I focus and go to physical therapy. I focus on us.
I stare down the barrel of a future I didn’t plan for and convince myself I’m lucky to have it.
And then, weeks before training camp, at her family’s home, she tells me she lost it.
She’s crying. Shaking. She says it happened in the night. Quiet. Unstoppable.
I hold her. I cry, too.
I tell myself it’s no one’s fault. That we’ll get through it.
That I’ll stay.
But she doesn’t cry when no one else is around. She doesn’t flinch when she’s alone.
And something starts to not add up.
Her story shifts, the timelines wobble. She slips up. Once. Twice.
And then, one night, after a fight I barely remember, she says it like it’s nothing: “There never was a baby.”
Just like that.
Flat. Cold. Clean.
I stand there, stunned, while she peels off her earrings and talks about brand potential and keeping our relationship on track like none of it was real anyway.
Like I’m the fool for thinking it was.
That night, I walk out of our penthouse and never go back.
But walking out doesn’t fix what’s already broken.
I can’t deny it any longer. My body’s shot. My name’s a punchline on sports radio. The calls stop coming. Endorsements dry up. The press moves on to the next shiny rookie. The only thing still chasing me is the pain, physical, emotional, all of it bleeding together like ink in water.
I drift through LA because it’s loud enough to drown in and anonymous enough to disappear.
I drink too much. Fight too easily. Piss off everyone who ever gave a damn.
And then one night, I end up outside a soup kitchen, soaked from the rain, reeking of bourbon and rock bottom. My knee is screaming. My head’s a warzone. I haven’t slept in two days. There’s a part of me that wonders: would anyone notice if I disappeared?
That’s when it happens.
Someone hands me a cup of coffee.
And that’s how I meet Jacques Dufort.
Retired Michelin-starred chef.
His no-nonsense attitude turned my life around, led me to The Marrow, and to Silver Peak.
And it has been my haven…
For a while.
Now, standing in my sanctuary, I realize my fists are clenched at my sides.
“You need to leave.”
