Going Mental: Part Five, The End

Once a story broke, there was no telling how the media would spin it. Kevin wasn’t happy with how they were skewing his friend’s story, but there was little he could do about it; the public had already made up their collective mind about Rypien. However—even though he couldn’t do anything to change the way people were thinking about Rick’s death—there was plenty that he could do to affect how people thought about his life.

The Canucks were open to Kevin’s suggestions. They had already planned on a video tribute to their late, former teammate. Ryp wouldn’t have liked it, because he had never wanted to broadcast his issues and problems to anyone, let alone everyone. He also wouldn’t have liked the very large and very public donation to the BC Children’s Hospital Foundation. It was showy, and Rick never did anything in the spotlight. He was a behind-the-scenes kind of guy.

Kevin was as involved with the tribute as he could be, but his dedication to his friend went beyond that. Whenever he had some free time, he volunteered at the BCCHF as well as the BC Mental Health and Addiction Services as often as possible. It was tough, between the team schedule and his paternal duties at home, but he did what he could when he could. It wasn’t just because the volunteering was one of Dr. Carlyle’s constructive, therapeutic suggestions—he really wanted to help out how he could. It made him feel good, too. Dr. Carlyle had said something about the do good, feel good phenomenon or feedback loop or whatever psychobabble she had spouted out. He hadn’t really listened to that part.

As much as he was benefiting from regular appointments with a sports psychologist—especially since he was actively participating in those sessions—he didn’t talk much about it. When his teammates found out that he was seeking counseling outside of whatever the upper management had mandated for all Canucks, they ragged him about it. However, there were a few guys who had asked him during moments of individual privacy for Dr. Carlyle’s phone number. Even after everything the team had been through, there was still a stigma surrounding counseling.

Dr. Carlyle was reluctant about taking on the “new” patients, simply because she had seen them in a professional context before and they had never acted interested in engaging in therapy then. To her surprise, it was different when they came into her makeshift home office. It was like they hated to be forced into counseling, but when they had decided to pursue it on their own, they were much more receptive and open to talking to someone. Having a connection to the team, but not really being a part of said team, seemed to make things easier as well when it came to allowing a doctor-patient relationship to develop.

Life was different for Renée since she quit her official position with the Canucks organization. Even with her appointments, she had a lot of time on her hands to do some reflecting. At first, she just enjoyed how she could sleep in and waste her mornings in bed or watching bad TV; eventually, though, she felt the urge to do something. It was the same drive that pushed her through years of hockey and then the subsequent years of postgraduate work. Renée hated the feeling of being idle. When she wasn’t doing something, her mind wandered—and usually tripped down a rabbit hole toward some unconstructive thoughts. She would think about what her life would be like if she hadn’t been injured and if she could have pursued hockey further in college. Sometimes, she wondered if she had even really loved the sport at all, or if she had only kept with it because she was good at it.

In order to fill her time, she started to read more, mostly fiction novels but a few biographies that really piqued her interest, and even went to go see a few matinees at the local cinema. It was weird at first, and she had garnered some curious stares from fellow moviegoers as well as some of the staff. But in the dark of the theatre, no one could see that she was sitting in an otherwise empty row of chairs. On one night in mid-October, she went to see a movie with Dave, with a little of Brandy’s prodding and insistence. Renée had explained away her delay in calling by saying that she was overwhelmed with change, after quitting her job, and Dave seemed to accept her excuse. Their date had been a bit awkward since there wasn’t a buffer of a double date to help the conversation along, but it went pretty well for their first solo outing.

That night, they were going out again—this time, for dinner and drinks in Yaletown. Renée dressed up for the occasion in her little black dress, but she had to wear flats because she never could wear heels ever since her surgery. She was rather tall for a woman though, so she had never really liked the additional height.

Saturday was officially their second date, since Renée didn’t count their initial set-up as a real date. The atmosphere was automatically a little less tense and nervous since this was their third time spending time together; each time they agreed to see each other again, they were letting the other know that there was some degree of mutual attraction, which was reassuring and helped them relax.

When they left the restaurant, Dave reached for Renée’s left hand as he walked on the outside of the sidewalk. It felt a little juvenile to her, somewhat surprised that this was his first big move—considering he hadn’t done more than kiss her cheek—but it also felt like a bold gesture on his part. They were holding hands in public, which marked them as a couple, or at least made them look like they were together. To any outside observer, they probably looked happy and comfortable, even though they were a little uncertain on the inside.

As they walked, Dave did most of the talking, as usual. Renée didn’t mind; in fact, she preferred it. It took the pressure off her to direct the conversation or to make it flow easily. Dave asked some questions instead of hogging the spotlight, and he listened, too—but once Renée was finished speaking, he always found a way to relate what she said back to himself. His talent in that regard was almost impressive.

They were talking about music and their tastes. Dave was explaining that he was really into supporting the Vancouver music scene. “I love going to the local open mic nights and promotions. Sometimes, they’re mediocre at best, but sometimes there are some really good singers or bands. My favorite’s probably Tough Lovers. Have you heard of them?”

“No, I haven’t,” she replied, looking up at him briefly.

He smiled at her. “They’re pretty good. Indie. If you’re into that kind of stuff, I’d love to take you out to a show.”

She wasn’t sure if she were into that “kind of stuff,” but she was willing to give it a shot. She had enough free time lately to be adventurous and try new things. “Yeah, it sounds like it would be fun.”

“Cool. Yeah, my ex got me into them. It’s kind of a funny story, actually, about that. But I bet you don’t want to hear that,” he said smoothly, casting a sideways glance at her.

Renée had tensed at the moment Dave said ex. Past relationships were always a touchy subject when talking with someone new, and it was especially bad when having that conversation so early in a new relationship. If they were really in a new relationship; it was too soon to even tell that much about where whatever it was that they were doing was going.

“Not really,” she mumbled, feeling a dip in the mood of the evening.

“I can understand that. Definitely. I mean, I wouldn’t want to hear about your exes. And I’m sure you had your fair share.”

She stopped walking, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk. There was a group of people behind them that had to break apart to move past the obstruction. Did he just insinuate that he thought she was a slut? “What does that mean?”

“It means, uh, it’s just that, I had assumed, well, I think you’re pretty, and Brandy said you’d never been married before, so I just thought, um, that you had dated a lot. That’s all.”

“What’s your point?” she asked, dropping his hand and then placing hers on her hip. Her eyebrow skyrocketed toward her hairline.

“Well, if you’re playing the field....” Dave shrugged, seemingly nonchalantly.

Renée grunted. She was angry with him for his base assumption. There wasn’t anything wrong with dating around, in her opinion; it was just that she didn’t do it. There were always more important things in the way of romance—things that took precedence in her life. At first, in high school and initially in college, it was hockey. When she wasn’t in class, she was practicing, training, or watching tape. After her injury, her education completely took over, and, when she wasn’t in class, she was in the library. Once she graduated with her doctorate, she plunged into starting her career and establishing herself in the field of sports psychology. Renée hadn’t really had any free time in which to date nor to feel lonely. It wasn’t until recently, after quitting and having an excess of free time, that she wished for companionship. Now she was wondering if she had chosen an ill-suited man for that position in her life.

So, while she was mad at Dave for his conjecture and wanted to call it quits right there in the street, she felt the need to correct him. Sometimes, when her buttons were pushed a certain way, she couldn’t help the words that spewed out of her mouth.

“I’ll have you know that my world doesn’t revolve around men and dating. You know, this is what happens when men watch Sex and the City, they think every girl sleeps around like Samantha or is as picky as any one of ’em. I’ve spent my entire life devoted to making a name for myself—my name, too, not to waste it by only having to change it some day.”

He held up his hands. “What? Renée, I didn’t mean it like that.”

She rolled her eyes and glanced around her, checking for the easiest route of escape. “Whatever.”

“It’s true.” Dave took a step toward her, reached for her hand, and ended up grabbing her wrist. “And it doesn’t matter how many boyfriends you’ve had—”

“None,” she blurted out, unable to keep her secret any longer. “Okay? Happy now?”

Dave looked stunned. A few seconds passed before he found his voice again. “Really, none? Wow, uh, okay.” He paused again before further adding, “Wait, wait a minute. Are you—are you a virgin?”

“No!” she hissed sharply, keeping her volume low. First she was a slut, then she was a nun; there was no medium with him. Renée was certainly not a saint. There had been men in her life, but they were all flings and not committed relationships. That was mostly her own fault, due to her naïveté and learning too late that a girl can’t sell the cow when she gives away the milk for free. She had been far too busy in the rink in high school to learn the nuances of dealing with boys, which didn’t translate well when she finally decided to lose her V-card at McGill. There were spans of time during her recoveries that she spent more time working out with men in her dorm room rather than with her team on the ice, but she had never let that deter her from her ultimate goals. And then lately, she had been stuck in a long, long dry spell. “I’m not a virgin. I’ve dated, just not... seriously.” She wrung her arm free of Dave’s grasp.

He was having a hard time figuring out Renée’s problem. He couldn’t figure her out, period. Most of all, he could not understand how a psychologist—someone who was supposed to be calm and rational with a strong understanding of the human mind—could be acting so crazy in the middle of a street in Yaletown. Psycho. Dave had just wanted to learn more about her and get a feel for her past before he invested any more time and money into dating her, all on what started out as a friend’s whim. And making a scene in public certainly was not what he had had in mind for the night.

“Okay,” he relented, treating her like he would a frightened horse and speaking smoothly. “How about I just take you home now, hmm?”

She felt even more incensed. It was such a double standard that he labeled her a slut and then became completely disinterested once he learned the contrary. Full of disgust, she spat back, “Don’t bother. Goodnight, Dave.”

They stared each other down underneath the streetlight, carefully and patiently waiting for the other to make a move first. Silence fell between them, neither wanting to break the stalemate.

Luckily for both of them, an outsider stepped between them and unknowingly interrupted their moment. Bieksa seemingly popped out of nowhere. He had been unsure about how to handle seeing his therapist out in public—especially when he was with his wife and about to meet a bunch of his teammates out in Yaletown to celebrate the night’s win. The Bieksas didn’t go out very often, but when they had a babysitter willing to work late, they took advantage of the situation.

“Dr. Carlyle,” Kevin said, sensing the tension but not understanding it.

She looked away from Dave and recognized Kevin. It was surprising to see him, to run into him randomly in the city, and worst of all, at that exact time. Someone or something in her life had an unfortunate sense of humor. “Hi, Kevin.”

The moment dissolved into awkwardness. Kevin didn’t know what the protocol was for spotting his therapist outside of his appointments. Renée, who hadn’t even known he was there, would have let him walk by without so much of a head nod of acknowledgement, because that was a part of the doctor-patient relationship. She wasn’t used to having patients interact with her of their own volition. With Renée distracted, Dave slipped away into the night, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

“Uh, hi,” he echoed, unsure of what else to say.

A woman’s voice added, “We didn’t mean to interrupt.” Renée didn’t recognize it or her, but assumed that it was Kevin’s wife.

He introduced her and proved Renée correct. “Dr. Carlyle, this is my wife, Katie.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand. Renée was surprised when she shook her hand firmly. Nothing was more respectable than a firm handshake. “We were just heading into the bar for a few celebratory drinks. Would you like to join us?”

She shook her head slightly and flashed them a quick, polite smile. It wasn’t proper to join a patient at the bar. “No, thanks.”

Kevin took her response for what it was, shrugged, and headed inside to meet up with the guys and their significant others, who had already arrived. Katie, however, didn’t give up quite so easily. “Are you sure? I would love to have the chance to talk to you.” Katie slung her arm around Renée’s and gently guided her toward the bar entrance. “I’ve seen a change in Kev since he started coming to you. He’s acting more like himself.”

Renée nodded but said, “That’s good to hear, Mrs. Bieksa, but I can’t talk about him with you. Our sessions are private, confidential, you see.” She was led toward an unoccupied table not very far away from Kevin and some of his teammates. She saw Luongo there—another one of her new patients acquired since leaving the Canucks organization—which added to her unease with the situation. Considering how her date with Dave had ended, she was anxious to get home, get into comfortable sweats, and curl up with a book or a movie with a bottle of red wine.

“Oh, of course. I understand. I don’t really want to talk about that anyway,” Katie said. She held up her hand and tried to get the waitress’s attention, but she was too busy ogling Ryan Kesler and ignoring his wife Andrea. Then she turned back to Renée. “Really, I guess I just wanted to say ‘thanks.’ It’s nice having my old Kevin back. Things were really rough for him over the summer, you know, after Rick died,” she explained, her voice low so the guys wouldn’t hear what they were talking about. Kevin certainly wouldn’t have appreciated having his sensitive side broadcast for his teammate’s amusement.

She continued, “But it was rough for him before then, too, even though he didn’t—and won’t—admit it. He was worried about Rick for a long time. Years. He’d be okay, seem okay at least, and then he wouldn’t be. I mean, we were all worried about him. Kevin had him live with us for a while, just so he was sure that he wouldn’t, you know, do anything to himself. I didn’t want anything to happen to him either, but it wasn’t until after he was staying with us that I really got attached to him.” Katie smiled softly, her eyes lowered to the table. “Did you know that he knew that I was pregnant with my daughter before Kevin even did?”

Renée could tell Katie had her fair share of unloading to do. It wasn’t exactly how she would have liked to spend her Saturday night, but she couldn’t just walk away either. So she smiled and let Katie ramble on.

“The guys were away on a long road trip, and I was waiting for them to get back so I could tell Kev in person. But Rick was staying with us then, and my morning sickness was pretty bad and I couldn’t hide it from him. He was actually really concerned about me that I was so sick, puking all morning like that. So I had to tell him so he’d stop worrying about me. But that was so like him—no matter what his own problems were, he always put them aside so he could do what he could to help. Maybe....” She took a deep breath. “Maybe if he had focused a little more on himself, things wouldn’t have ended that way for him. Maybe if I had paid attention to him the way he had for me, he could have gotten the help he needed.”

The therapist put her hand over Katie’s. “It sounds like you were there for him. Sometimes, no matter what you do, it’s not enough. You can’t blame yourself.”

“I think a part of me really wants to believe that. Before, when he would hit bottom, he would know it and he’d do something about. He’d talk to the team and take a leave so he could, I don’t know, I guess clear his head and get back on track. I just… I don’t know what happened this time that he didn’t get that help.”

Renée shook her head. It was always the same questions that resurfaced over and over again, and there were never any concrete answers. Seeing that anguish, and not being able to immediately do anything to make it disappear, was the hardest part about being a psychologist. “You may never know. But that doesn’t mean that you weren’t a good friend to him.”

“We had stayed up late some nights talking,” Katie went on. “Sometimes, we wouldn’t go to bed until Kevin woke up to head out for practice. I thought we were close enough that he could come to me, to us, you know, me or Kevin, if he ever needed anything. I knew his demons were bad. Relentless, even. I guess I just didn’t know how bad it really was.”

They were interrupted by the guys calling out loudly to another player who had just arrived. Both Katie and Renée turned to see who it was; Renée didn’t recognize him, but he was welcomed warmly to the table by everyone.

The girls continued their talk for a few minutes more before being disrupted again. It was Kevin, asking Katie if she was ready to head home. “I’m feel pretty tired after the game. Do you mind cutting out early?”

“Uh, no,” she replied, giving a smile to Renée. “It was nice to meet you, Dr. Carlyle.”

“Same here,” she said, giving them both a nod. “Good night.” Renée was about to grab her purse and head out right behind them, but another body slid into the seat that Katie had just vacated. It was the new guy, the one she didn’t know. She squinted at him, searching her memory in the hopes of being able to place his face with a name. “Hello….” Her voice faded away. The name never came to her.

“Are you friends with those two?” he asked her, jerking his head in the direction of the door through which the Bieksas had left.

She stalled for a split second, unsure of what to say. Then she recovered and merely said, “Uh, kind of. Yeah.” After all, she couldn’t exactly tell him the truth.

“David,” he introduced, producing his hand. “Booth.”

The name rang a bell in her head; she suddenly remembered hearing his name in relation to the Canucks because of a trade. Of course she had heard about it through the grapevine, either on the radio or while listening to the TV but not watching, so she hadn’t seen his picture or the interviews. Since she wasn’t officially a part of the Canucks organization, she didn’t stay on top of the league’s hockey news, choosing to rely mostly on the word from her patients.

David was cute, with unruly, curly blond hair and a crooked, easy smile. He didn’t look like a hockey player to Renée, but she knew better than to judge a book by its cover—people had always second-guessed her ability to play the sport since she was a woman. And, to make it easier on her, she had heard a few good things about this pretty boy.

“Renée,” she responded, taking his hand and mimicking his introduction. “Carlyle.”

“Would you like another drink?”

Out of sheer habit, she almost said no. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested or not thirty, but rather that he was a hockey player and she was a sports psychologist and, up until that point in time, she had always had to say no because her job and professional obligations demanded it. This time around, however, she had no reason to decline. Sure, David was a hockey player, but she had never seen him. This time, she didn’t have to say no.

She smiled. “Sure.” Renée asked for a vodka tonic, and David got up and headed to the bar to place the order since the waitress was still preoccupied with the table of hockey players nearby. While she thought about how weird it was that she had started the night with one David and was apparently ending it with another David, she rubbed her eyes while trying not to smudge her make-up too much. Without a doubt, she needed a drink that night, and badly.

David came back, setting the vodka tonic on the table in front of Renée and then sat down with his own beer. “I know that expression well. Long day?”

“You have no idea,” she replied, but she kept her tone light so as not to put him off.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” She took a sip of her drink. It was a little strong, but it was really hitting the spot.

“I guarantee you’ll feel better if you talk about it,” he advised, trying to move long the conversation. He gave her another big, lopsided smile. “And I’m a really good listener.”

She laughed, finding it hilarious that he was preaching to her exactly what she told all her clients—especially the hockey players who thought that they had to keep all their fears and emotions tightly under wraps. Her mood changed, and she forgot about her earlier disaster. “It’s okay though. My day has definitely taken a turn for the better.”