Page 56 of Last Slice of Pie

I know I am the best quarterback in the league, and I hate that people have started to doubt that. It’s time for me to remind them why, up until a few weeks ago, they thought I was too. I’ve always been unyielding to social and outside pressures, and I’m not about to stop now. I’ve always followed my gut instinct, and it’s never steered me wrong. I have to listen to it; it knows what’s best.

“I thought I could, but it’s too much. I’m in over my head, and I need to focus on the game. Just the game.”

Heat flares in my veins as my blood courses through them. Endorphins are firing as I feel this sense of control I’ve been desperately trying to grasp wash over me.

She shakes her head, and a piece of her hair falls over her face. “But you are focusing on the game. I’ve watched you.” She takes a step into the room, and I lean back in my chair to put the distance back between us.

“Clearly you haven’t been watching close enough, because apparently I’m not focused, not like I should be. This”—I wave my hand back and forth between us—“it isn’t working. I feel distracted. There’s too much going on, and I need to be one hundred percent committed to this”—I point to the screen—“not this”—I point to her then back at myself.

Her head tilts slightly as she stares at me. “I see.” She stands up straighter, lengthening her spine, almost taking on a defiant pose. “Again, I have watched you, and whether you want to believe it or not, I understand what’s on the line here, Bryan. I understand what this means to you. I always have, probably more than any other person in your life.” She pauses and takes a breath to calm herself. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out what this has to do with me. Did I do something wrong? I thought . . . I thought we were in this together.”

Together. Are we in this together? If we were, she would know that right now, together means with my team. I can’t be worrying about her, her feelings, when we’re going to see each other, or how much time I’m going to have to commit. I need to commit everything I have to my team. They’ve earned this just as much as I have. For the past six years, they’ve been my family, and I owe them.

“Lexi, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what you want to hear. I feel distracted when I need to focus. You are distracting me. You’ve been distracting me and it shows. Everyone has seen it, and I can’t have them questioning and doubting how I’m going to perform. No one has ever questioned my work ethic, my dedication, or talent before. I need things to get back on track.”

She drops her head and bites her bottom lip. It rolls in between her teeth as she stares at the carpet, her chest visibly rising and falling as she’s breathing harder than normal. I expect her to fight me, to argue; that’s always been who she is. She runs off emotions, but in this moment I watch as her shoulders fall forward, and I know I need to end this.

“Look,” I say to her. She raises her eyes to meet mine, and even from across the room, I can see they are glassy. “I tried. I did. I tried to balance having a relationship with football, and it’s not working. At the end of the day, when you strip away everything, I’m just a man who has no idea what he’s doing, no idea what’s supposed to happen next, and it makes me feel out of control. I don’t know how to live life like this. I live a very structured life, and I want to live like this. It’s who I am, who I’ve always been. This is what I do. It’s what I’ve done for what feels like forever, and I love it. I love football.”

“I know you love football,” she replies firmly. “I’ve watched you love it from day one. I know who you are, and I’ve always known this. Why do you think I don’t understand? Why do you think I don’t get it?”

“You don’t get it. If you did, you wouldn’t be asking me these things. Hell, you wouldn’t even be here if you did. You make pies out of your kitchen—so simple. I have to lead an entire team, the front office, and the fans. That’s millions of people. To be this, to be me, football has to come first. Football does come first. It always has and always will. It’s the love of my life. That is what you don’t understand.”

The expression on her face drops into an unreadable mask and her lips softly close, but her eyes widen slightly as she stares at me and blinks.

Wrapping her arms around her body, she breaks eye contact and looks around my office, really studies it. I watch as she takes in the walls, which are covered with awards and articles about my career. I know she’s finally connecting all the dots. Being the greatest at what I do, it means everything to me. It’s what I strive to achieve day after day, and the only way to do this is by being alone. Maybe not forever, but definitely for now. I should tell her I’m sorry. I should tell her we can talk later. I should tell her so many things, but I don’t.

“Okay, Bryan,” she says quietly. The fight I thought I was going to get is now gone, and her glassy gaze is aimed toward the monitor on my desk.

The silence between us becomes tangible, and I feel it pushing us apart with each breath we take.

Turning, she moves to leave, but then she stops in the doorway and looks back at me one last time. More of her hair has fallen onto her face, and my heart thumps harder in my chest to the point of pain. I know this is it. Once she’s gone, that’s it. I have no idea where we’ll go from here, if anywhere.

The pools of water that have formed in her eyes slowly begin to drip down her face, and as she takes in a deep breath and whispers the words, with one little sentence, she stops my heart and slays me in two.

“For what it’s worth, you are the love of mine.”

Avocado-Pineapple Shrimp Salad

THE SUN IS brutal today as I push my sunglasses up higher on my face and pull down on my sun hat to block more of the light. It’s not hot out—in fact, it’s quite lovely—it’s just so damn bright. There’s not one cloud in the sky, and I find myself feeling slightly bitter that the world can be so happy and so beautiful while I’m sitting here feeling as if a piece of me has died and left a gaping hole inside of me. I feel hollow.

The sun hat shifts back to where it was, and I let out a deep sigh. I’m calling it a sun hat, but the way Marie had us dress for this weekend, it feels more like a Kentucky Derby hat. It’s festive and pretty, over the top. It’s too much for how I’m feeling but enough that we look great in all the photos that are being taken with us in our hats and Firefly Kitchen T-shirts.

This weekend, we’re at the annual Kumquat Festival, which is held a few towns over. It’s a festival we’ve been coming to for years, one we look forward to. With over two hundred white tent vendors, food trucks, local entertainment, and children’s activities, it’s one of the largest in the area and one of the most attended. This year, though, if I had gotten my way, I would have stayed home and Marie would have come by herself. To say the idea didn’t go over well would be an understatement, and after the holiday gift guide, the organizers have used us as a marketing selling point, so we’re front and center—not that we mind. This is huge exposure and a great way to promote local businesses and local farmers, but having to be sociable is killing me.

It’s been a week and five days since I spoke to him, twelve of the longest days in the history of mankind.

I didn’t stay at Bryan’s house the night he broke my heart. Instead, I quietly packed the few things I had brought and left. He didn’t come out of his office, didn’t even so much as mutter goodbye, and I haven’t heard from him once, not even to see if I made it home okay, which I did, though it was through an endless amount of tears.

It’s not that I expected him to call. After all, he’s made it clear what his priorities are right now, and I’m not one of them—mostly likely never will be. It’s a humbling feeling, even for the strongest person, and it’s left me feeling incredibly inadequate.

I hate that I’ve let another person have this kind of effect on me, but he wasn’t just another person; he was mine. Well, I take that back—he wasn’t mine, but I was his. I gave him everything of me I could, even when I didn’t have it to give. I thought I was being what he needed, but apparently not. He just needed me gone.

“Would you stop frowning? You’re going to scare away the customers,” Marie chastises underneath her breath while she realigns a few of our jars that have been moved from people picking them up.

We didn’t bring any pies with us today. One of the main treats to have at this festival is kumquat refrigerator pie, and it’s not one we make. So, our table is filled with our different pie fillings, a few different jams and jellies, honey, and kumquat salsa.

“I can’t. I think my face is permanently frozen this way, just like my heart.” There’s a bitterness in my tone, one that won’t seem to go away.