He quickly sits down across from me, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “I’m not telling you all this to discount all you went through. This isn’t a competition to find out whose life went more tits up. Yeah? This is about me reaching out to you and trying to give you help. Will you let me help you? I know Kayla wanted to but she’s not here anymore and I’m not going anywhere.”
I want to tell him that it’s not Kayla’s fault that she left but I think we both know it’s my fault anyway.
“What kind of help?” I ask thickly.
He reaches into his front pocket and pulls up a piece of folded up paper, holding it out between two fingers. “This is the number of my psychologist.” I stare at it blankly until he shakes it. “Take it. Call him. Make an appointment. Please.”
I hesitate. My pride is begging me to turn it away. “Brigs…”
“No,” he says. “Do you want gravity to take you back to the bottom? Do you want what happened with Kayla to happen with someone else? Do you want to lose your organization, your career, because I guarantee all of those things will happen if you don’t do something right now.”
“This is some sort of intervention,” I mumble to myself but I take the paper from him.
“Yes, it is,” he says to me. “Our parents don’t need to know about it so it’s between you and I. But I need to know that you’ll call him. I’d watch you do it right now but I’m not your bloody babysitter. I trust you, aye.”
He gets to his feet. “I also hope you’ll check into rehab. There’s a great facility for sports players. They’re discreet. And you know it’s nothing to be ashamed of anymore. Don’t make me sing you an Amy Winehouse song.” He nods at me. “I’ll be in touch. Make the coach put you back on the pitch. You need it.”
And just like he leaves, leaving me reeling on the couch.
“What do you think about that, Lionel?” I ask him, holding the paper. He sniffs it then deems it uninteresting and goes back to sleeping.
I’d been to rehab before but a psychologist is a totally different thing. My prescriptions so far have been filled by the team doctors. Tell me your problems, here is something to fix it, boom, you’re done.
But a psychologist will bring up every single ugly detail of your life. I don’t think I’m strong enough to relive it, I relive it enough in my nightmares as it is.
I don’t discount it though. I respect Brigs too much for that. I get up and post it on the fridge door, underneath a magnet, so it will look me in the eye every day until I finally get the courage to do something.
***
Game number two is tomorrow and I know Alan will be putting me in. I’m nervous but relieved all at the same time. I don’t want to fuck up but I’m so glad the waiting period is over. With Kayla gone, there’s just this ghost of her everywhere I look, haunting my bones, and I need something else to keep me going, to push me along the right track
Still, I need to hear her voice. Just for a moment. All my texts and calls to her either go answered or they just get something generic and I need, want, so much more from her. And I need to be there for her. I can’t imagine what she’s going through right now.
I call her. It’s around dinner time here so I know it has to be the morning for her.
As usual though, it rings and rings and rings.
I’m just about to hang up when she answers.
“Hello?”
The sound of her voice nearly breaks me.
“Kayla?” I say. “It’s me. It’s Lachlan.”
“I know,” she says flatly. She sniffs and I wonder if she’s been crying.
“Are you okay?” I ask her. “How is your mum?”
“She’s…she’s still in a coma.”
“Shit, love. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to call you…”
“I know. I’m in the hospital a lot, they don’t really want you using your phones.”
“That’s okay, I understand.” I pause, pressing my fist into my forehead, closing my eyes. “It’s just…you don’t know how good it feels to hear your voice. I miss you. So much.”
So much that my chest is burning with the words.
I hear her swallow. “Yeah. I miss you too.” Her voice sounds so fragile, like glass, as if she doesn’t really believe what she’s saying. But still, I cling to it. She misses me.