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Even the quiet with Lacey is nice.
Fifteen minutes later, she lets us into her apartment and locks the door. For the first time since the coin toss, I let out a breath and relax.
“Do you think there will be articles about you?” she asks, the one to break the silence. “The Titans ended up winning, so who cares why you left?”
“Everyone will care.” I kick off my sneakers and nudge them against the foyer wall. I line them up next to the row of Lacey’s shoes, and I like how our things look beside each other. “I’m sure it will be a top headline on ESPN tomorrow.”
“That’s bullshit.”
She unzips her jacket and hangs it on the hook by the door. She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. There’s fire in her eyes, and I can’t wait to hear what she says next.
“What’s bullshit?” I ask.
“Why do people care? You dipped out early—big deal. What if there was a family emergency or something happened in your life youdidn’twant to share with America?”
“We don’t have that luxury, unfortunately. I’m not saying it’s fair, just that I’m used to it.” I walk to her living room and get comfortable on her sofa. I almost melt into the plush leather, and it takes all of my energy to not close my eyes and fall asleep right away. “Sometimes I wish all the people in the comment sections on social media who tell me it must be so easy to be an athlete could be really rich for a day. They’d see money isn’t everything. Even the greatest athletes can be unhappy.”
“I know your bodies take a pounding and what you do is physically grueling, so please don’t take this the wrong way,” Lacey says, and she sits next to me. “I don’t understand why people hold athletes to unobtainable high standards. You all get sick. You all get hurt. You all have bad brain days when the world feels like it’s caving in, just like Joe Schmo who works in accounting or architecture does. Sure, it’s broadcast to billions of people, but why does it mean you’re failing when it happens to you?”
“I wish I had an answer for you.” I stretch out my legs and rest my feet in her lap. Her hand wraps around my calf and she presses her thumb into my muscles. I groan as the tension I’ve been holding onto leaves my body. “The public knows I’ve had a panic attack before. Maybe I should come clean. I can tell the world on my terms so I can control the narrative.”
“You should. You have a big following, Shawn. I’m not saying you don’t use your platform for good, because you do. I know that. But maybe being more outspoken about these things you experience might encourage other athletes to talk about them too.”
“I think you might be right,” I say. I fold my hands over my stomach and close my eyes. “You’re wise beyond your years, Daniels.”
“It’s because I have to keep up with your geriatric ass,” she answers, and I burst out laughing.
I feel instantly lighter with her joke, like I’m levitating high above the shit swarming around in my brain. Lacey has that effect on me; she always knows exactly the right thing to say. Sometimes I think she’s in my head and reading my thoughts, because there’s no way someone can be so in tune with my emotions.
“I’m weak right now. You aren’t allowed to make fun of me. Not in my vulnerable state.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, and I open one eye to find her watching me. “I hope you know I’d never make fun of you, and I’m sorry if it came across that way.”
“Sweetheart, you making fun of me is what I look forward to every day. You know why? Because you treat me like you would anyone else. You give me shit. You hold me accountable. You make me laugh. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I have to act a certain way around someone. I’m myself, and that’s enough,” I admit, and her lips pull up into a soft smile.
It's a beautiful thing when Lacey grins. If she were mine, I’d make sure she smiled every day. A hundred times a day, because the world is a better place when she’s happy.
“You’re allowed to rest when you’re with me, Shawn,” she says, and like everything else she tells me, I know it’s true. “You’re more than enough.”
There’s never a spot where I feel safer than with her two feet away from me. My body knows it, too, because my limbs go pliant. My heart stops racing, and the breath I take doesn’t feel like a thousand knives are stabbing my lungs.
Progress.
“You can rest with me too, Lacey girl,” I say, and her smile stretches wider. “You don’t have to go so fast.”
“I know I can. I have been for a while now. Since you first kissed me, I think,” she says. “It’s been nice to slow down.”
We look at each other at the same time. It’s like we’re sneaking glances, stolen moments no one else can see. There’s the urge to tell her she can rest with me forever, if she wants. Long after New Year’s comes and goes, we could still dothis.
Whatever the hellthisis.
“Are you hungry?” she asks. “We could order pizza and watch a movie.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
I pull my wallet out of my pocket and toss it her way.
This woman saved me tonight, and I’m starting to wonder if she wasn’t put in my life by accident but for a very specific reason.
