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I don’t know what I'm talking about. Words are shooting out of my ass that don't even make sense. The truth is, it's the only time I can contact Colin today and I need to know how his first day back at work went.
Not being there for him is killing me. The idea of him returning to the job that had him bent into a corner, throwing his head into a wall, nearly has me renting a car and driving the many miles just to get back to him. The lady from Easterseals has yet to return my call about placing Colin in a better-fitting job, if she has one available.
Katia did her best to comfort me, informing me she'd be driving there and picking him up instead of worrying about the bussing situation. She also checked to ensure the crusty cunt wasn't working his shift. Luckily, it was Byron, a young kid I'd met there before, who had always been nothing but kind to Colin.
Lake's scowl burns into me.
“I'm the only client you need to be concerned with, and I'll be on that sideline next to you.”
I swallow, peeling my eyes away from him to find the other guys at the table totally enthralled by our conversation. They're watching us like some sort of movie scene playing out, waiting to see what I'm going to say back to him. I don't want them to be offended or think I'm not serious about my job or about rooting their team on.
“Uh, yeah,” I say nervously, chewing the corner of my lip. “I'll make other arrangements. Won't miss it.”
I smile, masking the panic washing over me at my new dilemma, and the guys all look reassured.
“Good,” Julian comments, nodding. “I need to hear more about this injury Davidson Montgomery suffered last year so I can hit him where it hurts.”
“Uh, minor concussion,” I reply, remembering the stats. “So you'll have to get tricky and find a way to knock heads without a helmet-to-helmet charge.” I wink at him.
He squirms in his seat, face lighting up with the excitement of an intense athlete. “Brutal, Dyl. I love it.”
Metal screeches behind me again, and it sounds like the bar on the top of the chair is about to snap in half.
I hate that the twisted, screaming sound of metal about to break causes a certain feeling in the pit of my stomach.
A feeling that has severe consequences if acted upon.
A feeling that's slowly but surely rendering me weaker by the day.
18
Lake
I'mback.
Not really. No, I'm still on the island of misfit toys, but I'm finally back in the middle of the action, and it's never felt more like home.
Lights flashing, the crowd roaring, the excitement of an aggressive, manly sport in the air. It's Monday Night football in full blast, and men and women across the globe are drooling at the chance to see bodies crash into each other in the historic dance we call American Football.
The boys and I rush the field from the lockers after one hell of a pep talk from Coach. Alright, they rushed the field; I hobbled. Coming out dressed in casual Bears gear is a new look for me, and I'd be lying if I said I felt comfortable.
I was itching to suit up. Itching to get that ball in my hands. Itching to run through defenders like nothing was stopping me. But there was something stopping me, and my first game back after the injury truly reminded me of that.
Not going to lie, I'm feeling the weight of regret and failure. Maybe if I'd taken the other route, I'd still be out there, raking in the publicity, seeing my name in headlines praising my increasing legendary yardage instead of the constant talk about the fallen King. Lucky for me, Dylan ditched whatever stupid idea she'd tried to come up with to miss this and walked out onto this field by my side.
Does she realize how lucky she is to be here? Under the lights, amid the magic of the game? Nothing could or would matter more than this. She was crazy, talking about her other “clients” as if they meant more than the chance to sit on the sidelines withtheChicago Bears.
It made me pause, however, wondering if something or someone was still controlling her. The thought alone frustrated me. I stared at her under the bright lights of the stadium as she bit the corner of her lip, looking up and down the field, peeping cameras left, right, and behind her. She seemed anxious, and I hoped it was only the magnitude of the surroundings that made her feel indifferent to the experience.
“Hey,” I call out to her, gaining her attention as we walk towards the sidelines where the players warm up.
She looks good in her new Chicago Bears zip-up jacket and matching sweatpants. Her navy blue hat is pulled down over her forehead so only the glow of her amber eyes shines through, while her ponytail fits through the back of it. I like this look on her. Effortless, yet somehow sexy.
It's the blue and orange. It looks good on everyone.
“You alright?” I ask humorously, watching her wild eyes take in the stadium around us.
“I'm great!” she responds over the roar of screaming fans. “This is...insane!” She chuckles softly as she continues to take it all in.
