Chapter 31

: Brandon

M y days are spent in a whirlwind of workouts, practices, and working with Leora on the event. We’re calling it Soccer for Sibs. I’ve recruited several of my teammates to work. We have a game that evening against the Miami Wave, so everyone will be around anyway.

I’m also spending a fair amount of time working with Watson Ross. This will come as a total shock—I know it did to me—but I have a lot to unpack. If we start with the surface problem of my sister, being the sibling of an addict causes significant trauma. It’s not dissimilar to some of the wounds that having a sick sibling cause.

On that front, my sister is actually doing well for once. Jess texts me every other day when she goes into town, where she has reception. If she’s not going to make it to be able to text me, she lets me know ahead of time. I never realized how much energy I expended worrying about Jess.

It’s not like I don’t worry now, but it’s much less than it used to be. It’s not accompanied by this overwhelming sense of dread each time my phone rings.

“I want you to consider your public persona. How you act around others. What’s that about?” Ross asks me.

I shrug. “I tell it like it is.”

“Why?” he prods.

“I don’t like liars or fakes. It’s probably because of my sister.”

“Were you this outspoken before the accident?”

I normally try to avoid thinking about that period of my life at all costs. Hell, I think I’ve repressed a fair amount of it. I think about what my coaches said about me. The comments that were made during the academy.

Needs to be more confident.

Needs to attack the ball with purpose.

Lacks aggression when taking possession.

Skilled but timid.

Ha! I showed them.

Or did I?

“Would it surprise you to know that anger, aggression, and oppositional behaviors are all commonly seen in siblings of sick children?”

“Jess wasn’t sick. Not the way And—” I catch myself. “Not the way the kids at the event are. I mean their siblings. Plus, it’s not like we were kids. I was 18. Jess was 16. I was an adult.”

“Neither of you had a fully developed frontal cortex. Plus, not only did Jess become an addict, but you also lost your mom too. You experienced massive trauma. You’ve emotionally stalled out at the age you were at the time of the accident.”

His point may have some merit, but I’m not ready to accept it yet. I grasp at the statement that’s been my reality for the past 14 years.

“If it hadn’t been for me, none of it would have happened in the first place.” This is the first time I have admitted it out loud. My dad’s told me it plenty of times, but until this moment, I didn’t realize I really believed it. I look up at Ross, trying to make sense of what’s happening.

“It’s counterproductive to have thoughts like that. You were not responsible for the actions of another. You weren’t the one drunk driving. Even your sister, who was driving, wasn’t at fault. Only one person was responsible for the tragic actions of that day.”

“Yeah but—”

“No ‘yeah buts.’ That is the truth. Don’t hold onto something that isn’t yours. Don’t carry that bag of rocks for no reason. It’s weighing you down.”

I sit there for a minute, processing.

“And if I didn’t make it abundantly clear, I believe your aggression and attitude is a trauma response. It’s a defense mechanism. Work through that trauma, and your attitude should fix itself.”

I look at Watson Ross skeptically. He holds up his hands sheepishly. “Okay, not fix itself, but it will be easier to respond in a less over-the-top way.”

That makes more sense.

I leave the appointment with an overwhelming desire to call Andi. To be perfectly clear, I’ve never ever had the desire to call a woman for anything other than a booty call. I want to tell her what I’m learning in therapy.

I wonder if she’s ever gone to therapy.

It might help.

Maybe she has, because what she said to me is not that dissimilar to what Watson Ross just said.

I can’t call her though, because I don’t have her number. I suppose I could message her on ClikClak, but that seems weird. What am I supposed to say?

How are you feeling? I want to kiss you again. You should totally check out therapy.

Yeah, maybe I’m not ready to reach out. But I can’t stop thinking about her. How she felt for those brief moments in my arms. How her mouth tasted. How I didn’t feel like I had anything to prove with her.

I need to let it go. Next session, I’ll ask Watson Ross about that. He’s got to have some ideas for getting over someone who was never into you in the first place.

––––––––

L EORA CALLS ME INTO the office after practice. “In addition to you, Callaghan and Landon will be at the event. We’re hoping to have four stations of players set up, so can you ask one more of your teammates?”

“Why can’t you ask them?” I’m not the asking-a-favor type.

“Because this is your show. You wanted to do this event, you can take an active role in it.”

I start to make a snide comment about her attitude, but I catch myself. Maybe she’s having a bad day for a reason I know nothing about. Maybe she’s just reflecting the attitude I’ve given to the club over the years. Maybe the elastic on her underwear is shot, and it’s stressing her out.

I may never know, but I can temper how I react.

Jesus, this therapy thing is working.

“Sure. I’ll ask around. When do you need the name?”

Leora is already typing away on her keyboard. She doesn’t even look up as she says, “Yesterday. The newsletters and flyers have to go out.”

I walk out and run promptly into TJ Doyle. He’s a total social media whore, so he’d be perfect for this type of thing. “Hey, Doyle, wanna do a publicity event? It’s for charity, but there’ll be tons of photo ops.”

He’s got the biggest ClikClak following of any of us, so I know, if for no other reason, he’ll do it. He doesn’t miss a chance to post about his perfectly manicured life.

“Yeah, sure.”

I fill him in on the details and promptly return to tell Leora that TJ will be our fourth. Four stations. Not five. There isn’t a referee involved.

Andi’s not doing the event.

It shouldn’t surprise me. She made it pretty clear when she kicked me out that I’d ruined her life. For the record, she was an equal—and enthusiastic—participant. I guess I’m to blame for being so totally irresistible that she couldn’t keep her hands off me.

It’s a curse.

In the back of my mind, I thought I’d see Andi at the Soccer for Sibs event. I was holding out hope.

That says a lot. I’m not a man who hopes for much.

I google her name to see if there’s been anything about her getting fired. There isn’t. She’s still on the USSLRA website as staff. So it’s not a job thing. She isn’t going to be there because she doesn’t want to see me.

I’d rather take a spike to the nuts than feel how this makes me feel.