Eddie continues to nod, all the while scribbling notes on his pad of paper, just as he has for the last eight years.
“Someone who’s afraid to lose the image portrayed for him because people love that guy. I don’t know if they’ll love the real guy, and I don’t know if I’m willing to find out.”
“You’ve always been my most honest client, Zee, but you’ve been lying to the entire world about who you are. For someone who never lies, that’s a pretty big one.”
“Eddie,” I awkwardly laugh. “It’s Wednesday morning. Getting pretty heavy for a Wednesday morning.”
“It’s therapy. What did you expect?” Of course, he won’t let me deflect with humor. He knows me better than that.
“Do you want to be loved?”
Damn. He’s hitting with all the hard questions today. I haven’t had enough caffeine for this. Hell, I haven’t had enough whiskey for this.
“I think I took that option off the table for myself a long time ago.”
“Zee, you’re twenty-eight. You could be eighty-eight, and still change directions. Do you want to be loved?”
Silence.
“Do you want to be loved?”
Outside street noises fill the quiet office as I stay mute.
“Zee, do you want to be loved?”
“Yes! Fuck.” Throwing my head back on the couch behind me, I close my eyes, scrubbing my palms over my jawline.
Eddie isn’t a typical therapist, at least not to me. He’s kind of like a life coach at this stage in our relationship, and it’s real fucking annoying.
But the truth is, I do want to be loved, and that’s scary to admit. It’s a lot easier to say you don’t want to be loved when no one loves you.
“Do you want to be loved for who you are or for who people think you are?”
“For me.”
“Then why haven’t you let anyone know who that is?”
“Because I’m scared.” And there it is. The root of it all. I’m fucking terrified for my fans or anyone else to see the real me. The persona I’ve worn for the last seven years in the league has signed my massive checks. I’m afraid to lose it. I’m afraid to lose my contract. I’m afraid to be released by the team and city where my best friends live.
My own parents didn’t love the real me enough to stick around. Why would I expect anyone else to?
“Being vulnerable and authentic is scary, man. Terrifying. But to the people who matter to you, the ones you’ve shown your true self to, they love you unconditionally. Why not let others love you unconditionally too? At least give them a chance to.”
Damn, my chest feels tight. And not like a “panic attack” tight, but like a “that hit me like a ton of bricks” and “I know he’s right” kind of tight.
“You’re right.”
“God, that feels good to hear.” Eddie wears a satisfied smile. Smug bastard. “How about this week you work on being your authentic, vulnerable self with someone who only knows the media’s version of EZ and not the real Zee. Maybe your dad?”
“Not my dad.”
“Okay.” Eddie puts his hands up in surrender. “But someone. Someone who thinks they know the real you but has no clue. Show them who you really are.”
“And if they don’t like the real me?”
Eddie ponders a moment. “Then I’ll double my donation to Active Minds, and I’ll donate four sessions a week to your kids instead of just the two I planned on.”
“Deal,” I say quicker than he could take his words back.
If being vulnerable with someone gives me a chance to add four more weekly sessions to the quickly growing hours we’ve gathered from doctors and therapists around the city, then I will.
The clock on the far wall reads ten after the hour. “We went over again.”
Eddie shrugs his shoulders. “You can afford it.”
Standing, we hug each other. As I said before, we’ve been doing this shit for eight years. Eddie is an integral part of my life and a real friend. He’s family, which is why he calls me by the name the most important people in my life use, and not by the one my parents gave me.
“You’re coming to the gala next month, right?”
Eddie walks me to the office door, opening it. “Of course. I couldn’t be prouder of you and Eli. I remember when you two were just a couple of arrogant little shits in college. Now, look at you.”
“Now, we’re two arrogant grown-ass men.”