But when I craft my final text, all I say is—Sex Class is off for Thursday and on pause for the indefinite future. Jess and Cam are busy tomorrow, and we all agree this may be the kind of thing we’ll have to figure out on our own. Even if it’s hard. But we all appreciate your offer and all the work you did for us.
Bubbles fill the screen and then—I get it. I’ve been having fun with my research but you’re probably right. There are too many variables at play. And if teaching people to find a great sex partner or true love were easy, someone smarter than I am would have figured it out by now.
I sigh and reply—I think you’re very smart, but yeah…relationships are hard.
He shoots back a smiley face emoji and—But at least we’re easy. Looking forward to Friday with you. And not just because kissing you is fun. I really enjoy your company, Feisty.
Throat going tight, I text—You, too. Off to tackle homework, sleep well!
I add a gif of a cartoon kitten covering another cartoon kitten with a blanket that’s cute and playful, but I don’t feel either of those things.
I feel…torn. Worried.
And excited, so excited I’m going to be at our meeting place on Friday with bells on, no matter how dangerous my feelings for Ian are becoming.
Chapter 22
Ian
Friday morning practice starts off strong. We’re actually running new plays without anyone bitching and moaning about it, and Sven the Dick is clearly hungover, despite the ban on drinking during the week, and doesn’t have the energy to cause his usual level of trouble.
I feel hopeful that we might be turning a corner as a team until we settle in for our eleven a.m. group therapy session and Braxton, of all people, has a meltdown, tells Sandra, our therapist, to “respectfully, fuck off,” and storms out of the room.
Braxton is one of the few guys I can usually count on to be a team player and put the game first. If he’s getting sucked into the drama, I’m not sure how much hope there is for the Ice Possums in their current incarnation.
And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe this is what we deserve.
Thousands of players would kill for a chance to be part of an NHL team. If these guys are too angry and childish to realize how lucky they are, then maybe they’re going to reap what they’ve sown and be out of a job sooner than some of them expect.
But as one of the few players who have been with the Possums since the beginning, I’ve proven that I can be part of a functional team. Those first few years, we were good. Not great, but we had promise. But I can’t bring that promise to fruition on my own. I’m just one man and maybe it’s time to admit that I can’t solve this problem, no matter how much I want to.
It’s like with Evie and her friends. You can only take another person so far, no matter how pure your intentions.
But at least Cam, Evie, and Jess were invested in giving my suggestions a shot. These men stopped listening to me a long time ago and you can’t help people who refuse to help themselves.
After another shitty afternoon practice, I text my agent—Looking forward to our Monday meeting. I’m about ready to admit defeat and get out before it’s too late.
Fred texts back almost immediately—So happy to hear that, buddy. You have no idea. Want to swing by my office now? I have an opening at four and some very exciting news to share with you.
I can’t, I shoot back, not even stopping to consider it, I have plans this afternoon, but I’ll be there with bells on come Monday.
All right, he replies, but be ready to pull the trigger by then, okay? We’re running out of time to make a deal before the preseason starts. And I’m not sure how long the interested parties will stay interested. And yes, I did say parties. Plural. The Badgers aren’t the only ones looking for an experienced defender with a great rep. You’ve got options, good ones, and I, for one, can’t wait to see you finally get the kind of respect and support from a team that you deserve.
Stomach churning, I assure him I’ll be ready to decide by Monday and tuck my phone back into my bag before I head into art therapy, where the guys are once again on their best behavior.
Watching them happily collect collage supplies from Evie and chat freely about their various phobias—apparently exploring fear is the topic for today—you’d never guess they’re incapable of acting like grown-ups for more than a day or two at a time.
Maybe if Evie were our coach, she’d be able to get through to them on the ice, too. But she isn’t. And I’m tired. So tired.