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“Lead the way. We don’t have much time before you need to leave for training.” I think I’ve pushed enough for one day. I better behave myself and get this over with.
Walking into the gym, I turn on the lights and the sound system. I love this room. I’ve spent hours in here, just me and the machines. I’ve used it for so many different reasons. Fitness, strength training, to work off bad moods and frustration, lots and lots of sexual frustration.
I’m not one to love watching myself in the mirrors but they have their place. You can see your technique and make sure you aren’t going to cause yourself an injury. So, the main wall is covered with them. All the other walls are black with posters of my NFL inspirations. You can always do better than you did the day before, and you need things to remind you of that. Sasha and I both have whiteboards where we write out our workouts for the week or record results. The machines are spaced around the room and my weights bench is front and center near the mirrors. It’s like a commercial gym but in my own home. Makes it far easier to work out without any distraction.
“Impressive,” Nat says as she walks in behind me, which means a lot because she knows her way around a gym. I mean, I wish the comment was actually directed at me, but I’m not stupid enough to believe that is even a possibility right now.
I desperately need some music to distract us both. Forgetting that I usually have it loud to make me focus in here, one of my workout songs,Scars That I’m Hidingby Ashes to New,booms out of the speakers. Doubting that she wants to hear that, I open up the next playlist I use for stretching andWhat About Usby PINK comes on.
“Seriously?” Nat yells from behind me.
“Okay, no music, shall we?” I’m trying not to laugh at her.
“Good idea, and another brilliant idea is to leave all that shit from the kitchen out there. We are here to work. This right here is why I am here, nothing else.” She points her finger at my shoulder, and I get the message loud and clear. Even though it is not my main reason I want her here, she’s right. I need her help, and she’s the best chance I have at staying on the field for the rest of the season.
“Understood, and know I appreciate everything you are sacrificing to be here. Truly.”
“Well, let’s see if you’re still saying that in a few weeks’ time when you find out that I’m worse than any sadist trainer you have met so far.” Nat starts looking around at the equipment she has at her disposal.
“I don’t doubt that for a second,” I say under my breath.
“Heard that.” Of course she did.
I won’t admit it to anyone, but I think Nat can tell I’m nervous for her to look at my shoulder. I might appear like I have this under control, but under the surface, I have been anxious since the moment I felt it let go. This could have been the start of the decline in my career—or worse still, a season-ending injury that puts me on the bench and gives the rookie time to show off what he can do. That then gives the decision makers ideas that they can get the same result from a quarterback that costs less and has many years in front of him.
People imagine that being a top sportsperson is like living the dream, all you do is get to play football, travel the country, buy what you like, and attend all the high-society bashes. They’re right, but what they don’t understand is the pressure that comes with it. To continue to be at your peak, constantly at the top of your game and never making mistakes. Your body is your temple, and if you can’t keep it performing at the level expected, then the slide back down is swift and messy. No one wants an injured has-been. There are very few coaching and commentating jobs in the industry. So, you end up on the guest speaker gravy train, and that gets old really quickly.
Nat places her hands on me, but at the moment, it’s purely clinical. She’s totally immersed in her skills of testing and making notes in her phone. If I wasn’t so nervous, I would be relishing her touch, but I just want to know what she thinks about the injury.
“It’s not too bad. We can work with this. How much can you get away with taking it easy at practice before anyone asks questions?” She’s typing away frantically on her phone, not even looking at me as she’s talking.
“Maybe at eighty percent, but anything lower and I’ll have the coaching and training staff all over me. We don’t usually go full-out at training anyway. It’s more about running plays and getting combinations right for the offense squad.”
“Good, well, keep it that way.” Pushing her phone into the side pocket in her pants, her voice is in work mode. “Right, while you’re at the stadium today, I will design a training schedule and get on the internet and order a few things I need.”
“I’ll leave you my credit card.”
“Too right you will, and you’ll be lucky if I don’t go on a shopping spree after your efforts this morning.”
She thinks this worries me. All it does is make me happy that she’s joking with me again.
“Go for it, there’s no limit on the card.” She rolls her eyes at me; she knows that I trust her never to do that. We might be struggling though this sexual tension and frustration, but deep down we are friends and would never do anything to hurt the other. Well, not intentionally anyway.
The alarm on my phone starts, which means it’s time for me to leave. I wish I could stand here and continue talking but you can’t be late for training. It’s a golden rule. I live my life by alarms on my phone.
“Off you go! Don’t use me as an excuse. Plus, I have work to do.” Not even bothering to wait for my answer, she’s out of the room and on a mission to find her laptop, I’m sure. Grabbing my training bag that I always leave in here, I follow her. Reaching the kitchen, she’s already talking with the girls while I pull my shirt on that I had left hanging on the back of the couch and slip into my runners.
“I’ll be gone all morning. Just message me if you need anything. I’ll bring home some lunch.” I place my card on the table and motion to Nat that it’s there.
“See you all later.” I lift my hand up as I’m walking to the elevator.
“We will be out all day at a shoot,” Sasha yells from behind me, “and then tonight I have a show I need to attend.”
That makes me smile because it will give me more time with Nat on our own.
The ride down in the elevator has me thinking that maybe I shouldn’t wait any longer. Tonight, we should talk and lay all the cards on the table. I don’t want to waste time anymore.
Pushing the button on my key fob, the lights flash twice on my black Range Rover. I can’t see inside it the windows are tinted so dark, just the way I like them. It stops the paparazzi from being able to see in and take random shots. Throwing my bag in the back and jumping into the driver’s seat, the engine roars to life.
