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“Can you eat breakfast?” I asked, knowing I wouldn’t keep anything down if I tried.
“Something light. And maybe some coffee. I usually run in the mornings. How about I do a mile or two and stop somewhere on the way? It will help clear my head.”
“I can go with you,” I offered, knowing I would collapse after a block but wanting to be with him.
“No, I need to get my mind right for the workout. How long will it take to drive where we’re going?”
“Twenty minutes?”
“Then I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Right,” I said, watching him go.
More time to think was the last thing I needed. So instead, I made a list of all of the things Papa and the general manager would be looking for from Claude. It was an exhaustive list. Or, more precisely, I was exhausted, and the words I wrote created a list.
Who was I kidding? This wasn’t going to distract me from anything. So instead, I sat on the couch, turned on the PlayStation, and fell asleep. I knew why I had. The couch smelled like Claude. It was like his arms were wrapped around me.
“Merri,” Claude said, waking me up. “Shouldn’t we head out?”
I looked at the clock above the TV. “We have forty minutes,” I said groggily.
“Being on time is late,” he reminded me.
Staring up at him, I liked the way he looked. I mean, I always liked the way he looked. What I meant this time was that he looked ready.
“Yeah, we should go.”
Getting dressed and driving over, I was still too tired to be stressed. But entering the stadium, it hit me. This was going to be it. In a few hours, the rest of my life would be set. Either I was going to be unemployed and Claude would again be gone from my life. Or, I would have everything I ever wanted. My chest tightened at the prospect.
“Claude!” Papa said, shaking his hand with a smile. “Do you feel ready for this?”
Claude gave Papa a million-dollar smile. “As I’ll ever be.”
“Good. I expect great things from you,” Papa said, having never said that to me.
“I’ll do my best.”
“That should be enough.”
Yep, Papa had his favorite son back. ‘Good for him,’ I thought sarcastically.
“I’ll take Claude to the field. Who’s gonna run the workout?”
“Vincent,” Papa said, giving me a nod. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I said at the same time as Claude. They both looked at me. “Oh, you meant him. Right. I didn’t get much sleep. Jetlag.”
Claude tilted his head, reminding me that Tennessee and Florida were only an hour apart.
“Follow me,” I said, escorting him to the edge of the practice field. “Vincent’s our quarterback coach. Papa runs a lot of the same plays he ran with you. Do you remember them?”
“For the most part.”
“That’ll help.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, looking at me concerned.
How was I supposed to respond? Should I tell him that, despite what I had promised myself I would do, I was practically going blind with the stress of whether or not he would leave me again?
