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I frown. “I’m sorry.”
We start back through the park, and after a few minutes of silence I ask, “Are you happy?”
“Yeah,” he answers immediately, looking at me like I’m crazy for thinking he’s not.
“I don’t mean in general,” I clarify as we walk, waving my hands wildly like that will help drive home my point. “But working there—architecture, does it make you happy?”
A shadow passes over his face. “Yes,” he answers, but it sounds robotic, and I don’t believe him for a second.
It was only minutes ago that he told me I should do something that makes me happy, yet I can tell this doesn’t make him happy.
Are we all fools to think there really is such a thing as true happiness in this world?
Or are we all destined to live a lie spun of our own delusions?
I walk off the field, sweat beading on my face. I’m exhausted. I thought college ball was bad but it has nothing on the pros. It’s absolutely grueling and yet, I love it.
My practice schedule makes working for my dad difficult but not impossible. I know my life would be
a hell of a lot easier if I would tell him and quit so I could focus on football completely, but for right now I want to keep this to myself for as long as I can. It’s difficult, considering there’s a lot of people out there who know I’m on the team—and this is my home state, which increases the odds of someone recognizing me. My college coach and teammates all know—all except Cade. I know Cade won’t understand when I tell him—which I will, I’ll tell them all—but I hope he’ll be able to forgive me since we’ve been friends since we were in diapers. Although, I conveniently forget that I married his sister—yeah, after he finds out about that and coupled with this … I might lose my best friend.
A sharp pang pierces my chest as I head for the showers.
I remind myself that even if he gets pissed—which he will—he’s a pretty chill guy and he’ll eventually come around. Unfortunately, I’ll probably have to let him punch me before he feels better.
I finish my shower, change my clothes, say my goodbyes to a few of the guys, and head out. I’m exhausted and my body aches all over. All I want to do is get home and tumble face first into bed.
I yawn as I head to my bike with my gym bag slung over my shoulder.
Bed.
I am going home and going to bed.
Forget dinner. All I need is sleep.
Unfortunately, I’m going to hit peak traffic time, which means the normal forty-five-minute ride home will be closer to an hour and a half.
I fix my bag onto the bike, slip on my jacket and helmet, and get out of there.
An hour into my drive, I watch, stunned as the fluffiest dog I’ve ever seen darts out into the road and into traffic. I slam on my brakes and the car behind me honks its horn. The car in the lane beside me doesn’t see the dog in time and hits it.
Time seems to stop.
My bike passes the dog, lying there on the ground, and I see the blood matting its fur, and something inside me breaks. I can’t leave this dog here to die alone. I veer off the road and park on the side. People honk at me as I run across traffic to get to the dog but I don’t give a fuck; I’m not leaving it there.
I pick the dog up in my arms and carry her over to the side by my bike. She looks up at me with big, pleading, brown eyes and her breath is labored. “I’m going to help you,” I tell her, and she blinks like she understands.
I fish around in my bag for my phone and call the most recent contact.
“Hello?” Thea picks up.
“Thea,” my voice cracks.
“Xander?” She sounds worried. “Where are you? Are you okay? Oh, God, please tell me you haven’t been in an accident.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “But there’s this dog, it got hit by a car and-and I can’t leave her here to die, I need to get her to a vet. I can’t take her on my bike, though. I need you to come to me.”
“I don’t have a car,” she reminds me.
