Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(48)

“Can I take a rain check? I got this appointment I’ve been dodging for a month now.” It’s the truth, too. How convenient.

“Let me guess—Doc Mulvey? The team shrink?”

“That’s the guy,” I grunt. Most teams have a psychiatrist who every player must visit a couple times a season. It’s a pain in the ass.

“Say hi for me,” O’Doul says with a wink. “I love that guy.”

See? I knew Brooklyn was bonkers. Nobody likes seeing the team shrink. “Will do.”

“And we’ll get a beer next week, you and me.”

“Thanks. Good plan. See you tomorrow.” Next week it won’t be different, though. I’ll find another excuse.

We say our goodbyes, and then I head toward the shrink’s office.





Doctor Mulvey is an aging Brooklyn hipster. He’s wearing a black plaid shirt over a white tee, and a beanie. And then there’s his carefully tailored mustache and beard. If he wants us to meditate together, I’m outta here.

“Nice of you to keep your appointment this time,” he says, standing up to shake my hand.

“Sorry. I’ve been busy busting my ass at the rink.”

“Let’s talk about your busted ass,” he says, settling into his chair, and picking up his…knitting? Seriously? The doctor slides one needle against the other, then wraps the yarn around it. “How is the adjustment coming?”

“Rocky,” I admit, because this man already knows. He has all our stats, and probably a file containing my life story. “I’m a different kind of player than the team is used to. They’re fighting my style.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, calmly making another stitch. “What about the rest of your life? Have you found a place to live?”

“Not yet. I had a lead on something, but it fell through.”

“What kind of place are you looking for?”

“Um…” It’s not like I’ve given this a lot of thought. “One bedroom. Maybe two. I guess even a studio would be fine.” My mom will probably visit later in the season. But we’re not very close. She’ll stay at a hotel. “Why? Do you live in the neighborhood? If you know anybody who’s trying to rent…”

“Sorry.” Dr. Mulvey shakes his head. “But it’s interesting to me that you haven’t narrowed down your search.”

“I’ve just been busy.”

“You’re very busy,” he agrees. “But that’s what real estate agents are for. Do you feel overwhelmed?”

“Well, sure. Who wouldn’t? New city. New team. Bad on-ice dynamics. Of course I’m overwhelmed.”

Dr. Mulvey sets down his knitting and looks me in the eye. “Anyone would be. And that’s why you’re having so much trouble visualizing.”

“Sorry?”

“You don’t have a picture in your mind of the apartment you need. Brooklyn doesn’t look anything like Dallas, right?”

“Right,” I agree. “Exactly. That’s why it’s hard to start looking.”

His piercing eyes bore into me. “Your on-ice problem is just the same, I think.”

“Uh, what?” I thought we were talking about apartments.

“You said the team was struggling to adapt to your style of play.”

“Right—they want me on the blue line like O’Doul. It’s a failure of imagination.”

“Exactly,” he says again. And then he gives me an evil grin. “Your imagination.”

“What? No. That’s not what I meant.” And this is why everyone hates the team shrink. They talk you in circles.

“It’s all about visualization,” he says. “If you can’t visualize connecting the pass, you can’t connect the pass. If you can’t visualize your life in Brooklyn, you can’t make a life in Brooklyn.”

“I connect passes all the time,” I say irritably.

“Of course you do. That’s muscle memory and training. But you’ve forgotten that visualization matters. If you can flex this muscle again, your teamwork will smooth right out.”

“You lost me,” I grunt.

“How old were you when you started hockey?”

Oh brother. They always want to talk about your childhood. “I was six.”

“Did the six-year-old Mark ever stand around with a toy stick, pretending to score the winning goal for… Who was your team?”

I laugh. “Well, sure. And we rooted for Vancouver. That’s where my dad grew up.”

“Kids are really good at visualization,” the shrink says with a shrug. “When you were six, you could picture it. But it would be years before you’d have the strength and muscle control to score a winning goal, right?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“So there you are, moving up through the ranks of club hockey and college hockey. Then straight to the majors. All that training and muscle development and skill. Your trip to greatness was smoother than some other guys face.”

“It was,” I admit. “Thanks to hard work and a healthy dose of luck.”

He nods. “You never slacked off on the hard work. But lately it feels like your luck is a little slippery, no?”