Page 123

I just wanted a few seconds of relief.

My knees are killing me from our drills where we work on changing direction quickly. My back is sore from all the running. My ribs hurt from getting slammed into the ground over and over during scrimmages. My head is pounding constantly. It feels like every muscle in my body is overstretched and every joint is sore.

Add to that the pain in my chest due to anxiety that I’m going to lose both Harper and Victoria, and I just wanted an uninterrupted night of sleep where I wasn’t in pain everywhere since everyone keeps saying we need good sleep on top of everything else…hence the curfew.

What a colossal mistake that was.

Now I’m in an even worse position than I was before…something I didn’t think was actually possible.

I called my dad yesterday before I called Victoria to tell him about what happened. He told me this is another strike against me. Another win for Callahan. More evidence I’m unfit to parent my child. Stack it up next to the hospital visit for anaphylaxis, my well-documented history with women despite the fact that I’m married now, my career that means being away from my daughter for a large amount of time, and my recent arrest and subsequent punishment.

He also told me Callahan filed his petition with the court and I better get ready to fight.

Of course the dick waited until the season started because he knew I wouldn’t be able to fight.

But I’ll fucking sit this season out if it means keeping Harper. I’ll quit football forever if it means keeping her in my life.

That asshole will not take her away from me.

“My goal is to help the three of you learn from this mistake,” Coach Thompson tells us as we gather in a small conference room before morning workouts. Coach Jeff, the wide receiver coach, is here, too, along with Cason, Cory, and me as we await our punishment for two fucking hits off a vape pen the other night. “Coach Jeff has been assigned to stay on top of the three of you for the remainder of our time here. I need you to separately issue public apologies, and I’ve been in touch with Ellie Dalton since she represents all three of you. She’s getting you into some different fundraising opportunities to support addiction services.”

“Coach, it’s not an addiction,” Cory says.

I know better than to whine about it. I’m here to take my punishment like a man.

Cory, however, is not.

“It doesn’t matter,” Coach hisses. “Your image took a hit, and now you need to correct it. If you’d like to argue with me, I can also assess a fine and require a mandatory treatment program.”

Cory shuts his trap after that.

We head home in two days. I get to see my kid in two days. I get to see my wife in two days.

Speaking of my wife, she sounded pretty mad at me last night. I shouldn’t have snapped at her. It’s been a hard two weeks, and knowing we go home and have to deal with two more weeks of it only to turn around and sit out the first three games is getting in my head and messing with me.

I promised myself I wouldn’t let it come between us, but I am. And I’m disappointed in myself because of it…but I also don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to change the behavior when it’s all that’s on my mind all day every day. I can’t exactly avoid it. I can’t pretend like it’s not coming.

I can’t seem to get away from it at all.

And so I trudge through the day.

A workout that has me hissing in pain. Late morning drills with the wide receivers. A team lunch. Afternoon team drills. Through it all, I leave out the socializing part. I sit beside Tristan and keep my mouth shut for fear I’ll say something to piss off someone else.

We’re supposed to be building a brotherhood this week. It’s the time when we can figure out our team chemistry and lean into our strengths.

Instead, I feel like I’m fighting losing battle after losing battle. Everyone here gets to play in the first three games.

I don’t.

And I fucked up again.

I feel myself slowly tumbling toward the bottom, and the only light at the end of the tunnel is knowing that in two days, I get to go home to Harper and Victoria.

I need to get out of this messy headspace, and usually football is what pulls me out of it.

But my suspension is fucking with me in ways I wasn’t expecting.

I do my best to go hard and focus when we’re on the field, but I know I’m missing that key component of building the brotherhood with my teammates. It’s such a contradiction since we’re battling each other for playing time, and I’m slowly starting to watch it dwindle as I see our starters, Josh and Tristan, not miss a beat. I watch as Damon and Cory fight as hard as me, and they’re pulling ahead. They’ll have those three weeks to make moves and prove they belong on the field at kickoff, and I’ll be stuck at home falling further and further off the grid because of stupid mistake after stupid mistake.

Fuck.

And knowing Harper is at home without me, knowing Callahan is coming for us, knowing Victoria is mad at me, knowing Coach is disappointed in me…it’s all piling up so damn high that I don’t even know how to get out from under it. The only person I’ve ever felt like cared enough to listen is mad at me because I hung up on her last night.

I won’t unload this on Tristan. I can’t. He may be my best friend, but he’s fighting as hard as I am for his spot on the field, and he’s winning.

I’m nearing the bottom of the pit, but that’s the thing about falling toward rock bottom. You don’t know how many more hits you can take until you look around and find yourself all alone in the darkness.

And it only takes one more hit that I never saw coming.