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“Drop him off, and then head our way. In the meantime, aside from breathing crap, what should I do?”
“Breathing first and foremost.” I walk her through some techniques. “Second, find any position that gives you relief. I need fifteen minutes.”
“Don’t get all chatty with Pop. I love that man… More than my own dad, for sure. But I need you.”
I haven’t felt this loved in a long, long time.
“I won’t. And fifteen minutes or less… I say that because sex would be the best thing you could do for your muscles right now.”
“Oh, hell no.”
I laugh under my breath. “Okay then… So it’s painful but not so much that it’s worth some relief?”
“Dammit, Livy. Okay… Make it twenty minutes then.” She clicks off, but I can hear Exton say “What did she say?” before it disconnects.
I bought myself some time with that. And since I’m nearly that far from the ranch, I’m patting myself on the back. I have time. I don’t need to rush. I’m not going to miss Layton.
I’m excited about Kimpton’s arrival, but I get to see Layton today.
Finally!
FORTY-SEVEN
A FUCKING LOT
LAYTON
I’ve lost track of the days again. The last time was because I didn’t care. This time is because I’m so fucking focused that it doesn’t matter what day it is.
Last time was vacation. This time feels like two-a-days. My body would swear it’s four-a-days.
And it might as well be. Therapy. Quiet time. Physical therapy. Group time. Exercise. More therapy. More quiet time.
Never in my life have I spent so much time thinking about what I need to be thinking about. I’m about two days away from becoming a Sherpa.
Not really. I think about my mom, Pop and the ranch, my brothers and sister. I think about the NFL and everything I did to get there.
Every sacrifice.
Every clinic.
Every sore muscle.
Every early morning gym session.
I think about losing it all.
I think about reconnecting with George. A man I assumed would take care of me in a manner he had neither the means nor motive to do. A friend who didn’t help me become the worst version of myself. But at my worst, he gripped my hand and asked how he could help. And then did it.
I think about my teammates. Whether Reed’s wife had the baby, and if it was a boy or girl? It’s been long enough, I think. I think about a night out with Mattis, Marshall, and Carlson, just catching up and hearing how they’re doing.
But mostly, I think about Livy. Livy who knew me during my hype, during the NFL days, during the pinnacle of my success, but who really wants to know me now.
A woman who didn’t care that I wore a jersey except that she wanted me to be healthy and even offered to help make me faster and stronger.
A woman who hasn’t asked about my money. Who, when I brought up the topic, flung sand and indignation in my face. Who is the polar opposite of what Bright assumed.
I think about heading to Florida and walking on the beach hand in hand with her and learning why she painted her house pink.
