Overtime(11)

“But then the ADHD and anxiety started when you turned fourteen, which resulted in more therapy and meds. They said the anxiety was brought on by the multiple men that your mother married and divorced during your childhood. But when they suggested you be removed from the home, you fought it because you didn’t want to leave your mom.”

He’d thought maybe if he stayed, she’d love him, but it never happened. She cared more about the different men that were “Daddy” each year than she did about him. Sad, yeah, but he’d hardly call that a reason to drink. Letting out a long breath, he watched as the therapist met his gaze and she shook her head.

“And then came the death of Robbie Lincoln.”

Hearing that name made all the hairs on Jordie’s arms stand at attention. His chest seized, his breathing became labored, and he had to look away. He didn’t think of Robbie much because he wouldn’t allow himself to. He wanted to tell her to stop but she was proving a point, and he refused to let her know that she was slowly but surely killing him from the inside.

“He was your best friend who was stabbed by a boy when he tried to stop three other boys from killing you, according to what the report says. After that, you didn’t show up to therapy anymore, and then the drinking started. You were arrested for DUI and public intoxication twice before you were eighteen. Your coach told you to clean up or you would lose your scholarship to Wisconsin.”

“And I did. The end,” he said when she paused, clapping his hands. “All that says is that I’ve had a shitty past. It doesn’t define me now.”

“It does,” she said, meeting his heated and embarrassed gaze. “All that is the foundation of the reason why you drink. It started young—when something bad happens, you shut down and check out of this world. This time, it was your injury, I’m sure. But then something is telling me it’s more. A woman, maybe? Because the last girl you were with that you considered a girlfriend was the one who almost got you killed. Since then, you’ve jumped from bed to bed, never allowing anyone in.”

He shook his head, slowly taking in breaths through his nose and letting them out of his mouth. “You don’t know shit.”

“I know a lot. And, Jordie, the thing is, I’m here to help you. How are you going to really learn how to deal with your feelings if you won’t share them with me? Are you scared?”

“Fucking shit, I’m not scared of anything,” he said, but even he didn’t hear conviction in his voice. He knew it was a lie. There was something—no, someone, that he was scared of.

Himself.

“The point of my job is to help you, and I think you forget that I’m the signature you need to get out of here.”

His brows crashed together as he sat up higher in his seat. “Are you threatening me?”

She chuckled softly. “I don’t threaten—I remind. And I suggest that you open up to me before it’s too late. Only forty-five days left.”

Yeah, forty-five days of f*cking hell, he thought as he shook his head, looking down at the ground. He hated hearing his past; it needed to stay where it belonged—in the past. But he also hated how right she was. What happened to his boy Robbie was what started the drinking. It was the way he got rid of the feelings and fear. There wasn’t a time when he did allow himself to think about Robbie that he didn’t wish it was he who had died. Robbie was a good guy and the only other person, along with Angie, whom he’d trusted. But then Angie betrayed him and Robbie was dead, so all he had was the bottle since his mom was too busy looking for another man to love her. She was constantly fighting for love and looking for it that it scared Jordie to even try for it. It never seemed to be attainable. So why try for something that would never be his?

Running his fingers through his hair, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen this before. Hearing his past wasn’t easy, knowing the sure signs of his issues didn’t settle in his stomach right. Maybe he wasn’t a full-blown alcoholic, but he was tiptoeing along the line and he wasn’t sure what side he’d end up on. He did know that he didn’t want to end up facedown in a ditch, suffocating on his own vomit, before losing his life to the sickness. He also didn’t want to be like his mother, so unhappy by herself that she needed a man.

Was he doing that with the bottle? Because he couldn’t trust women, he only used them for sex, but a part of him was getting so tired of that. He had really wanted to try with Kacey; a part of him had felt like love was actually realistic when he was with her. But the other part of him knew he wasn’t ready for that. He wanted to trust her fully, or trust anyone for that matter. He wanted to allow himself to truly love someone. He wanted more from his life, but he didn’t know how to get it.

Something had to change.

He had to change.

But did he want to?

And could he?



Jordie didn’t say anything else during the group meeting.

As he sat there, reevaluating his life, he couldn’t be more disgusted. He hadn’t lived the life he wanted, minus the hockey, and he really didn’t have any good memories.

Except Kacey.

Kacey was every good memory he had in his whole damn life, but then he did the dumb-ass thing of letting her go. Letting go of the light in his life. Another bad choice. As he walked back to the closet they said was his room, each bad choice he’d made stared back at him and he hated it. It was like he was living a lie. Everything he did wasn’t what he wanted, and most of the time all he thought about was drinking. How pathetic. He couldn’t name one good thing in his life at that moment. No, wait, his game was good when he actually got to play it. But off the ice, what did he have?