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I slink into the elevator and thankfully it closes before anyone can enter. I lean against the wall, watching the number go up, hating the peppy music they play in the background. Honestly, I feel like I hate everything these days. The doors open with a ding and I stalk into the hallway and toward my room, my stomach churning with the fact I will have to play tomorrow. The realization just hit me and my jaw clenches as I try to push that thought away.
This is what you wanted,I tell myself as I press my keycard against my door and shove it open once I hear the annoying little beep it makes.
I drop my bag on the floor as soon as the door closes and kick my shoes off. The room is big as far as hotel rooms go, with a nice view of the city. Indianapolis is definitely not Chicago, but the city is still nice. I pad toward the mini fridge underneath the desk positioned beneath the flat-screen TV. I open it, scowling at the contents. Only water and an assortment of soda greet my gaze.
I told the receptionist to take out the liquor,I remind myself while slamming the door closed, feeling both guilty and angry. It’s days like today when I want a drink the most and the need has been rising more and more ever since I left my friends behind, ever since I left my support group. Maybe I should join an Alcoholics Anonymous group, but, once again, I’m worried some reporter will find out, and then I’d have to have an awkward conversation with my team. It’s better to keep with my video chat dates with Dr. Forrester.
As if on cue, I hear my laptop dinging from the desk and rush toward it, seeing that Dr. Forrester is trying to call me. I frown and look at the time, seeing that it’s a quarter after nine. I don’t remember having an appointment with her, but these days everything seems to blur together.
I stab my finger on the enter key and watch the dark fade into her image. “Hunter?” she says with a frown. “Did I interrupt anything?”
“No, no,” I say while grabbing a seat and sitting down at the desk, feeling sheepish. We totally had an appointment. I completely forgot. I should really start writing things down. “Sorry, I just got home.”
“You’re fine. Only fifteen minutes late.”
I grimace. Yep, I really need to start writing things down. “I’m so sorry.”
“How have things been, Hunter?”
Straight to the point, I see. Well, I feel like absolute shit. I have no friends and I miss my girlfriend, who I rarely speak with given my schedule is so fucking busy, and all I want to do is drink to make myself feel better.
“I’ve been busy,” I say while forcing a smile, hoping I come off normal.
“Busy? Well, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
I nod, because it’s the only thing I can do. I don’t want her to think I’m doing terribly. I don’t know why. Lying won’t fix my problems, but I’m embarrassed. I’ve wanted to be in the NFL ever since I was a kid. Now that I’ve achieved my goal, I hate everything around me. I hate Brody. I hate my schedule. I hate flying all over the place. I hate living out of a hotel room where I have to tell the receptionists to take out all the liquor so that I remain sober. I hate feeling like I’m being watched all the fucking time.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Have you been keeping up with your exercises?”
You mean doing yoga every day, writing down my goals, and saying positive things about myself while looking in the mirror? Nope. Not at all. I’ve completely derailed.
“Yep,” I say, my forced smile growing bigger and making my face sting.
Dr. Forrester leans into the screen, her mouth set in a deep frown. “Is there anything you would like to talk about today, Hunter? You seem a bit—”
Off?
“Tired.”
I nod. “Yeah, things have been crazy here,” I say with a chuckle. I push my hair away from my face, playing with the ends while adding, “I’ve been a bit lonely.”
Now that I can definitely talk about.
“It’s been a bit hard, making friends, I mean.”
Dr. Forrester nods. “Yes, that’s normal. Everyone goes through this when they get out into the real world. College is like a little friendly bubble and once you leave the bubble, it can get hard to create a circle of trust. Especially since you had such a great support system while you were attending Aurora.”
“Yeah,” I say uneasily. “Everyone wants to go to the bar and drink. I don’t really trust myself, yet. I’m worried I might fall off the wagon.”
“Yes, I agree that you shouldn’t be going anywhere there’s alcohol. But why don’t you try suggesting places? Why don’t you invite your teammates out for coffee or a hiking trip? I’m sure you’ll find at least one person who will be interested.”
I wrinkle my nose. Somehow, imagining Brody and his asshole groupies at a cute little café is impossible. And I can just hear him on the hiking trip, shouting at the top of his lungs, “And you should have seen that bitch! She squirted all over my sheets. I made that bitch clean it up before kicking her fat ass out.”
Ugh. No.
But Adrien might be interested. Not in the cute little café. I can’t imagine that, but he might be interested in hiking. My head bobs up and down, the gears in my tiny little brain already moving, and for the first time in several weeks, I feel a little ping of hope swell within me.
