Page 110

I try to live in the bliss of Saturday night for the rest of the weekend, but as Sunday evening draws to a close and we get Harper down to bed, the fear of what will likely happen this week starts to plague me.

And so I run.

It’s my default to run when things get scary in a metaphorical sense, but I literally mean run . I hop on the treadmill and do the kind of workout that has me focused more on whether or not I can breathe than on what might happen in the morning.

I avoid my email mostly because I know my agent will call the second the word comes through from the commissioner, and it’s as Harper and Victoria are nearing the end of their summer school day that sure as shit, my phone starts to ring, and it’s Jimmy.

I’m at the gym next to the Complex with Jaxon, Josh, and Cory as a means to distract myself, and all four of us stop what we’re doing the second my phone rings.

We’re all waiting to see what’s going to happen, and I’m a nervous fucking wreck.

“Did you see it?” Jimmy asks.

“No. How bad is it?”

He clears his throat. “Bad. It appears the commissioner wants to make an example of what happens when you find yourself in legal trouble.”

My heart sinks.

“You can always appeal if you don’t agree,” he says.

“Just tell me what it says,” I beg.

“Suspended the first three games of the season, twenty hours of community service, and mandatory anger management classes.”

“Three games?” I repeat, and Jaxon hisses as my buddies correctly assume what that means. “Fuck.” I slam my fist into the punching bag beside me. “And anger management? I don’t need fucking anger management!” I slam my fist into the bag again, a clear contradiction to my words.

“I’m sorry, man. I know that’s not the news you wanted to hear.”

“I’d pay two hundred fucking grand not to miss a game,” I say. “Money’s nothing, but football…that’s everything.”

Goddammit.

I think about my goal for this season. Starting all seventeen games.

Well, that isn’t going to happen now, and all because I made a stupid decision for somebody else.

If she hadn’t kept talking about that damn ball, I never would’ve needed to go get it for her. If her stupid fucking ex hadn’t kept it, I would never have had to go over there and get it from him. If he didn’t keep hurting her…

I still take responsibility for what I did. But now my career goals and dreams are getting pushed further down the road because of this, not to mention I’m losing money because I lost those two endorsements thanks to clauses in the contracts about keeping my nose clean, and I can’t help but resent Victoria just a tiny bit for all of it.

And Owen, of course. I want to kick his ugly face right in the goddamn teeth.

I won’t. I’m not stupid enough to step foot anywhere near that clown again, not with the fight for Harper’s custody in jeopardy. I will do anything to hold onto her…especially since right now, it feels like I don’t even have football.

Or three weeks of it, anyway.

Fuck. Fuck!

I can’t believe I’m going to miss the first three games of the season because of this. I didn’t even do that much damage. I can’t believe what an assfuck Owen is for even pressing charges because I broke a few goddamn dishes.

This is all so stupid. It was one bad decision on my part because I let Victoria’s feelings about him overwhelm me, and now I’m paying the fucking price.

I remember now why I didn’t want to get into a relationship. It used to be my fucking motto.

If I have to give my all to a relationship, I can’t give my all to football.

I gave part of myself over to her, and now football is being taken away from me.

I never should’ve gotten involved. I never should’ve let my feelings cloud my judgment. I never should’ve let my heart get involved when my dick was used to calling the shots.

I push all that out of my mind for now and focus on the conversation with Jimmy.

“Can I still attend training camp?” I ask.

“Yes. The collective bargaining agreement says suspended players can still participate in all preseason activities, including games,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of the news, man. Do you want to appeal it?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. It won’t do any good. I’ll just ride it out.”

“It’ll likely hit the media in the next few minutes if you have anyone to notify,” Jimmy says.

“Okay.” I cut the call even though it’s rude, and my buddies are all staring at me as they wait for me to announce what just happened.

I don’t.

My first instinct is to call my wife, but I don’t. Instead, I call my publicist.

“Hey Travis,” Ellie answers.

“I just got word the commissioner decided to suspend me the first three games. Plus community service and anger management classes.”

She lets out an audible sigh. “Thanks. I’ll get right on it. We have community service lined up for you anyway, so we’re square there. I’m working on a few new endorsement deals to turn bad publicity into good. Are you okay?”

“I don’t have a choice,” I say through a clenched jaw.

But no.

I’m not okay.

Still, I need to school my reaction. I need to use care because I don’t just have a daughter watching me. I have the Callahan family waiting for me to slip up.

I need to handle this delicately.

“If you’re up for it, an apology on social media might go a long way. My advice would be to go live on Instagram right now before the media comes out with it,” she says. “Control the narrative. Break the story before they do. If you need talking points, let me—”

“I got it,” I interrupt her, and I cut that call, too.

Going live is probably the least intelligent idea right now, but I do it anyway.

“What are you doing, man?” Jaxon asks me.

“Ellie told me to go live and issue an apology, so that’s what I’m doing,” I mutter as I mess with my phone to pull open the app.

“Shouldn’t you call your wife first?” Jaxon presses, and I shrug.

Yeah, I probably should. But I’m not. Instead, I’m staring at Instagram.

Josh tries to stop me next. “Is going live the smartest thing to do right now?”

I toss my phone onto the floor and sink down beside it as I bury my face in my hands. “I don’t know what the smartest thing to do is. Go back in time? That’s not an option, so I have to take it one moment at a time. Ellie said I should break it before the media does.”

“I’ll hold your phone for you,” Cory says quietly.

I pull my head out of my hands and glance up at him, a clear question on my face as to what he’s talking about.

“While you go live,” he clarifies, and he picks up my phone from the floor.

I blow out a breath.

“But talk to the three of us first,” he urges. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head. “No. How the fuck can I be? I’ll be missing the first three games when my goal this season was to start seventeen.”

“Sometimes there are things out of our control—” Josh begins, but what the hell does he know? He’s started every game for years. He cuts himself off when I shoot him a glare.

I don’t mean to take this out on my friends, but fuck .

Cory gets it, but he’s not a starter. He chimes in anyway. “Dude, with the new OC we have no idea what the plans will be.”

“A lot of the formations in the new playbook have three or four,” Josh points out. “But there are some with just two, too.”

“You and Tristan,” I surmise, and everyone agrees. I’m ranked somewhere after those two, and the plan is to use training camp to show I should be ranked alongside them rather than under them, and then plow into the season to claim the top spot.

But I won’t get the chance to. Instead, Josh and Tristan can continue to show how incredible they are, and Cory, Cason, and Damon will have ample opportunity to show me up and take my place.

It’s such a weird dynamic—being close friends, brothers even, with the people you’re fighting against just to get playing time.

And maybe that’s just a small part of the reason why building a family outside of this brotherhood is so important.

But somehow I’m managing to fuck that all up, too.