Even if I was doing it without Keith.
I told myself I didn’t need his support. He’d been a dick to me after being completely reckless and not giving a damn what I or anyone else felt about his desire to ignore his own limits. It was my fault for caving. I’d take full responsibility for that, and I genuinely believed it was just a freak accident—a quirk of muscle memory that led him to do something stupid. All of that, I could have accepted. His flippant attitude about it, less so.
After I dropped him off, I downloaded an app that would keep me from being able to call or text him for at least two weeks. I thought that was enough time to calm down and start to maybe see things his way. If he was still interested, we could move past this and hopefully have a stronger relationship as a result. If not… then he wasn’t the man I thought he was, and I was better off without him.
None of that changed the fact that I wished he was here for me now.
Reuben was busy with work today, so it was just me sitting outside the hearing room, sweating in my suit and tie. I stood tall when I was called in, determined not to let them see my nerves. I’d had a couple days to prepare and I was able to coordinate with some other colleges, getting their statistics and the programs they were implementing to help make things safer for the players—especially those who’d already suffered injury. Most of the research was focused on preventing repeat concussions, but I felt confident that the rehabilitation and safety programs in place could be adapted to work for any significant injury. Obviously, brain trauma was the biggest issue facing football today, but that didn’t mean kids in their early 20’s deserved to have lifelong chronic pain and disabilities because they’d played a few seasons of NCAA football. We owed it to our kids to look out for them. The Gator football team brought in the majority of UF’s funding, and everyone here knew it. I intended to lean into that fact if they pushed me.
“Mr. Newell, it’s good to see you again. I always admire someone with a certain level of tenacity.”
My jaw twitched at that. He sounded like he was annoyed he even had to have this meeting and he intended to get me out of his sight as soon as possible. Unfortunately for him, my “tenacity” wasn’t going to allow that.
“Thank you, Mr. Monroe. I know I spoke to most of you last time, so I’ll recap the situation quickly.”
I laid out my “thesis,” explaining what the issue was and why it was ultimately detrimental not just to the players, but to UF. I then spoke about Ty specifically and several other players in a more general sense, including those who are well within the alumnus rank and had already been diagnosed with long-term issues as a direct result of their college career.
I presented my data in several graphs and explained what it meant, then I posited a solution that would be cost-effective for the university, since I knew that was the issue on the table. They wanted to keep as many people buying tickets as possible and holding off on starting players until they were actually healed was a detriment to that.
“I know this puts the school in a difficult position,” I said, “but if we aren’t thinking of the safety of our players, it doesn’t matter how well our football program performs. Those victories are won on the backs of permanent brain damage, debilitating chronic pain, and rapid aging of men who should be enjoying time with their families, but instead are being shepherded from specialist to specialist just to find some relief. That is an absolute failure on the part of our institution, and it has to change.”
I paused there, letting the conviction of my words sink in. “What I propose is an overhaul of our rehabilitation schedule. I want to train our medical professionals to work toward sustainable healing, not just a Band-Aid on the wound. Cut the reliance on opioids, which have a whole host of documented problems when it comes to addiction. Give players two chances to ace a comprehensive physical and, if they don’t, they can’t start. This will ensure the young men that go through your program are not broken on your behalf. With retraining, and some time spent getting acclimated to this new system, I believe what I’m proposing will not cost UF any more than we currently expend, and it will certainly save us millions in well-deserved lawsuits.”
I knew I was pushing my luck, but if money was all the higher-ups understood, then money was the language I had to speak.
The committee murmured amongst themselves, shuffling papers around. There was hardly any reaction to what I’d said, so I wasn’t expecting much. When Monroe finally addressed me, his tone was even.
“I must say, these studies and the presented solution are more compelling than simply asking for more time which, as you know, costs money to produce. The evidence you’ve presented holds merit, and this board will consider the weight of it when deciding how quickly players should return to the field. In the meantime, we’re going to grant you the funds to restructure your department, so that everyone can be trained to the core tenets you’ve outlined. You will be in charge of this endeavor, and you will be provided with the necessary resources.”
I just stared at him, slack-jawed. It wasn’t a complete victory, but I hadn’t expected one. Honestly, I hadn’t even expected the tiniest bone to be thrown my way. This was… big.
This was a chance to change the face of an institution I loved with all my heart.
Just the thought of it made me giddy and, as soon as I left the room, there was only one person I wanted to tell… but his number was blocked and, I knew if I went to him, it wouldn’t end the way I hoped. We needed this time, which meant my victory would be celebrated… later, maybe. Once everyone could be on board.
It didn’t rob me of that feeling, but it was somewhat hollow, knowing Keith couldn't be a part of it.
25
Keith
As soon as I was inside my apartment and Brendan drove off, I knew I’d fucked up. All I could think about was him driving off with his dad and me not seeing him for over a decade. He was leaving me again, but this time it was because I’d pushed him away.
I knew I should have texted him right away and explained things. Yeah, I didn’t like being fussed over so much and I resented him acting like I’d been careless on purpose, but that wasn’t the crux of the issue. Mainly, I was just… scared. Terrified that at the first sign of conflict—the first time things were even a little bit difficult—he’d be gone. So I’d taken it unto myself to make sure he was.
I was a fucking idiot.
I also didn’t want to make things worse. I knew if I texted him now, I’d probably say something stupid, letting that resentment win out. So I decided to give us both a couple days to cool off. I’d have time to sort through my bullshit and come up with a decent apology, since I knew I owed him that much, at least.
I spent that time taking it easy, hobbling around the school with my crutches again and letting my assistant coach take over practice for the foreseeable future. That second day, after I was done with my last class, I went to send him a message.
Only to find I was blocked.
“What the fuck?”
Thinking something was going on with my phone, I tried to call. Same deal. It rang and rang, never putting me through to voicemail, which I knew meant I was blocked there, too.
I stared at my phone in disbelief, sitting behind my desk in my classroom. My kids were long gone and many of the other teachers in my quad had ducked out early, so I just sat there in an empty room, unable to believe what I was seeing. I tried texting several more times, but nothing.
Part of me wanted to ask Elliot if he was able to get through, but that felt desperate, and I fucking hated being desperate. It was bad enough to be vulnerable, but to crawl around begging for some scrap of an answer when I had what I needed was laughable.
Brendan had blocked me, over one fight. My worst fears were right. He was all for it when things were easy. When we could just fuck and have fun with people who weren’t going to judge us. But at the slightest hint of a storm, he was out of there.
“Well fuck you too, asshole,” I muttered i
nto the silence.
That night, I resolved to get shit-faced and go back to my same old fuckery. Literally. I downloaded Grindr again after having deleted it from my phone. There were still a couple messages left over from before I deactivated, but I ignored those and searched for fresh meat. I just needed some empty-headed, muscle-bound jock to meet me at a hotel and fuck me senseless. That was all I wanted in the world, and I hoped to God it would reset things for me. I’d be able to move on from this, lesson learned, and go back to keeping things casual.
But, every guy I looked at annoyed me. They had stupid requirements in their profile, they couldn’t spell worth a damn, they were overly aggressive when messaging me. Just like the last time I tried to fuck my problems away, I found Grindr to be sorely… lacking.
I considered looking at another app. I knew there were some alternatives on the rise for people who didn’t vibe with it. There was also the incredibly shady option of Craigslist classified ads, but I wasn’t going to go down that route unless I was truly desperate.
Instead of downloading another app, though, I found myself scrolling through email and pulling up the last message from the Dear Lonely Guy service. He’d given good advice before and, if nothing else, I hoped a mini rant would do wonders for my ego and self-esteem.
I started typing, telling him the situation as it stood now and what happened between us. I told him about being blocked and how shitty that was making me feel—as if Brendan didn’t even care enough to navigate the smallest of bumps in our relationship.
It was somewhat cathartic. Either that or I was beginning to feel a buzz from the alcohol. It vanished when Formerly Lonely Guy sent his reply an hour later.
Dear Idiot Who Wants to Make Problems Where There Are None,
Well that definitely wasn’t the name I’d signed…
You have the perfect situation here. The perfect guy! Someone you know better than anyone. Do you know how much most guys would kill to be with their best friend? And you’re going to throw it away for your pride? Seriously?
You behaved recklessly. I know you know that. He was just worried about you, and maybe he took it a little too far and said things he shouldn’t have, but you were the first one to walk away. You slammed that door in his face. What was he supposed to do? Wait around like some kicked puppy waiting for you to extend affection again?
So he blocked you. So what? You can be at his place in under ten minutes, can’t you? If he truly wants you out of his life, you’ll know for sure then. If not, you can apologize to him in person—because you sure as hell need to apologize. And I’m not just talking some half-assed “sorry if I hurt you” bullshit, either. You need to pull out all the stops.
You’ve got a good thing going here. I know you’re scared, but you don’t need to be “right.” Especially if it means sabotaging things yourself. Trust in this guy. If you know him as well as you seem to, then I’m sure he’ll come through if you extend the effort.
In the meantime, get your head out of your ass and get ready to grovel.
Signed,
Lonely Asshole Just Like You
P.S. - This one’s on the house. I needed somebody to yell at. Sorry.
I stared at the email for a long while, reading it over two more times before I finally shut it. The brutal honesty was… refreshing, and just what I needed to hear. He was right; I was being a dumbass. Letting my fear tell me what to think about my best friend, when I already knew he wasn’t that kind of guy.
I owed him an apology and, while I didn’t know how I was going to do it, I was going to fight like hell to get him back.
26
Brendan
Just under a week into my two week "no contact" rule, I was already ready to cave.
I'd celebrated the hearing win with Reuben and Elliot, both of whom asked about Keith. I was honest with them. Elliot didn't seem all that surprised, and I couldn't help wondering if this was just... who Keith had become. I still felt his absence, though. Every time I told someone who wasn't him, I felt like I was somehow betraying him.
By the time Friday rolled around, I'd convinced myself it wouldn't be that big of a deal to just text him the news. If he was a dick, I could go another week or longer; if he was supportive but distant, I could follow his lead. If he apologized--something I wasn't expecting--maybe I could end this self-imposed torture and see him again.
I stopped myself from texting, mainly because I passed out after telling myself I just needed to rest my eyes for a few minutes. It'd been a long, emotionally-exhausting week and I slept all the way through the night. While that meant I was up before six, I had a long day ahead of me anyway.
I made an effort to attend every Gator game of the season and, every once in a while, I tried to do it in style. That meant tailgating, which meant getting there way earlier than anyone would ever advise to help set things up. There was also the matter of procuring beer and ice as well as a cooler full of brats and all the fixings.
I headed to Publix and picked up what I needed, loading down my truck with the necessary supplies. I wasn't the only tailgater there and we nodded in acknowledgment of one another, sharing some kind of secret language. I was sure I'd run into them later on and probably share a few drinks with them but, for now, we were both too busy ensuring our Saturday plans went off without a hitch.
It was no wonder why I'd decided on tailgating for this game, even though I'd made no plans for it. I didn't even tell anyone else I was doing it until I was already set up in the parking lot, and even then it was just sent to a group chat for work and passed around in a few other texts. This wasn't for hanging out with other people or enjoying a rich tradition. It was just to keep my mind off of Keith, which it... mostly did, at least until I started stressing over whether or not I should text him, too. I decided on doing so and unblocked him, sending a quick text.
Brendan: Tailgating outside the stadium if you're interested. I have an extra ticket in case you want to see the game, too.
I put my phone away immediately after sending it, afraid I'd get too wrapped up in the back-and-forth if he responded. I heard my phone announcing notifications but it was shoved deep into the pocket of my cargo pants, and I had no plans of retrieving it any time soon. I'd check in a couple hours, a little bit before the game. Just in case. Other than that, I was going to focus on cooking up some brats and chilling some beer.
As I fired up my grill, I began to attract a few stragglers who hadn't committed to any specific tailgater yet. I shared my bounty freely, offering brats and beers with any who wanted them. Good company helped distract me from my own nonsense, especially when people I knew personally started to show up. It was wrong to say I ever truly forgot about Keith or the fact that I'd invited him, but as minutes turned into hours and the pregame crowd got bigger, I thought it safe to assume he wouldn't show up.
How wrong I'd been.
I didn't see him until he was practically standing caddy-corner to my literal tailgate, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He was wearing a Gators snapback, so out of the corner of my eye he just looked like any other fan waiting his turn to be served. In fact, I'd already plated up a brat and handed it to him before I realized.
"Oh. Shit. Sorry, Keith. Got into a rhythm here."
"Does this mean the brat is forfeit?" he asked, the corner of his lips quirking upward. "Because I'm fucking starving."
"No, of course not."
I let out a nervous laugh, wanting to say more but having no idea where to even start. It didn't help that I was still surrounded by hungry and chatty people I'd promised to feed and engage with.
"Give me a sec here," I said, holding up one finger.
I didn't know what I was even having him wait for, but he seemed nervous. Like there was something he wanted to say, too. I tried not to think too hard about it as I exhausted my supply. The brats ran out quicker than the beer, but at least with the beer I could just leave the cooler open and let people take one at their leisure.
Once I announced the lack of food to a disappointed crowd--a crowd that quickly went elsewhere, seeing as how there was no shortage of tailgaters offering free food and beer--I was able to engage with Keith.
He was sitting on the edge of a curb, brat long-since finished, beer bottle in front of him. I wiped my hands on my apron and moved to join him, wishing I still had something to do.
"I didn't know you did this," he said, gesturing to the crowded parking lot. "I guess I shouldn't be that surprised, though. You used to throw killer bonfires."
I laughed at that, my hands rubbing my knees. "Yeah. I only do it maybe two, three times a year. Just when the mood strikes. Sorry I didn't text you sooner. I didn't really know I was doing it until this morning."
"I'm surprised you texted me at all, to be honest."
I met his gaze, searching his eyes. Did he know I'd blocked him? Had he tried to contact me? I opened my mouth to explain, but he cut me off.
"Hey, you don't owe me an explanation. I would've blocked my ass too," he said with a half-hearted laugh. Again, I tried to say something, but he was adamant about speaking first. "Look, I know you, Bren, and I know you'll try to make everything okay. It's just who you are. But you aren't the one who needs to make things okay this time. I am."
That stopped me dead in my tracks. Keith wasn't an inconsiderate person on the whole, but his pride had come before my or anyone else's feelings more times than I was comfortable with. He didn't like admitting when he was wrong and he definitely didn't like making a big production out of it.
Time Out (Dear Lonely Guy Book 2) Page 14