Everything with you

Part 51

Justin

Two weeks earlier...

I slumped back in the chair, arms crossed, staring at the clock like I could will the hands to move faster. The office smelled like lavender and old books, and the therapist—Dr. Reynolds—watched me with that calm, expectant look that made my skin itch. I knew what she wanted: honesty, vulnerability, some kind of breakthrough. But all I wanted was to get cleared and get back on the field.

"So, Justin," she said, her voice even, patient. "Why do you think your coach insisted on these sessions?"

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Because apparently, wanting to win too badly is a problem now."

Dr. Reynolds didn't react, just jotted something down in her notebook. I exhaled sharply, gripping the armrest. This wasn't about winning—it never had been. But admitting that? Saying it out loud? That was a different kind of battle, one he wasn't sure he was ready to fight.

She sighed, closing her notebook for a moment. "Justin, we've had a few sessions now, and I have to be honest—I don't think we've made much progress."

I tensed, already knowing where this was going. I could practically hear the coach's voice in my head, reminding me that until Dr. Reynolds gave the all-clear, I was stuck on the sidelines.

"Your team has a big knockout match coming up," she continued, her voice calm but firm. "As captain, they need you now more than ever. But I can't clear you to play if you're not willing to open up."

My hands curled into fists on my lap. This was exactly what I'd been afraid of—being benched when my team needed me most. "I'm fine," I muttered. "I just want to get back on the field."

Dr. Reynolds held my gaze. "Then help me understand what's really going on, Justin." She flipped open her notebook again. "Let's talk about your family."

My jaw tightened. I should've seen this coming. Therapists loved digging into the past, peeling away layers I didn't want to touch. "What about them?" I muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.

She leaned forward slightly. "Your mom's passing, your dad coming back into your life... That's a lot to process, especially at a young age."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, well, I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" I clenched my fists, a dull ache forming in my chest. "My dad left when I was ten. Just walked away—like we didn't matter. Then suddenly, when my mom got sick, he showed up, acting like some kind of savior."

Dr. Reynolds nodded, unfazed by my sharp tone. "And he took Joanna with him."

I exhaled through my nose, my chest tightening. "Yeah. Said it would be easier for me. That raising an eight-year-old alone would be too much. Like I wasn't already losing enough." My voice was quiet now, the fight draining out of me. "Joanna needed me, and I let her go."

She studied me for a moment before speaking. "It sounds like you're carrying a lot of guilt. Like you feel you failed your mom somehow."

I shook my head, rubbing a hand down my face. "I don't know. Maybe. I just... I had to be strong, you know? For my mom, for myself. And now, everyone keeps telling me I have issues because I push too hard. But what else was I supposed to do?"

Dr. Reynolds tapped her pen again, considering my words. "Maybe the question isn't what you were supposed to do, Justin. Maybe it's about what you never allowed yourself to feel."

Dr. Reynolds glanced at my hands, the faint bruises on my knuckles, then at the thin scar along my jaw. "You've been getting into fights," she stated, not asked.