Is this bitch serious? What fucking childhood? You have my file right in front of you. You know, while I might have come from money, my childhood was stripped away from me by the people who were supposed to be in charge of protecting my innocence.
She lets out a subtle sigh, flipping her notepad closed. I’ll give her credit, she lasted longer than I figured she would. Most would’ve given up when I refused to shake their hand.
“Look, Ciaráin, I’m here to help you. I can’t do that if you don’t talk to me. Yes, we can sit in silence if that’s what you need, but that isn’t the point of therapy.” She leans forward in her chair, her blue eyes softening around the edges. “I know you’re going through a lot right now—”
“You don’t know shit,” I snap. “No one knows shit. And I’m so fucking sorry my last piece of shit, incompetent therapist somehow lead you to believe you have any fucking clue into who I am or what I’m dealing with.”
Dr. Fulton leans back in her chair, absorbing my outburst. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to insinuate. All I want is to do my job, to help you. Will you let me do that?” Her words, her question, it comes out like a command.
I meet her eyes. She’s got balls of steel, this one.
Briefly, I nod, allowing her to continue.
“All right, let’s try another approach. Why don’t we talk about your relationship with your family? No siblings, just a mother and father?”
“I have no father,” I grind. “He died when I was a kid. I have my mother, if you can call her that, and the man she calls a husband.” I meet her eyes with a hard stare, daring her to push me.
She accepts the challenge.
“Tell me about your stepfather.”
“If you want to talk about him, you should set up a meeting with him. God knows the fucker needs a shrink way more than I do,” I smirk, leaning forward in my seat. “After all, adding another client to your list can help you afford a matching wallet for that purse.”
“I’m sorry, Ciaráin, but I don’t believe that for one second. You might want me to believe it, but we both know there is so much more to you and your story with your parents than is in that tiny folder.” She raises a brow. “So why don’t you stop deflecting and start talking?”
My jaw ticks. “I’m not talking about him. Nor my mother.”
“Okay,” she concedes, shutting the folder. “Then what brings you to Colorado?”
“College,” I reply, my annoyance easing.
“How is that going? I read in your file that you played football at Clemson for the past two years. Will you be playing for the Buffaloes this season?”
My brow furrows. “You really want to talk about football? No offense, but you don’t seem the type of woman to know a touchdown from a homerun.” I make a point to let my eyes travel the length of her body, starting at her fucking Louboutins and not meeting her eyes again until after I make it a point to stare at her rack.
The way her nostrils flare tells me I’m right.
Flipping open the file again, she glances around the sheet. “Then tell me about Roman.”
My blood freezes in my veins. “Off-fucking-limits.”
She inhales deeply through her nose. “Enlighten me. What are we allowed to talk about in our sessions? The weather?”
I quirk a brow. Balls of steel and feisty too.
I’d be willing to bet my left nut she’s a firecracker in bed. Not that I’m interested. I’m not a fan of being challenged.
Rising from my seat, I stare down at her. “I don’t think we have anything to talk about, Dr. Fulton. I’d say I’m sorry for wasting your time, but we both know I don’t actually give a fuck.”
I take my leave, heading back into the waiting room. My hand is already grabbing the door handle, ready to get the hell out of here when I hear Dr. Fulton behind me, calling my name.
“Ciaráin,” I pause for a moment, my back to her. “You can’t just walk out when you don’t want to talk about the hard stuff.”
“Fucking watch me,” I challenge, turning sideways to catch her gaze. “Besides, I have practice in an hour. I only came to this appointment to appease my poor excuse of a mother. But please, do us both a favor and forget I ever came here.” Nodding to the folder in her hand, I add, “Oh, and make sure you shred that damn file and set the pieces on fire the minute I’m gone.”
Just as I’m turning back to the exit, my eye catches the television again, Senator Theordore Anders’ image is still taking up the primetime news spot.
I slam the door behind me in haste as I exit.
Fuckers like that man deserve to die.
“Lennox, get your ass over here!” Coach Scott barks at me through his megaphone from the opposite end of the field, cutting off my conversation with my backup quarterback, a redshirt freshman from Idaho by the name of Garrett. I let him know I’ll be back shortly and start jogging over to Coach.
It’s the first day of practice, and it’s a scorcher here in Boulder for the first week of August. If I’m being honest, it’s always hot as fuck this time of year in Colorado, something I’m used to, being a native to the state. The temperature is reaching nearly one hundred degrees and the sun is blistering on my shoulders. Smoke still lingers in the air from the recent forest fires, but at least I can breathe outside without feeling like I’m drowning in ash like a few weeks ago.
Truth be told, that’s the only thing I don’t like about Colorado. The fires every summer. They paint our clear blue sky with smoke and debris, clouding the view of the mountains almost entirely. Sometimes for months, like this past summer.
Instead of spending my weekends out in Crested Butte mountain biking or rock climbing in Estes Park, I was forced to stay inside, keeping my lungs safe from the toxins in the air.
So, the fact that I’m outside playing football right now? God, I’m thrilled. I was beginning to go damn near stir crazy being locked up in my apartment while the fires made it unsafe to be outside for extended periods of time. The only interaction I was having with my friends or family was coming from FaceTime and playing video games, and for an extrovert like myself, it was a nightmare.
I snap out of my reverie once I reach Coach Scott. He’s a recently retired NFL running back from the Denver Broncos turned college level coach right here at CU. He started coaching a couple years before my freshman year, a good chunk of the reason I decided to stay local for college, even when I was scouted and recruited by some of the best teams in the SEC and BIG-10.
He also happens to be a man I know extremely well, almost like a second father, seeing as he has known me since I was in diapers.
“Hey Coach,” I say, pulling to a stop beside him. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of aviators, a ballcap on his head sporting the University’s logo. He looks every bit the intimidating man the world sees him as. Ruthless both on and off the field, never taking his eye off the ball.
Something he ingrained in not only his son, and my best friend, Taylor, from a young age, but myself as well.
Don’t lose focus and the world is yours for the taking.
“River,” Coach replies in a way of greeting. His eyes are still locked on the field where different players are practicing various drills.