AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Clay: She shouldn’t be bothering you.
Nova: Seems like she’s doing her job. What time will you be home?
Clay: Not sure. There’s a dinner after.
I sit at a round table and make small talk I used to hate and drink until the buzz takes up residence in the back of my brain.
I’m on my third beer when a familiar face approaches.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” He’s one of the young guys from the LA team. I clap him on the back, and he does the same to me. “It’s been a wild ride, right? Can’t wait to get my ring. Bet you’ve been dreaming of it for weeks. I know I have.”
When I sleep, I can’t seem to dream of anything.
That’s the problem.
I put on a good face, act like the guy who’s a champion.
None of it felt the way it was supposed to. There was no rush of satisfaction, no fulfillment that I’ve achieved my lifelong dream.
I got to the top of the mountain and found nothing there. Only the conviction deepening each day that I didn’t earn it.
And I have no idea what to do with that.
I head for the doors without saying goodbye to the organizers. My car stays in the parking lot as I get into a limo and it pulls away.
Tony sent me the picture. When I look at it for the first time, it takes me aback. He looks comfortable in his green polo. I’m wearing sunglasses and a black polo, my tattoos patterning my arms.
Is this who I am now?
There are options—teams that would sign me if I wanted to stay in the game even on the chance my knee doesn’t come back. But I hate the idea of being some kind of favor, a legacy whose only contribution is some kind of aura of championship, like stale cologne that aged badly.
I could announce my retirement, but that future is even more bleak.
The fence swings wide, and the limo pulls toward the house. It’s dark, the outside lights by the gate unlit.
“Let me drop you at the—” The limo pulls to an abrupt stop midway to the door. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wade. I think I drove into your garden.”
There’s no mistaking the squish of tires on the turf as he backs onto the asphalt once again and navigates around the plot of flowers Nova added in front of the house this spring.
I’m not ready to go in.
Alone, I don’t have to lie about the way I feel.
Doing it in public is one thing, but pretending to Nova is a different kind of hard.
“Wait here a second,” I tell the driver as the vehicle comes to a smooth stop.
“Everything okay, Mr. Wade?”
I don’t answer.
I love Nova and I used to anticipate seeing her at the end of the day. Now I’m not sure I remember how to look forward to anything.
It’s like I’m separated from the world by a glass wall.
There are little bottles of alcohol lining the shelves in the mini fridge, and I grab one.
“Mr. Wade, I hate to ask, but could I get an autograph? It’s for my son.”
