“That's about as convincing as you taking the Raptors to Super Bowl victory this year. No offense, Rookie. You're good, but your defense could use an upgrade.”
“Don't I know it,” I mutter, wiping the towel across my face.
“What's up? You thinking about all the shit you're missing to chase a girl?”
“How did you—”
“We've all been there,” he cuts in. “But my question is, did it work? Because you don't look like a man who's ready to go out and play against my team.”
“Did what work?”
“Chasing her.”
“No,” I mutter with a sad smile. “I guess it didn't.”
He nods slowly.
“I keep getting in her way,” I say, playing with the towel. “She’s trying to figure herself out, and I keep planting myself in the middle of it. I know I’m doing it. I’ve known for a while.” I look up at him. “Knowing hasn’t stopped me, though.”
“No,” he says with a chuckle. “It usually doesn’t. That's why you were recruited first pick in the draft, though. You play to win, but I'm going to be honest here. You're going to have to learn to lose. A lot. You're in the NFL now. The caliber is different. You'll be broken down and torn apart. Then you’ll have to find a way to build yourself back together when everyone is rooting against you.”
I nod, knowing he's right. It's what coaches, psychologists, and ex-teammates have been telling me since I stepped onto the field at St. Michael's, but it's only sinking in now.
Pure talent won't get me through like it did in high school. A great team with a fantastic legacy of winning won't get me through it like it did in college. I have to work harder than I ever have before if I want to keep my dream alive. If I’m honest, maybe all of this running around and chasing Honey has been a good distraction from that.
I scrub a hand across my face. “I just don’t know how to stop myself.”
He’s quiet for a long moment.
“You can’t,” he says eventually. “Not while you’re still close enough to give in. That's the part I had to learn the hard way with Bella. We were going in circles, and every time I told myself I was going to back off, I'd see her or she'd send me one text, and I'd be right back in it.” He shrugs. “Backing off when she was right there wasn't backing off. It was just waiting for the next excuse.”
I go still, because he’s just described my entire dynamic with Honey.
“So what did you do?”
“I left,” he says simply.
“You—”
“It wasn’t entirely by choice,” he mutters. “But I got on a plane, transferred to a school she wasn’t at, and stopped checking in. Gave us both time to really figure our own shit out.” He leans his elbows on his knees. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever done, and the only thing that worked.”
“How'd you know she'd come back?”
“I didn't,” he answers honestly.
I wait for him to say more, and when he doesn’t, I ask, “Is that it?”
“That’s it. I left because I couldn't be the reason she didn't live her own dream. Whether she came back wasn't up to me. That was the whole point.”
I drop my head back against the wall and close my eyes.
I need to let her go.
I need to actually get on a plane, go to Rome, and let her finish this cruise without me in her peripheral vision.
The thought has been circling for days. I've been refusing to look at it directly because looking at it directly means doing it.
“You can't force someone into position,” Drew says, quieter now. “You run the play the way it's meant to be run, you put the ball where it needs to be, and you trust they'll get there. That's the whole job. Showing up, doing your part, and trusting that when the moment comes, she'll be there to catch it.”
