Page 6 of Shattered Dreams

I shake my head. “No, I’ll tell you what I need.”

The bartender drops off our beers, and I make a point of focusing on Andre.

“What’s that?” he asks, his voice dropping an octave as he sips his beer.

“Two tickets to Cirque De Soleil and for you to shut the hell up.”

Chapter Three

Andre

The weekend was fun. It’s always good to hang out with the guys, and I’m so proud of everything they’ve accomplished. Of course, being away from Rylee is never easy, but she did at least talk to me when I came home. There have been times she threw fits the entire time I was gone and refused to talk to me for days after I got back. Thank God for my mother… I don’t know of anyone else who would deal with a child acting like that. Especially for something like this—a weekend away for fun.

This isn’t for work. Not like it used to be. So I don’t have as much of an excuse to leave my daughter behind. But I was serious when I told her she could come with me the next time. I don’t know what my next trip will be, but whatever it is, I’ll make it work.

I stare at the cow that’s sitting in my suitcase. Bacon J. Ham’s new best friend. He’s cute, super soft, and very pink. A cow that produces strawberry milk, obviously. I can only imagine the name she will come up with.

“All good in the bathroom,” Paul says as he steps out in his towel. The steam from the room follows him out, and I feel the heat hit my skin.

I grab my things and head in next to jump in the shower, which I make quick. I’m exhausted and tired of being away from home. Away from my daughter. I just want to settle in a place that’s mine again. Nothing has felt like that in a long time. Even my house in California didn’t feel right because I was never home enough to feel settled, not to mention the entire thing was furnished and decorated by Victoria, which she posted about constantly; being well known for her aesthetic and design taste as an influencer. I didn’t care about countertops and wall art then. As long as I had a closet for my sneakers, I would have let my wife design us a Barbie Dream House as long as it meant she and Rylee were happy. But my life certainly didn’t turn out the way I’d planned.

It’s been almost two months. I’m learning how to live an entirely new life with a daughter who seems to want nothing to do with me anymore.

She’s always loved me. She’s always hated it when I was gone. But at least when I was gone before, she had her mother to comfort her. Now she just has mine. Her grandmother, with whom she isn’t all that well acquainted with considering they have only seen each other a handful of times before, mostly around the holidays, and even then my parents have always visited us, not the other way around.

I hate to admit it, but things were so much easier when Victoria was alive. She held us all together. The long trips and time away was manageable, because I always looked forward to coming home to see my girls. Being home was a gift.

These last few months haven’t been easy, and not just because of Rylee. I took a leave from coaching the Cougars that is slowly turning permanent. I can’t say that I care, even though I should. But nothing feels right without Victoria. Everything just… feels wrong. Even coaching. So I did the only thing I could do for me and my daughter.

Rylee and I left our house behind. Sold it for well under asking because I couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. That house was Victoria’s. She and I picked it out together, but it didn’t matter to me where we lived or how big our house was. I was just happy to be starting our family, or as Victoria called it: our fairytale.

It didn’t feel right to stay there without her. There were too many memories. Not enough memories. So now Rylee and I are here in Ohio, living with my parents, because I can’t get my shit together enough to buy a house even though there’s nothing stopping me but myself.

Maybe after I get back from this trip, Rylee and I can look at houses together. We’ll make a day out of it. I bet she would like that. She loves being involved in things.

I throw on my shorts while still in the bathroom since I don’t mind getting dressed while I’m still wet. Paul hates it, which is why we have this little routine down. He showers first, so he can get dressed in the room after he dries off, and I throw on my clothes in here. By the time I’m out, he’s clothed.

We’ve done this enough over the years that we don’t get in each other’s way. We know how to make it work. It’s almost like we’ve been doing it our whole lives, but maybe that’s because we lived together for four years in college.

Paul is already lounging in bed when I get out of the bathroom, legs crossed at the ankles, his gaze focused on the TV. The room is dark, so the shadows light up his face. I shuffle over to my side of the bed and hop on top of the blanket, just like he is.

“Not tired?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Too early.”

“What are we watching?” I ask.

“Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift.”

Why am I not surprised by that? I shake my head, but don’t say anything. I scoot down so I’m in more of a laying position rather than leaning against the headboard.

People may think it’s weird that we share a bed, but most of the time, one queen is cheaper. I’m not struggling financially, and neither is Paul, but he is more frugal than I am with certain things. And hotel rooms are one of them. He won’t let me pay, either, or else we’d be in a suite. So we just share a bed because who cares? All we do is sleep.

“I wonder how many more of these they’re going to make before they finally send Vin Diesel to space.”

Paul glares at me. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you don’t have guilty pleasures, Mr. They aren’t shoes; they’re an investment.” He scoffs.

“They are!” I shove him, and he laughs, his body leaning into my space enough that I can smell the hotel soap on him. I roll my eyes as he settles. Arguing with him isn’t going to do any good. There are worse things on television than my friend’s favorite movie. So I relent and compromise. If he gets to pick the movie, I get to pick the food.