Page 91 of Twisted Needs

“Yeah.” I nod. “It went by really fast.” It really did. Most days I still feel like the kid who showed up to Georgetown worried about not making any friends. Now graduation is sitting right around the corner, and I’ve built a life here I love. My own life.

“Have you thought about grad school?”

I nod. “I’m applying to Georgetown and GW.”

“And schools that aren’t in D.C.?”

I shrug. “NYU. All the big East Coast ones, but I don’t really wanna leave D.C.”

“Why not?”

I already know what she’s asking. The annoying thing is that I don’t have a simple answer. Part of it is Parker. Obviously.

I’ve never left D.C. and I don’t think I’d handle a move so well on my own. I’ve spent enough time around hockey to know exactly how unstable that life can be. One trade and suddenly you’re packing boxes. Luca loves it. I don’t think I ever could. That’s why a part of me is so glad he’s kept me in one place for the entirety of his career. I know he was luckier than most for getting to stay on the Sentinels for so long.

“I like it here,” I finally say. “And academia makes sense.”

Helen waits, which is therapist code for keep going.

“I like the structure of it.”

“The structure?”

“Yeah.” The words come easier once I start. “You go to school. Then grad school. Then hopefully a PhD. Then you teach and do research and write papers and complain about university budgets and eventually become the professor assigning seventy-dollar textbooks.”

Helen laughs. “That’s the dream?”

“It’s a very stable dream.” And that’s the part I don’t say out loud at first.

Stable. The word sits heavily in my chest. Stability has always felt a little mythical to me, like something other people had. Not something you could count on.

And then there’s Parker.

God. Nothing about the last few weeks has felt stable. Maybe that should matter a little more than it does, but my mind hates me.

“Academia isn’t exactly the safest career path these days,” Helen points out.

“Yeah, but it’s safer than professional sports.”

She nods. “That’s very true.”

“And if I’m being honest…” I laugh softly. “I like knowing what comes next.” The admission feels embarrassingly revealing. Maybe that’s what this is really about. Maybe I’m just tired of worrying about what happens next.

Helen studies me quietly. “You’ve always been somebody who builds safety through planning.”

“Is that a therapist’s way of saying I’m a control freak?”

She exhales softly. “Just make sure you’re choosing something because it excites you,” she says gently, “and not only because it feels safe.”

The words land harder than I want them to.

In an ideal world, I think I’d be a writer. I’d live somewhere I love and I’d be surrounded by the people who love me. I love writing just as much as I love learning, but safety is part of it too. Maybe more than I’d like to admit.

Helen glances toward the clock on the wall behind her. “You know, I wish we had time to dive into that, but unfortunately we’ll have to put a pin in it.”

“Fine.” I groan. “See you next week, Helen.”

“See you next week, Anders.”