Page 53 of Meant for Mayhem

My phone vibrated in my pocket sometime later, jerking me awake. My neck was stiff from falling asleep in the rocking chair, but the room was still dark and quiet, Leena sound asleep in her crib. I tiptoed out of the room, closing the door silently behind me. Shannon was in the foyer working on her computer when I walked by. “I’ll take my call in the gym.”

She gave me a thumbs up. “Go. I’ve got her.”

Before I could let myself feel guilty yet again, I went into the gym across from the guest room. I straddled the weight bench, gathering up the courage for what came next.

Call with Dr. Stephens scrolled across my phone screen, showing I had one more minute before our first appointment. Not enough time to find some reason to cancel, but plenty of time for me to dwell on how much I didn’t want to do this.

But I couldn’t lose my job.

Not yet, anyway.

The phone rang right on time, and I put my headphones on to answer.

“Mikko, nice to see you,” Dr. Stephens said, his face filling the screen. “I’m Kevin.”

I expected Dr. Stephens to be wearing glasses, maybe even a cardigan, with gray hair and a judgmental frown. He’d be in an office full of books, with a couch in the corner and a notepad in hand. But Kevin looked like he was my age, and he was fit. No stranger to the gym, like the one I sat in. His dark brown hair was under a baseball hat, and he was wearing a quarter-zip similar to the ones Frankie wore.

“Same,” I said after Kevin said nothing else. I propped the phone on the weight rack across from me, feeling weird about this whole thing. Why did we have to see each other at all?

“Frankie spoke highly of you when we chatted earlier this week.” He smiled when he said it, but I could only imagine what Frankie had said about me. “How’s your day been so far?”

“Today?” I asked, a little confused what that had to do with anything.

“Sure,” Kevin said. “How’s Leena?”

“Fine.”

“Good. Kids are great.”

“Do you have one?”

He leaned toward the camera, resting his arms on the desk in front of him. “None of my own yet, no. But I’m the middle of five kids, and my two older siblings both have kids. Being an uncle isn’t the same as a father.”

“It’s not,” I agreed.

“What’s she into these days? What’s her favorite food?”

“I don’t understand how that has any relevance to my career.”

Kevin grinned again. “She matters to you, yes?”

“More than anything.”

“And since you answered the phone today, I’m assuming hockey still matters to you too?”

“Of course it does.”

“Then I think it’s relevant. You’re not a robot we can control, telling it exactly what plays to make on the ice. You’re a human with real human emotions who sometimes plays hockey. So what matters to you is relevant in all conversations.”

“That sounds exactly like what a psychologist would say. I’m waiting for you to tell me to lie down now.”

He held his hands up, that grin still there. “You caught me. And you can lie down if you want to, but that’s your preference, not mine.”

“Pasta,” I said after a few beats of silence. “And fruit. She likes pasta and fruit.”

“Excellent choices, if I say so myself. Who doesn’t love pasta?”

I grunted through his next several attempts at small talk, not elaborating on anything he asked. The team mandated that I meet with him to get cleared for a return to the ice. They never said I had to share stuff I didn’t want to.