?”
That question causes me to pause. I’ve tried to avoid thinking about the dreaded family holiday, but of course, Eddie was going to ask. He’s been my therapist for almost a decade now. Our weekly sessions are typically just a conversation between two friends, but Eddie being Eddie, always knows when to find the root of something deeper going on. And him knowing every single sordid detail of my family history, it’s no surprise he brought this up with Christmas around the corner.
But I made a promise to him and myself eight years ago that I would be nothing but honest in our sessions. Brutal honesty has translated into every aspect of my life, and I’ve got to say, it’s incredibly freeing. It’s what’s helped me to overcome a lot of the inner demons I was battling when I was younger.
“I’m dreading it. I don’t even know what we’ll talk about. Lindsey won’t be there to act as a buffer, and I wish I would’ve bailed and made up some excuse instead.”
“This could be a good chance for you and your dad to talk, Zee. He’s clearly making an effort by visiting you.”
“That’s what Logan said.”
“Yeah, well,” Eddie laughs. “Logan should probably rethink her career and join my field.”
Since we were in college, Maddison and I have shared the same therapist, and Eddie has jokingly offered to pay half his salary to Logan for keeping our heads on straight when we aren’t in his office.
“What’s holding you back from having an honest conversation with your dad? You do a great job at it with everyone else in your life.”
“I’m not angry at everyone else in my life.”
“Why are you angry with your dad?”
“Eddie, you know why.”
“Remind me.” His favorite tactic. He knows exactly why and doesn’t need recapping. He just wants to see if I remember why.
“Because he abandoned me the same way my mother did. At the same fucking time. He buried himself in work, and I was left alone with no one.”
“Have you ever asked him why he did that?”
“I don’t need to ask. I know why. He didn’t love me enough to be the dad I needed.”
Eddie’s inhale is deep and resigned. “What do you think, since the two of you will be alone this weekend, you ask him about what happened in those last years of high school?”
Quickly shaking my head, I tell him no. “I don’t care anymore. I’ve distanced myself from the situation, and I love myself enough that I don’t need his love or anyone else’s for that matter.”
“Zee.” Eddie’s head falls back against the gray headrest of his chair. “For the love of God, please tell me that after eight years of us working together, you realize that’s not true.”
Silence overtakes the pristine counseling office that’s been my safe haven for years now.
“Do you not think you’re worthy of love?” Eddie pushes his rimless glasses up the bridge of his nose, his ankle slung over the opposite knee, and his hands folded together. If you opened up your dictionary to the word therapist, I’m pretty sure you’d find a picture of Eddie in his fucking sweater vest.
Clearly, I’m avoiding his question.
“Do you not think you’re loved?” he rephrases.
“I think a few people love me. Maddison, Logan, my sister. But I don’t know if anyone else would love me if they saw the real me.”
“Who is the real you?” Again, Eddie knows this answer.
Rolling my eyes, I remind him. “Someone who cares about his best friends. Someone who is mentally strong because I’ve worked hard for that. Someone who only gets in fights on the ice because I’m protecting my people. Someone who actually spends more time being an uncle than I spend with all the women people think I’m with.”
Eddie continues to nod, all the while scribbling notes on his pad of paper, just as he has for the last eight years.
“Someone who’s afraid to lose the image portrayed for him because people love that guy. I don’t know if they’ll love the real guy, and I don’t know if I’m willing to find out.”
“You’ve always been my most honest client, Zee, but you’ve been lying to the entire world about who you are. For someone who never lies, that’s a pretty big one.”
“Eddie,” I awkwardly laugh. “It’s Wednesday morning. Getting pretty heavy for a Wednesday morning.”
“It’s therapy. What did you expect?” Of course, he won’t let me deflect with humor. He knows me better than that.
“Do you want to be loved?”
Damn. He’s hitting with all the hard questions today. I haven’t had enough caffeine for this. Hell, I haven’t had enough whiskey for this.
“I think I took that option off the table for myself a long time ago.”
“Zee, you’re twenty-eight. You could be eighty-eight, and still change directions. Do you want to be loved?”
Silence.
“Do you want to be loved?”
Outside street noises fill the quiet office as I stay mute.
“Zee, do you want to be loved?”
“Yes! Fuck.” Throwing my head back on the couch behind me, I close my eyes, scrubbing my palms over my jawline.
Eddie isn’t a typical therapist, at least not to me. He’s kind of like a life coach at this stage in our relationship, and it’s real fucking annoying.
But the truth is, I do want to be loved, and that’s scary to admit. It’s a lot easier to say you don’t want to be loved when no one loves you.
“Do you want to be loved for who you are or for who people think you are?”
“For me.”
“Then why haven’t you let anyone know who that is?”
“Because I’m scared.” And there it is. The root of it all. I’m fucking terrified for my fans or anyone else to see the real me. The persona I’ve worn for the last seven years in the league has signed my massive checks. I’m afraid to lose it. I’m afraid to lose my contract. I’m afraid to be released by the team and city where my best friends live.
My own parents didn’t love the real me enough to stick around. Why would I expect anyone else to?
“Being vulnerable and authentic is scary, man. Terrifying. But to the people who matter to you, the ones you’ve shown your true self to, they love you unconditionally. Why not let others love you unconditionally too? At least give them a chance to.”
Damn, my chest feels tight. And not like a “panic attack” tight, but like a “that hit me like a ton of bricks” and “I know he’s right” kind of tight.
“You’re right.”
“God, that feels good to hear.” Eddie wears a satisfied smile. Smug bastard. “How about this week you work on being your authentic, vulnerable self with someone who only knows the media’s version of EZ and not the real Zee. Maybe your dad?”
“Not my dad.”
“Okay.” Eddie puts his hands up in surrender. “But someone. Someone who thinks they know the real you but has no clue. Show them who you really are.”
“And if they don’t like the real me?”
Eddie ponders a moment. “Then I’ll double my donation to Active Minds, and I’ll donate four sessions a week to your kids instead of just the two I planned on.”
“Deal,” I say quicker than he could take his words back.
If being vulnerable with someone gives me a chance to add four more weekly sessions to the quickly growing hours we’ve gathered from doctors and therapists around the city, then I will.
The clock on the far wall reads ten after the hour. “We went over again.”
Eddie shrugs his shoulders. “You can afford it.”
Standing, we hug each other. As I said before, we’ve been doing this shit for eight years. Eddie is an integral part of my life and a real friend. He’s family, which is why he calls me by the name the most important people in my life use, and not by the one my parents gave me.
“You’re coming to the gala next month, right?”
Eddie walks me to the office door, opening it. “Of course. I couldn’t be prouder of you and Eli. I remember when you two were just a couple of arrogant little shits in college. Now, look at you.”
“Now, we’re two arrogant grown-ass men.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Black-tie,” I remind Eddie, pointing an accusing finger at him.
The black-tie dress code was my idea. But fuck it. I love having an excuse to dress up. Not to mention, I look fine as hell rocking a tux.
“I’ll send you the bill for that too.”
The small café below Eddie’s office is my typical stop on a Wednesday morning. After our sessions, I’m always drained. I grab my usual black coffee with two sugars and continue the short walk back to my apartment complex.
The late November chill hits me as soon as I walk outside, so I pull my beanie lower to cover my ears. The streets of downtown Chicago are bustling with bodies, needing to get from point A to point B, and thankfully, with the combination of keeping my head down and them being too busy to notice, I go unrecognized.
Turning the corner two blocks from my place, I stop in my tracks, causing the traffic of people to have to move around my body as I take up plenty of space on the sidewalk.
And I’m rooted in place because just ahead, there’s a head full of chestnut curls, though today they’re thrown in a bun with a yellow bandana wrapped around them. Stevie is sitting on the chilly cement curb, knees to her chest and head in her hands.
The amount of space that girl has been occupying in my head lately is a bit concerning. What I thought was going to be a one-night stand has turned into me endlessly hoping for a repeat round, but over the last few weeks and the few short road trips we’ve had since I saw her on delayed Halloween, Stevie has kept her distance.
It’s annoying.
Even from a block away, I can see her back slightly vibrate before she looks up and frantically wipes her cheek.
No, no, no. I don’t do crying. Correction—I don’t do chicks crying. Especially ones that I’ve been with before. Comforting adds to the intimacy factor I’d like to stay away from, but apparently, no one told my feet that because without realizing it, they’ve carried me right to the sad flight attendant sitting on the curb.
Stevie’s head is buried back in her arms, not knowing I’m standing next to her as I eye the ground in contemplation. My pants cost more than some people’s weekly salary, but here I am, sitting my ass on a disgusting curb in the middle of disgusting downtown Chicago.
“You following me?” Nudging my shoulder into hers, I hope the humor will dissipate whatever the hell is going on right now.
It doesn’t.
Stevie looks up from her folded arms, her blue-green eyes rimmed in red. Her freckled nose is swollen and pink, and the sadness she’s wearing couldn’t be more obvious.
“Oh God.” She turns away from me, using the sleeve of her oversized flannel to wipe her nose and cheeks. “You should go. I don’t need you to see this.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yep.” She inhales a deep breath, trying to compose herself, her face still turned from me. “Totally fine.”
“Well, thank God. Because how embarrassing would that be for you if I caught you crying on a curb.”
Bringing my coffee to my lips, I hide my smile as she turns back to look at me, the two of us sharing a laugh. And her laugh sounds nice. A lot better than the sniffling she was trying to hide.
This time it’s my knee nudging into hers. “What’s going on?”
She readjusts the tiny gold hoop in her nose that got messed up when wiping it on her shirt sleeve. “A dog died.”
“Your dog?” My heart drops a bit for her.
“No.” She shakes her head, throwing a thumb over her shoulder.
Craning my neck around and upward, I read the sign on the run-down building behind us. SDOC—Senior Dogs of Chicago.
“I volunteer here, and one of our dogs died. He was twelve, and it was time, but it makes me sad that he was here and not at home with someone who loved him.”
Oh, fuck. This isn’t good. Stevie’s nickname is ironic because she’s never shown a sweet side to her. Not once. And now, sitting on this curb, she decides to tell me she’s actually a total sweetheart? I don’t know if I’m ready for that to be true.
“Well, did you love him?”
“Of course. But it’s not the same. He deserved his own home with a warm bed and an owner who loved him. They just want someone to love unconditionally, but instead, they’re stuck here.”
Unconditional love. What’s going on with the universe today that those two words are being thrown my way twice before noon?
“Have you ever been in love?” Stevie’s eyes are wide and curious, her question completely sincere.
Suddenly my chest feels tight, and words have evaded me because the topic of love should not be up for discussion with the last chick I had sex with.
“Not that kind of love.” Stevie playfully rolls her eyes. “We all know you’re already in love with me.”
There she is. A bit more of her wild energy takes over, the sadness leaving from the air around us.
“Come on, Armani.” She stands from the curb, holding her hand out for mine. “You’re going to fall in love today.”
“These pants are Tom Ford, sweetheart.” I put my hand in hers, letting her believe she’s helping me up, but she’s not doing shit as I stand from the curb on my own.
“Well, they could be from Walmart for all I care. It doesn’t matter the brand name. They’re about to be covered in dog hair.”
Typically, that’d be a hell no for me, but instead, I find myself wearing too big of a smile and following the curly-haired girl into the run-down building behind us.
The small entryway is bright and cheerful, each wall a different color. But you almost can’t see the paint due to the countless Polaroids overtaking the wall. New owners with their new dogs, smiles as big as could be, reminding you of the happy times this building has seen.
A large desk sits at the end of the entryway, and when I turn the corner, my eyes widen in shock. The next room over is littered with dogs. Some big, some small, some sprawled out on the countless dog beds, others being playful with each other.
But the thing I notice most of all is the way Stevie lights up when she opens the small gate separating the entryway from the pups. When she steps inside, her smile overtakes her face as a handful of older dogs come right to her, sniffing and licking, tails wagging.
They clearly love her as much as she loves them.
“You okay?” An older woman stands on the far side of the room. When Stevie nods, the lady shoots her a half-smile before taking off behind a door, leaving us alone.
“Come on, fancy pants.” Stevie opens the gate for me. “They aren’t going to bite.”
Them biting me is not what I’m worried about. I’m a big and commanding guy. Most dogs fear me, not the other way around.
What I am worried about is seeing this sweet side to Stevie. I’m not sure if I’m ready to know this part of her exists. I’ve already been too distracted by her body that I can’t get enough of, not to mention her smartass mouth. I don’t know that I can handle finding her soul attractive too.
Setting my coffee down on the front desk, I enter the large room full of dogs. The space is bright and eclectic, with all different colored rugs covering the floor. Big pillows are thrown about, and even more dog beds are positioned around the room. The far wall is lined with crates, where a couple of pups have decided to chill, regardless of their crate doors being open for them to come out and play.
A few dogs rush me, sniffing my legs and shoes. Not as many as the number surrounding Stevie right now, but still more than I assumed. I thought they’d be intimidated by my commanding presence. But it seems like they’re just excited to have a visitor.
“That’s Bagel.” Stevie motions to the Beagle sniffing my Louboutins.
“Bagel the Beagle? Genius.”
“He got here last month, but he already has a new home.” Stevie’s voice drips with excitement and pride. “He gets picked up tomorrow.”
Plopping herself on one of the plush floor pillows, she sits crossed-legged as dogs rush her face, licking and sniffing, tails moving at a mile a minute. She doesn’t shoo them away. Instead, she embraces all their love and gives it right back to them in the form of belly rubs and scratches behind their ears.
Once they’ve settled from the commotion, most of the pups leave, going back to whatever they were doing before we walked in. Stevie turns my way, lifting a questioning brow when she notices me standing still by the gate before she motions to the ground.
Fuck it. This entire outfit is either going to need to be thrown out or dry-cleaned anyway. Stevie’s secondhand flannels and baggy jeans are making a whole lot more sense right about now.
I take a seat across from her with enough room between us that I can stretch out my long legs. A couple of dogs sniff my ears and head, but they’re unbothered by my presence for the most part.
“So.” Looking around the brightly colored room. “What is this place?”
A small white dog finds its way onto Stevie’s lap, curling up between her legs. “This place is a rescue shelter for senior dogs. Well, it’s for all dogs, really. But we advertise for senior dogs because they’re usually not chosen first, and we want them to be.”
“How often do you come here?”
“Whenever you guys are playing at home. I try to come here as much as possible when we aren’t traveling.”
Looking up from the dog she’s snuggling, she shoots me her most genuine smile. Her freckled cheeks aren’t as flush as they were when she was crying outside, and her blue-green eyes are much more bright and clear.
To be honest, in the couple of months I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her this happy. She sure as hell doesn’t look this excited to be on the airplane with us.
“Why don’t you work here full-time? You clearly love it.”
And why am I suggesting that? As much as I wanted her off the plane two months ago, I can’t imagine traveling without her to drive me insane—in more ways than one.
“Because unfortunately, adulthood costs money, and they can’t afford to pay me here. They can barely afford to keep the doors open.”
I tried to avoid lingering my stare on the cracks forming on the walls or the water spots in the corner of the ceiling, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice them. Not to mention the baseboards that could use a fresh coat of paint or the squeaky hinges on the front door that should probably be replaced.
“Not enough adoptions going on?”
“We survive off donations. Our adoptions don’t cost much because we don’t want to deter people from adopting. But even so, I don’t think many people know this little building is even here. Or if they do, it seems like they’d still rather buy a puppy than bring an older pup home.”
A big yellow lab mix comes over, licking my ear. It’s pretty gross, but instead of wiping it away, I scratch his wiry hair under his collar, pulling a content groan from the big guy.
“That’s Gus. Cheryl, the woman who was in here earlier, she’s the owner of the shelter, and that’s her dog.”
“He’s a big guy.”
“He’s a lazy guy,” Stevie laughs.
“How many do you have at home?”
Her pretty smile falls slightly. “None. My brother, the one I live with, he’s allergic.”
“Well, that’s a shame. I figured the only reason you keep wearing those disgusting sweatpants is because you’re at home cuddling with dogs all day.”
“Ha ha.” Stevie’s forced laugh is followed by a small genuine one.
Her cute giggle draws the attention of a black and tan Doberman who was sleeping in their crate. The giant dog, which admittedly looks a bit scary even to me, exits their crate, pulling a deep stretch, ass in the air.
The Doberman’s pointy ears and piercing eyes fixate right on me, and I’m not going to lie, for a moment, it looks aggressive as hell, like it wants to bite my head off. And I’m not sure being on the ground, face level, is the best idea.
Stevie follows my line of sight. “That’s Rosie. Don’t let her fool you. She’s the sweetest thing in the world. She just looks intimidating, but she’s not. She’s a marshmallow.”
Rosie takes two small steps, her head slightly surveying the room.
“And I’m her favorite.” Stevie opens her arms for Rosie to come greet her.
Instead of going to her, Rosie takes a few slow intimidating strides towards me.
She walks right between my open legs. Her yellow-brown eyes are determined and focused, staring lasers at my own. I don’t care what Stevie said about her not being intimidating. Rosie is intimidating.
That is, until she falls into my lap, burying her head into my thigh before flipping over onto her back, legs flailing in the air, asking for belly rubs.
I can’t help but laugh as both my hands massage her belly. “You’re her favorite, huh?”
“I hate you.”
Rosie’s big head turns to look up at me, her intimidation tactic wholly gone. She looks a little in love, and I think I might be too.
“How long has she been here?”
“Almost a year. Last Christmas, she was dropped off when her owners had a baby, and they decided to give Rosie up. Said they were worried about her being around kids, which is total bullshit. She would never even hurt a fly.”
Snaking my arm under her, I wrap Rosie up like a baby. She uses my bicep as a pillow while I give her scratches until she eventually falls asleep.
Big softie. Her previous owners are assholes.
“She is a marshmallow.”
“She’s kind of like you,” Stevie notes, pulling my attention back to the curly-haired flight attendant. “You’re pretty soft on the inside too, Mr. Zanders.”
“Please. I’m scary as fuck.”
“Sure thing, Elsa.”
Looking back at the giant Doberman sleeping in my arms, I can’t help but wonder who the hell wouldn’t want this dog and why the fuck she’s at a shelter. She’s perfect.
“Hey, Zanders?”
“Hmm?”
“That’s what it feels like to be loved.”
