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“That’s the way you do it!” he yells, congratulating me. “You did what they said you couldn’t. You made it back in eight. Proud of you, son.”
I plop down on the bench, catching my breath as I grab a water bottle from one of the staff members. I turn my head to look behind me, scanning the sidelines for her. But as usual, there’s no sign of her. She told me she’d take the job; promised me she would.
It’s been three weeks since the night I left her parking lot, feeling the lowest I’ve ever felt.
Three weeks since I’ve heard her sweet voice in my ears.
And three weeks since I declared myself the biggest coward in the history of cowards. I’m here because of her. I began this journey back to the field for my love of one woman and have made it here because of the love of two.
Days turned into weeks after I left her, as I put my focus on myself and getting back to the game. Getting back into the swing of football has been overwhelming, to say the least. It’s helped to keep my mind occupied and my body releasing that anger over circumstances out of my control. But those nights when I’m alone at home...it’s those nights that eat me alive.
Thoughts of her plague my mind any chance I get a second to think. She’s always present, setting up permanent camp in my continuous cycle of thoughts. During any achievement, any moment of excitement, and especially those dark times filled with unexplainable pain from the holes that will never fill again, I think of her. She’s there like a disease that’s seeped deep into the depth of my marrow. A part of me I can no longer remove. She’s in my veins, the only thing still keeping me somewhat alive inside.
I’ve resorted to stalking on social media again. Kind of hard when she never actually accepted my friend request. She changed her picture a few times, though. One was a picture of them smiling as Colin leaned over his kettle car with a shocked face. They must’ve bought one together. The presence of a man’s arms in the background, holding the edge of the car, had filled me with a rage I couldn’t own. I pummeled a few men into the dirt during practice that week.
The new picture she changed to about a week and a half ago is one of her and Colin, facing the camera this time. They must’ve been at a birthday party because of the cone-shaped party hat Colin was wearing and the balloons in the background. They look so happy. She looks happy.
Maybe what we had wasn’t meant to turn into anything more than a fling. Maybe sometimes, people come into our lives at the right time to teach us lessons. To be there for an infinitesimal moment when you truly crave that companionship and those words that can get you through your darkest hours. Perhaps I need to just be thankful I had both of them there when I needed it most. They got me through the hardest, most heartbreaking moment in my life with words I still hold dear to me. I’ll forever be grateful to both of them for that.
Life isn’t the same for me. The things that used to matter just don’t seem to matter the way they did before everything changed. I ache for those deep connections rather than the superficial shit I’m always surrounded with. The press, the fans, the awaiting women with hopes to score a night with a famous athlete. It’s all a circus of fake nothingness. I just want to feel again. I’ve walked away from the only family that wasn’t family. We might not have been blood, but we connected in ways that changed my outlook on life forever, and I let it all go.
The following week, my alarm goes off at the crack of dawn. I gather myself, getting everything ready for another big home game. I stop by the large window of my condo, gazing out into the surrounding city. Another day. Another dollar. More wasted time. Peering at the fireplace mantel, I make my way over to the picture of my mother and I. I don’t want to disappoint her. I want nothing more than to live for her. For her to be proud of who I’ve become, who she’s created. The man with nothing but love and dedication instilled into me through her selflessness.
But it wasn’t just football and success she wanted for me. It was love. Real selfless love.
I had it. And by focusing on all the wrong things, I lost it. By thinking Dylan would walk away from me, I left her, telling myself it was for her own good. Now it’s too late, and it tarnished the relationship I had with Colin beyond repair.
With a clouded head of emotions, I work towards channeling that energy into my game as I always do and head out of my condo to make it to the locker rooms before the press makes their appearance. It’s my second home game, and I’m back to being the talk of the town. Everyone clawing at me for a few words, a picture—anything. Getting into my truck, I push to start it up.
Only to hear it click over.
“What the fuck?” I murmur, trying it again.
But it doesn’t start.
“Fuck!” I hit my hands on the steering wheel.
With a heavy sigh, I get out of the truck, slamming the door in the process. Lifting the hood to look at the engine, I scour everything until my eyes fall upon a gaping hole.
My car battery.
It’s gone.
“This is a secure underground parking garage!” I yell out to no one at all.
“Shoulda got the Tundra.” I hear behind me.
Spinning my head, I turn to see the last person I ever suspected.
“Colin?” My jaw practically drops to the cement floor beneath me. “W-what are you doing here?! W-where’s Dylan?”
He doesn’t answer me as he continues to walk down the alley of parked cars towards me, gripping the straps of a backpack and shuffling in his shoes as he approaches.
“How did you get in here?” I ask.
He doesn’t make eye contact as he approaches, just stares at my truck with the hood up. “I told the lady you were my Special Olympics coach,” he says, looking at my engine as his fingers twist and untwist before him. “Told her you were coach. Told her, and she believed me. People love people like me.”
A scoff of disbelief leaves me.
