“What are you saying?” I feel slightly dizzy.
“If you want Ellie to believe you, show her you mean it seriously this time around. Don’t let your words do the heavy lifting for you. Use actions. And be patient.”
I shake my head. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. She’s been so clear she doesn’t want me.”
“May I offer a starting point?” When I don’t answer, Dad adds, “Think about what makes Ellie feel insecure about you. Tackle that doubt, first. Smash it with all you’ve got.”
We look up as the kitchen door opens and Mom and Martha enter.
After I say goodbye to everyone and promise Mom I’ll pull over as soon as my eyelids grow heavy, I march out to my Corvette and hop in.
I drive the first few miles in a quiet trance, letting the surrounding darkness settle upon my brain. After a while, the soft black summer night Kingman is known for steers my heart to a steady rhythm, and I know I’m ready to revisit Dad’s last words.
My father is right. I failed to show Ellie how much I care for her. I told her I love her, but my confession wasn’t as powerful as it could’ve been. When she brought up Bill and said she was over me, I backed off. I thought it was an honorable act, but once again, I was being a coward with her. I gave up on her too quickly.
I pass the post signaling the town’s end and merge to the road heading toward the highway.
My hands and feet make all the necessary motions while my brain is sizzling with thoughts.
Ellie believes that playing for the NFL is my true passion, the thing I most want in this world. While that might’ve been the case in the past, it isn’t anymore. None of the Super Bowl rings I collected have given me the endless thrills that a simple night in the park with Ellie did.
Yes, I’ve had years in the league and a prosperous career. I enjoyed the thrill of the games, the spotlight, the friendships, and the training’s hardship.
But I’m getting older, and my long-term future and happiness don’t lie with the Kites. Not just because, as time passes, I’ve grown weary of the pressures and constraints being a professional athlete requires. That’s only one part of the equation.
The other missing piece is Ellie.
I can learn to cope with her absence, but I’ll never be blissful if she isn’t at my side.
But how can I reconquer her faith in me?
Just as I get to this thought, my car reaches a traffic light. It turns red, and I automatically slow down and push the gear into first.
My eyes flick to my feet.
A small smile forces its way to my lips, and I shift the stick into neutral while lifting my shoe from the clutch. I lean back and inhale deeply. I even close my eyes for a second, trying to summon that brief break with Ellie.
Instead of that memory, another one pops into my mind. Amp Island, with all its noises.
My laughter as I pass the ball to Oliver…
The giggling kids…
Ellie cheering us…
My breathing grows ragged, and my palms become moist.
My eyes fly open, and the flashy green light almost blinds me. I put the car in motion, but I pull over and stop after only a mile, because I can’t focus on driving.
My solution lies within those images I’ve just seen. I can feel it.
It’s the same sensation I get when I’m about to decide on the winning move to land a touchdown. A vision of how to proceed is coming to me. I can already perceive its contours, though I’m unable to grasp it fully yet.
But it’s there. Approaching.
I shift into the same position as before and let my eyelids close again.
I travel back to the park where I taught those children tricks of a game I’ve spent a lifetime learning to master. Ellie waves to me and gives a thumbs up, her eyes glimmering with joy. I was so darned happy that evening. So utterly, fantastically, incredibly ecstatic.
My heart skips a beat, and suddenly, I know what I need to do.
It’s the perfect solution. I can’t believe it only crossed my mind now.
It’ll serve as a demonstration to Ellie. A first, reliable brick toward the future I hope to build with her. And it’ll also take care of my impending long-term career problem.
I open my eyes, switch the engine back on, and make a U-turn so sharp all four tires screech. I deepen my foot on the gas while clicking the car’s phone button.
“Call Devon,” I say and wait as a shrill ringtone fills the Corvette.
Soon Devon’s sleepy voice picks up. “Wyatt?”
“Were you sleeping?”
“Nah. Laia and I were watching a French movie. It’s too slow-paced for my taste, though. What’s wrong, pal?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. All is right, in fact. I know what I’ve got to do.”
My friend yawns. “Okay, great. Though, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I just need you to answer me one question, then I’ll leave you.”
“What question?” Devon’s voice is more awake now. “About Ellie?”
“It’s connected to her, yes. But not only.” I’m unable to control the exuberant tone in my voice.
Devon must pick up on it because he comments, “You sound like you just gulped down a bunch of Red Bulls.”
I ignore his mocking remark and cut straight to the chase. “Do you know if that coaching job Jimmy mentioned during poker night is still available?”
“I guess so. The trainer doesn’t leave till next year so—” He pauses. “Wyatt, are you planning what I think?”
“Could you text me Jimmy’s phone number?” I say, instead of answering.
There’s a silence, then a beep on my cell alerts me to a new message.
“Just did. You can even call him now. He stays up late every night because of his jazz club.”
“Okay, great, thanks.”
“Where are you now?” Devon asks.
“In my car.”
“Going to Atlanta?”
“Coming back to Phoenix,” I say. “I’m roughly an hour away. Perhaps forty minutes if I speed up.”
“Yesss!” My buddy exclaims.
“I’ll need Laia’s and your help to pull off my plan properly. Especially for the part concerning Ellie. Will you give me a hand?”
“Of course. Come straight to my house, and we can help you figure out the details concerning my sis.”
“Will do. Bye.” I hang up the line, then make a quick mental list of everyone I’ll need to speak to and in which order.
First Jimmy. I need to confirm Devon’s hunch and see that the job is still open.
Then I must speak to the Cougar’s current head coach to test the waters. If there’s no friction there, I can move on to Liam.
My agent won’t be thrilled with my decision, but he’ll still have one season’s worth of contract with me. I might propose his services to a younger teammate, too, to placate him.
Next will come to my toughest call: Coach Fielding.
I’d prefer to make this an in-person conversation, but our head coach is on vacation, so even if I drove to Georgia now, I wouldn’t find him there. But I can’t wait till training camp with this announcement.
Coach Fielding will probably be disappointed…or maybe not. After all, there is Jamal. The guy’s got talent; if I pass onto him all my knowledge during my last season, he’ll be a beast by the time I leave the team.
Finally, I must notify Joe of what I’m planning. He’d crack if he learned it from the news and not from me.
I can already hear his, “Well, slap my head and call me silly if you ain’t realizing I was right all along,” in my head.
My buddy knew what he was talking about.
We entered the world of professional football on our own terms, and that’s how we need to exit it. I won’t be kicked out from the league a few years down the road because I’m too old to play.
No, I’ll walk out with my head high while my passion for
the game is still breathing. And I’ll start a new, glorious dream—which, hopefully, will include Ellie.
Chapter 35
(Ellie)
When I wake on Saturday, my eyes feel like I’ve sprinkled glass dust on them—dry and aching. My tongue sticks to my palate, and my throat is parched.
Why didn’t I cut Laia short when she narrated to me Wyatt’s goodbye visit?
I knew my mind would use her description as a justification to relive my last talk with Wyatt.
My gaze drifts to the countless tissues scattered around the floor, and I wince.
Last night I might have switched off the light and pretended they weren’t there, but now, here they are, looking like tiny white boats ready to sink into my blue rug.
Each crumpled ball is visual proof of the unsettling truth that I’m not as good a therapist as Stephanie praised me for being. If I were, then after I ended my call with Laia and retreated to my room, I’d have applied the fantastic visualization and powerful positive affirmation techniques I teach others instead of sobbing like a crazy lady into the wee hours.
I draw in a breath and rub my cheeks.
Okay, one slip doesn’t mean a thing. I just need to get back on track, and eventually, this emptiness will disappear.
I jump up and notice with pleasure that the movement doesn’t worsen my lurking headache. I hurry to collect the scrunched papers and throw them into the bin beneath my desk. I bring a set of fresh bedding from my wardrobe and begin stripping my blanket.
There’s a knock on my door. “Come in,” I yell.
“You’re changing your sheets again?” Cora’s startled question resounds behind me.
“Yep,” I answer without turning.
“But you just did that last night after moping and polishing our kitchen floor, rearranging the bathroom cabinet, and deep cleansing our sofa.”
“I know,” I say, tearing off the pillowcase, “but I’m imagining that this cushion is my heart and I’m clearing it of any unwanted feelings.”
There’s a small gasp, then Cora’s sympathetic voice. “Is it working?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’m sticking to it just in case it does.” I drop my naked pillow back to my bed.
Perhaps this thought-action combo brings something. After all, I went to my clinic every day after returning from Kingman. I also made it through telling Bill that I preferred to stick to a cooperative relationship between us.
Cora’s warm palm lands on my back. “You can attack my bed too. And Hope’s. Anything if it helps to forget Wyatt.”
Her phrase lures a smile to my lips.
It’s nice to know my friends have my back, even if they disagree with my decision.
I came clean with my roomies about Wyatt on Tuesday, right after I got home. My confession wasn’t so much motivated by the fact that Wyatt’s therapy ended. Though I wasn’t bound to secrecy anymore, I just wanted to hear my friends say that I’d done well.
While they didn’t quite say that—in fact, Hope called me a nitwit, and Cora, who I thought would compliment me on my self-discipline and maturity, claimed that Wyatt’s revelation might just push him into her green category—after some time they hugged me and assured me they were on my side, no matter what.
At this memory, a warmth fills my chest, and I drop my pillow to go hug Cora. However, as I turn to her, my jaw sinks.
She’s wearing an orange-and-blue striped, off-the-shoulder top and a pair of shorts. That she’s fully dressed isn’t weird—despite her habit of sleeping in on the weekends to compensate for her early weekday alarm—but her attire certainly is.
I could explain her color choice, way too gaudy for her usual self, with the fact that she must’ve grown tired of her darling summer dresses. But when my eyes move to her ankles, I know something’s off. Instead of proper heels, her go-to footwear even for grocery shopping—Cora sports comfy wedge sandals.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Where are you going?”
Before Cora can answer, Hope bounces into my room.
“Oh, sweet heavens,” Cora exclaims at her, “you’re wearing it all wrong!”
Hope’s face moves into a confused grimace, and she tugs on her sloppy, oversized blue T-shirt, which is tucked into a pair of black spandex shorts. “What do you mean?”
“You need to treat this jersey as a dress.”
“But when I told you what I’d be wearing, you said I’m too old to have it on without shorts,” Hope complains.
Cora rolls her eyes and points at her. “This is not what I meant, bless your heart.” She sighs and adds in a commanding tone, “Come here, let me adjust it, sugar.”
She hauls Hope’s jersey out of the shorts and smooths it down. “Look, now it’s good. The shorts aren’t supposed to show. They’re there to make sure no one gets an inappropriate glimpse at your treasures - in case you bend. That’s not cool at your age.”
“Or any age,” I mumble.
Cora nods, then pats Hope’s back. “You can pair this outfit with white vans or cowboy boots, and you’ll be ready.”
Hope grins. “Okay, just a sec.” She rushes out of my room.
I poke Cora on the shoulder. “Want to tell me what’s going on now? Why are you both geared up like it’s game day?”
She smiles. “Because we’re going to watch a football game.”
My brows jump to my hairline. “You’re what?”
Our doorbell cuts me off.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“Laia, who else,” Hope calls out from the living room. I catch a glimpse of her hopping to our entrance door in white sneakers.
“What’s Laia doing here?” I give Cora an accusing glance. “I hope you didn’t call her because I…”
“No, no, no. Of course, not.” She answers with the perfectly symmetrical smile I’ve seen her give Andrew’s mother and sister when they made some inappropriate comments about her Southern twang. “She’s coming with us, too.”
Before I can react, Laia walks in beside Hope.
Laia’s tied her long dark hair in two braids, making her look much younger than she is, but her outfit is relatively everyday—simple jeans with a white top. Still, she too has a weird token in the form of a pair of shades with orange-colored lenses.
“Ready to cheer the Cougars?” She grins at me.
“I’m sorry,” I shake my head, “who?”
Laia raises her brow. “Didn’t the girls tell you we’re going to a friendly match between the Cougars and the Defenders? And by we, I mean you too.”
My eyes widen. “Aren’t those high school teams?”
“Yep.” Hope nods, holding out her hand to me.
I spot a navy blue and burnt-orange sticker in her palm.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“It’s an old football sticker I found in my cupboard,” Hope declares with a proud glint. “I knew it’d come in handy someday. That’s why I never throw away anything. It’s originally for Auburn, but the hues are like the Cougars’ colors. You can stick it on any top, and you’ll be good to go.”
I bounce my glance between my friends’ excited faces, then shake my head. “I’m not in the mood for hollering for a bunch of strangers.” Especially when watching them play will do nothing but remind me of Wyatt.
“Why?” Cora asks.
I give her a ‘Who are you again?’ glance. “The last time I went to a high school football game was when I was in high school. We don’t even know any of the players.”
Laia adjusts her top’s shoulder line. “That’s not true. There’s Richie.”
“Ah right, Ariana’s nephew plays for that team.” I nod as I recall Jimmy’s wife’s constant ode about her sister’s son’s talent. I furrow my brows. “Still, I don’t get why you’d want to go.”
Hope wiggles her brows at me. “Would it help if I told you there’ll be a complimentary barbecue after the game?”
I wait for one of them to crack up and tell me it’s all made up. “Se
riously, girls, what’s going on? Is this some kind of April Fool’s joke? If it is, I’ll remind you we’re at the end of July.”
Hope and Cora exchange a quick glance. Cora squints at Laia. Laia nods imperceptibly, then blinks at me.
“Fine,” Laia says, “if you need full disclosure, it’s a favor to Jimmy.”
I round my brows.
“Yes, I called last night to explain it all to you, but since you were…uhm, busy…” Laia throws a meaningful glance at my bin that’s chock-full of white tissues. “…your roomies didn’t want to disturb you. Jimmy’s wife has organized the press coverage for today’s game. She’s afraid that only the families of the players will show up because of the summer holidays. Which wouldn’t look that nice in the pictures the reporters will be taking so—”
“Didn’t you say it’s a friendly match? Why do they need journalists for that?” I interject.
Laia opens her mouth then closes it.
Cora jumps in. “There’ll be a special announcement after the game. The reporters are coming because of that.”
“Indeed,” Laia continues, suddenly more relaxed, “that’s why Jimmy asked Devon to round up as many spectators as he can. We’re going to help Ariana create ambiance at the game.”
Jimmy has become practically family to my brother. If Jimmy needs a hand, Devon is always ready to help him. My brother often plays piano in Jimmy’s jazz club when one of the musicians gets sick.
But even so, isn’t it a bit of a stretch to extend it to also supporting Jimmy’s wife’s sister’s son?
Before I can protest, Hope chimes in. “Let’s not forget those free hamburgers.” She gives me a confident smirk as if she’s just handed me a document with the crucial detail to win in front of a jury.
“As if we couldn’t afford to buy our own meat,” I murmur grumpily.
Hope shrugs. “We can, but I still won’t turn down a bonus meal. My mom taught me better than that.”
Cora rubs my shoulder. “Come on, sugar, you’ve been with this bitter expression on your face since…” She pauses. “…never mind. Just know that all the frowning will give you wrinkles.”
Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) Page 27