Chapter 29: Dr. Klein, M.D. “The appointment is set for Monday at 10 AM, so don't you dare be late,” Dad said, his voice low and serious. With that, he directed me towards the precinct exit, each footstep echoing the uncertainty of the path ahead, a path now unavoidably leading toward the office of Dr. Klein. Anger management. The words tasted like ash in my mouth. “Anger management,” I scoffed as soon as we were outside, the cool night air a welcome change from the stale, recycled air of the precinct. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Dad sighed, his hand heavy on my shoulder. “Jim, it’s not a joke. The judge is serious about this. You need to take it seriously too.” I shrugged his hand off, the gesture more petulant than defiant. “What am I supposed to do, sit around in a circle and talk about my feelings? Sounds like a party.” He stopped walking, turning to face me fully under the harsh glare of a streetlight. “Look, I know this isn’t what you want to do. But it’s what you *need* to do. You’ve been skating on thin ice for weeks, maybe months. This is your chance to actually fix things before they get completely out of control.” I crossed my arms, trying to project an air of nonchalance that I definitely wasn’t feeling. “I don’t even know what I’m angry about.” “Seriously?” Dad raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “Valeria? Duke? Your own damn ego? Take your pick, Jim.” Ouch. He wasn’t wrong. “Alright, alright,” I conceded, holding up my hands in surrender. “I get it. I’m a walking time bomb. But going to some shrink isn’t going to magically defuse me.” “Maybe not,” Dad admitted. “But it’s a start. And honestly, Jim, it’s the only option you have right now. The judge was pretty clear about that. And I'll be the first to admit that you and I should have had you see someone a long time ago, but between games and training and the scouts we just didn't have the time. This is for the best.” He paused, his expression softening. “I know you’re scared, son. But you’re not alone. We’re all in this with you. Your mom, Greg, Keithie, Becky… we all want you to get better.” I looked away, the weight of their expectations pressing down on me. It wasn’t just about basketball anymore. It was about not disappointing the people I cared about. About not letting my anger ruin everything. “Fine,” I mumbled, kicking at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. “I’ll go.” Dad’s face lit up, relief evident in his eyes. “That’s all I wanted to hear. Now, let’s get you home. You need some sleep.” The ride home was quiet, the city lights blurring past the window. My mind was a mess, a chaotic swirl of frustration, resentment, and a grudging sense of acceptance. I was doing this for them, for my family. But a small part of me, the part that was desperate to salvage my reputation and prove everyone wrong, was also fueling the decision. I imagined walking into Dr. Klein’s office, all cocky and arrogant, ready to dismiss the whole thing as a joke. But I knew that wouldn’t work. Not this time. The judge, my dad, everyone was watching. I had to at least *try* to play along. Back at the apartment, the familiar smells of Roxanne’s cooking usually brought a sense of comfort. Tonight, though, they just made me feel guilty. I was a screw-up, a disappointment, and I was dragging my family down with me. I mumbled a quick goodnight to Mom and Becky, who were watching some ridiculous reality show in the living room, and retreated to my room. Greg and Keithie were already asleep, the room bathed in the faint glow of their phone screens. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor. Monday. 10 AM. Dr. Klein. It felt like a life sentence. I grabbed my laptop, the familiar click of the power button a small source of comfort. Might as well do some recon. Know thy enemy, right? I typed “Dr. Klein anger management” into the search bar, bracing myself for the worst. The results were surprisingly… interesting. Dr. Evelyn Klein, M.D. The top search result was a website for her private practice, complete with a professional headshot. She looked…normal. Middle-aged, with kind eyes and a warm smile. Definitely not the stereotypical shrink I had pictured. I clicked on the “About” section, skimming through her credentials. Board-certified psychiatrist, specializing in anger management and sports psychology. Okay, so she knew her stuff. But it was the “Testimonials” section that really caught my attention. “Dr. Klein saved my career,” one athlete wrote. “I was on the verge of losing everything, but she helped me get my anger under control and become a better player and a better person.” “I was skeptical at first,” another testimonial read. “But Dr. Klein’s approach is different. She doesn’t just tell you what you’re doing wrong, she helps you understand *why* you’re doing it. And then she gives you the tools to change.” Intriguing. I scrolled through more testimonials, each one echoing the same sentiments: Dr. Klein was unconventional, effective, and genuinely cared about her patients. I clicked on a news article about Dr. Klein’s work with a troubled NFL player who had a history of violent outbursts. The article described her methods as “holistic,” incorporating mindfulness, cognitive behavioral therapy, and even…boxing? Okay, that was unexpected. Apparently, she encouraged her patients to channel their anger in a controlled environment, using physical activity as a release valve. I found a video clip of Dr. Klein being interviewed on a morning talk show. She spoke calmly and confidently, explaining her philosophy on anger management. “Anger is a natural emotion,” she said. “It’s not about suppressing it, it’s about understanding it and learning how to express it in a healthy way. We all have triggers, we all have underlying issues that contribute to our anger. My job is to help my patients identify those triggers and develop coping mechanisms.” She went on to talk about the importance of self-awareness, empathy, and taking responsibility for one’s actions. She sounded…reasonable. Almost…human. But then I stumbled upon a forum thread dedicated to Dr. Klein’s more…unorthodox methods. “She’s not afraid to challenge you,” one commenter wrote. “She’ll call you out on your bullshit, but she’ll also support you every step of the way.” “She’s like a drill sergeant with a heart of gold,” another commenter added. “She’ll push you to your limits, but she’ll also be there to pick you up when you fall.” One post stood out: “Dr. Klein doesn’t just treat the symptoms, she treats the *cause*. She digs deep, asks the tough questions, and forces you to confront your demons. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it.” Demons. That was one word for it. I leaned back in my chair, a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity churning in my gut. Dr. Klein wasn’t what I expected. She wasn’t some soft-spoken, cliché-spouting therapist. She was…different. Maybe this wouldn’t be a complete waste of time after all. Maybe, just maybe, she could actually help me. But the thought of opening up to a stranger, of delving into the messy, complicated depths of my emotions, still terrified me. It was easier to be angry, to lash out, to push people away. It was familiar, comfortable in its own twisted way. Changing that would be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I closed my laptop, the screen fading to black. Monday was looming, a dark cloud on the horizon. But as I drifted off to sleep, a sliver of hope flickered within me. Maybe Dr. Klein could help me defuse. Maybe she could help me become someone better. Maybe I could prove everyone wrong. Monday morning arrived with all the enthusiasm of a root canal. I dragged myself out of bed, the thought of facing Dr. Klein making my stomach churn. I threw on a random assortment of clothes – baggy jeans, a black hoodie, my favorite pair of Jordans – hoping to blend in and avoid attention. When I walked into the kitchen my dad was already there with eggs and bacon, and my mom was dancing to music on her phone, making a smoothie. ''Buenos dias mijo!'' she said. I hated when she spoke to me in spanish, it felt like she was talking down to me. ''Mom, I'm 17, I know basic spanish'' I replied. She looked at me dead in the eyes and switched back to english ''Eat your breakfast, you have a big day ahead of you. You should wear a watch, it would look nice'' I looked at her in disbelief, she was never one to tell me what to do. What was going on with her today? My dad interjected: ''Alright Roxanne, stop with the nagging, he knows what he has to do'' I sat down and shovelled down some eggs. My dad always made sure to give me an extra large portion, knowing that I never ate much. ''I'll take you to the meeting don't worry'' he said. After finishing my breakfast, I headed back to my room, grabbed my keys and wallet, and walked into my parent's living room. ''Okay I'm going'' I stated blankly. My mom was still dancing to her music, bobbing up and down. ''Alright papi, be safe!'' she said. I had no idea what was going on with her today, she was never this cheerful when I was going to therapy, much less angry management. The car ride was silent. I put on my earphones, trying to block out the world and steel myself for what was to come. I blasted Chief Keef on full volume. “So,” Dad said, trying to break the ice. “Dr. Klein… seems like a pretty impressive lady.” I grunted in response, staring out the window. “I mean, the fact that she’s worked with so many athletes… that’s gotta be a good sign, right?” I shrugged. “Whatever.” He sighed. “Just… try to keep an open mind, Jim. That’s all I ask.” We pulled up to a sleek, modern office building in Midtown. The sign out front read “Klein & Associates – Psychological Services.” It looked expensive. “This is it,” Dad said, his voice laced with a mixture of hope and trepidation. “I’ll be here when you’re done. Good luck.” I nodded, taking a deep breath before opening the car door. As I stepped onto the sidewalk, I felt a familiar surge of defiance. I was James Feder, star point guard, future NBA player. I didn’t need anger management. I was only doing this for them. I straightened my shoulders, adjusted my hoodie, and strode towards the building, the metallic taste of resentment still lingering in my mouth. This was it. Time to face the music. Or, more accurately, time to face Dr. Klein. The lobby was quiet and sterile, all polished marble and minimalist art. A receptionist with a severe bun and even more severe expression sat behind a glass desk, typing away on a computer. “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice devoid of any warmth. “Yeah,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I have an appointment with Dr. Klein. James Feder.” She glanced at her screen, her expression unchanging. “Please have a seat. Dr. Klein will be with you shortly.” I found a chair in the corner, sinking into the plush cushions. The waiting room was filled with the usual assortment of self-help books and motivational posters. “You are the master of your own destiny.” “Believe in yourself.” “Embrace the power of positive thinking.” I rolled my eyes. Seriously? I pulled out my phone, scrolling through Instagram to distract myself. A picture of Valeria and Miguel popped up, their faces plastered across the screen. TMZ, of course. The caption read “Valeria Lopez and rumored baby daddy Miguel spotted enjoying a romantic stroll in Central Park.” Rage bubbled up inside me, hot and familiar. I slammed my phone shut, the screen cracking slightly. Damn it. I couldn’t even scroll through Instagram without being reminded of her betrayal. A door opened, and a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile appeared. “James?” she said, her voice gentle. “I’m Dr. Klein. Please, come in.” I stood up, shoving my hands into my pockets. This was it. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Klein,” I said, trying to project an air of confidence that I definitely wasn’t feeling. “Let’s get this over with.” Her smile didn’t waver. “Please, call me Evelyn. And don’t worry, James. We’ll take things at your own pace.” She gestured towards her office, a cozy, inviting space filled with natural light and calming colors. A comfortable-looking couch sat against one wall, and a bookshelf overflowing with books lined another. I hesitated for a moment, taking in the scene. This wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t cold and clinical. It was… welcoming. But I wasn’t fooled. This was still anger management. And I still didn’t want to be here. I followed Dr. Klein – Evelyn – into her office, bracing myself for the interrogation to come. “Have a seat, James,” she said, gesturing towards the couch. “Make yourself comfortable.” I sat down, perching on the edge of the cushions. I wasn’t about to get comfortable. Evelyn sat in a chair opposite me, her expression open and non-judgmental. “So,” she began, her voice gentle. “Your father tells me you’re not exactly thrilled to be here.” I scoffed. “You could say that.” “Well, I appreciate you coming anyway,” she said. “It takes courage to admit you have a problem and to seek help.” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Courage. Whatever.” Evelyn chuckled softly. “Alright, no need to be modest. So, James, tell me a little bit about what’s been going on. What brings you here today?” I hesitated, unsure where to start. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I just… lost my temper a few times.” “A few times?” Evelyn raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “That’s not quite how the judge described it.” I glared at her. “Okay, fine. I have an anger problem. Happy now?” “I’m not here to judge you, James,” Evelyn said, her voice calm. “I’m here to help you understand your anger and learn how to manage it.” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know why I’m so angry. It just… happens. Something sets me off, and I lose it.” “Can you think of any specific triggers?” Evelyn asked. “Anything that seems to set you off more than others?” “Valeria,” I blurted out, the name tasting like poison on my tongue. “My ex-girlfriend.” Evelyn nodded, her expression sympathetic. “Tell me about Valeria.” And so I did. I told her about the betrayal, the heartbreak, the humiliation. I told her about Miguel, about the pregnancy, about the pictures in Times Square. As I spoke, the anger began to simmer within me, threatening to boil over. I clenched my fists, trying to contain it. Evelyn listened patiently, her gaze unwavering. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t judge, didn’t offer any easy solutions. She just listened. When I was finally finished, I felt drained, exhausted, and strangely…relieved. It was like a weight had been lifted off my chest. “Thank you for sharing that with me, James,” Evelyn said, her voice soft. “That must have been very difficult.” I shrugged, looking away. “It’s not a big deal.” “It is a big deal,” Evelyn said firmly. “It’s a big deal to open up and be vulnerable. And it’s a big deal to acknowledge your pain.” I didn’t say anything, just stared at the floor. “So,” Evelyn continued, “it sounds like Valeria’s betrayal has had a significant impact on you. It’s triggered a lot of anger and resentment.” “Yeah, no shit,” I muttered under my breath. Evelyn ignored my sarcasm. “But I suspect there’s more to it than just Valeria, isn’t there?” I hesitated, unsure how to answer. “Think about it, James,” Evelyn said gently. “Is this the first time you’ve struggled with anger? Or is it a pattern?” I thought back to all the times I’d lost my temper over the years. The arguments with my brothers, the fights on the basketball court, the outbursts at school. Evelyn smiled knowingly. “I see that you are starting to understand. Anger management isn’t something to be ashamed of. A lot of people go through with it, even your closest heroes” “Alright, fine,” I conceded. “I get angry sometimes. So what? Everyone does.” “But not everyone punches people in Times Square or flips tables in cafes,” Evelyn pointed out, her voice firm but fair. “Your anger has consequences, James. It’s hurting you, and it’s hurting the people around you.” I knew she was right. But admitting it was still hard. “So, what do you want me to do?” I asked, my voice laced with frustration. “Meditate? Do yoga? Sing Kumbaya?” Evelyn chuckled. “We’ll explore a variety of techniques, James. Mindfulness, cognitive behavioral therapy, even…boxing.” I raised an eyebrow. “Boxing?” “Yes,” Evelyn said, her eyes twinkling. “Sometimes, the best way to deal with anger is to punch something. Or someone. In a controlled environment, of course.” I smirked, a flicker of excitement coursing through me. Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Evelyn leaned forward, her expression serious. “But ultimately, James, this is about more than just managing your anger. It’s about understanding *why* you get angry in the first place. It’s about identifying your triggers, challenging your beliefs, and developing healthier coping mechanisms.” She paused, her gaze unwavering. “It’s about becoming a better version of yourself.” I looked at her, her words resonating within me. A better version of myself. That was what I wanted, wasn’t it? To be a better son, a better brother, a better teammate, a better person. “Okay,” I said, my voice a little stronger now. “I’m willing to try.” Evelyn smiled, relief washing over her face. “That’s all I ask. Now, tell me about those earrings…” “What do you mean?” I asked confused. “I mean what’s the meaning of the earrings?'' Evelyn answered. ''Is it just a jewelry or does it means something?'' I hesitated, unsure how to explain it. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I just… like them.” “But why?” Evelyn pressed gently. “What do they represent to you?” I thought about it for a moment, searching for the right words. “I guess… they’re a reminder of who I am,” I said finally. “Or who I want to be. A baller. Someone who doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.” Evelyn nodded thoughtfully. “So, they’re a symbol of your identity. Your confidence. Your…rebellion?” I smirked. “You could say that.” “But is that really who you are, James?” Evelyn asked, her gaze piercing. “Or is it just a mask you wear to hide your true self?” I looked away, the question hitting me harder than I expected. Was she right? Was I just hiding behind a facade of arrogance and defiance? The earrings felt heavy in my ears, a constant reminder of the person I thought I was. A cocky, arrogant basketball star with the world at his feet. But the reality was far different. I was a mess, a disappointment, a walking disaster. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. Evelyn smiled softly. “That’s okay, James. We have plenty of time to figure it out. This is not a one and done situation. I want to work with you through this to find the route of the problem” I looked at her, her eyes filled with compassion. Maybe she could help me. Maybe she could help me find my true self. Evelyn glanced at the clock on her desk, her expression professional. “Alright, James, that’s all the time we have for today. But this was a good start! I’m glad you opened up and were honest with me” I stood up, stretching my legs. The session had flown by faster than I expected. “So, what happens now?” I asked, my voice a little more hopeful. “Now,” Evelyn said, handing me a sheet of paper, “I want you to do a little homework. I want you to keep a journal and to write your feelings every single day. Try to log any situations that made you particularly angry and make sure to write why you felt that way” She walked me to the door. “And one more thing, James” “What?” I replied. “Try removing your earrings. Even for just one day. See how you feel without them” I nodded and walked out the door. As I walked to my dad’s car, I pulled up Dr. Klein on Instagram. 25,000 followers. A verified checkmark. Her last post was a picture of her doing yoga at some retreat in Bali. The caption read, "Finding inner peace one downward dog at a time." I scoffed. Still seemed like bullshit. But as I scrolled through her feed, I saw pictures of her with athletes, celebrities, and regular people. Everyone seemed to be smiling, happy. Maybe she was onto something. Maybe I was just being a cynical asshole. As I entered my dad’s car, I quickly turned off my phone so he couldn’t try to talk to me, and put my earbuds in. I wasn't ready to discuss anything. As we drove back home, my mind raced. A journal. No earrings. What had I gotten myself into? I felt a weird sense of apprehension, but somewhere, deep down, I was also looking forward to whatever might come next. When I walked into my bedroom I threw myself on the bed, and noticed my desk was a mess, so I began cleaning it. As I was organizing things, I found an old journal I used in middle school, and I knew exactly what I had to do. I sat down and stared at the blank first page. "Dear Diary," felt too cliche, so I skipped a line and wrote, "Day 1". A wave of apprehension washed over me as I started writing. This was going to be a long process. This was going to be difficult. But I knew I had to do it. For my family, for my career, and for myself. And maybe, just maybe, I could actually find some inner peace along the way. I had one week until I saw Dr Klein again. I grabbed my phone and searched Dr Klein online, discovering her unconventional methods and a history of success with troubled athletes, fueling both my apprehension and a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, this could work.