* * *
A pounding on my door stirred me from sleep. I rolled over, placing a pillow over my head to stop the noise.
Thankfully, my pillow no longer smelled of Scarlet's wonderful peach scent. I'd gotten home the night of the New Year's Eve party and immediately washed my sheets, not wanting the reminder of her.
The pounding finally stopped, and I hunkered down further into my bed.
Soon my bedroom door flew open, smacking against the wall. My eyes flew open, and standing in my doorway was Slate, his head barely fitting in the frame.
"Dude, I've texted you, called you, but nothing. You're making me feel like a rejected one-night stand." He stepped farther in the room. "I thought we had such a good time, Rush," he said in a high-pitched voice. "Why won't you call me back, Rush?"
"Shut up." I threw my pillow at him.
He caught the pillow and laughed.
"It reeks in here," he continued. "Have you not showered in the last two weeks? Did you know that you've been holed up in your apartment for that many days? It’s been way too long since I’ve seen your ugly mug. I tried giving you some space, giving you time to dwell on your life choices, but it's time to be done with that."
It had technically been sixteen days, but who was counting? Oh, that's right, I was. Every day was a reminder of how much I'd screwed up my life.
"Why do you get to decide that?" I asked. "I'm perfectly fine staying in this bed. Why does it matter if I go to class or not? Without my football scholarship, I'll no longer be able to afford to go to college." I continued to lay in my bed, not making an effort to move. "Close the door on your way out." I rolled over but realized he didn't have a key to get into my apartment. Rolling back over to face him I said, "Wait, how did you get in here?"
"I may have broken your door handle. Sorry about that." He shrugged, obviously not really sorry at all.
I rolled my eyes at him. "You're paying to fix it."
"Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever you say." He threw the covers off me and onto the floor. "But right now, we're going to go to the gym."
"You know I'm not allowed to workout with the team anymore."
"We won't be working out with the team," he explained. "It will just be you, me, and Wilder. You need to get your ass up and moving. We need you ready for football season, and you sleeping your life away isn't going to help us."
"Coach probably won't even let me back on the team even if I do stay away from her."
I couldn't even say her name. That's how pathetic I was. I missed her so much, my body physically ached. A part of the reason I'd stayed cooped up in my apartment was because I didn't know if I could see her and not go to her. She'd always had a way of drawing me in, ever since the first moment I had seen her.
"You're the best wide receiver we have and score most of our touchdowns," he said. "Trust me, Coach is going to let you back on the team. He can't afford to lose any games. He's just making a point and using you as an example."
"And how do you know all this?" I questioned.
He looked at me like I was dumb. "Because I'm smart. Now get up and let's get going."
"I don't want to," I argued. I wanted to stay in bed and drown in self-pity.
"Look," he said, his face growing serious. "You helped me the night of the party, and I appreciated it. I'm not a stranger to not wanting to get out of bed because you feel like shit and that your life isn't worth living. You have to take things one day at a time, focusing on something that's important to you, something that can push other thoughts away. And football is something that you love that takes up a lot of time and demands a lot of your attention."
His words sunk in, having the desired effect.
I could take things a day at a time, doing things that took my mind off the things I didn't want to think about. Slate had chosen to fill the void with football and women. I had no desire to be with any women, but I could focus on football. Working out and taking care of my body to get it ready for the season were things I knew how to do. It would help me—hopefully—achieve something in my life that I wanted.
I didn't say anything, but slowly I dragged my legs off the bed and stood up, walking to the bathroom to get ready.
I barely recognized myself as I looked in the mirror. I hadn't shaved this whole time, my eyes had dark circles under them despite how much I'd slept, my cheeks looked gaunt, and I'd lost more weight than I realized.
I took a quick shower, shaved, got dressed in some workout clothes, and followed Slate out of my apartment.
Slate and Wilder killed me in the gym, pushing me harder than usual. Sweat dripped down my face and I breathed heavily, feeling the gap in my fitness level from not having worked out for over two weeks. I needed it. It felt good to be out and moving my body.
I sat up after my last set of bench presses and toweled off my face and the back of my neck. In the mirror on the wall, I caught sight of someone with curly hair walking toward the treadmills. We were working out at the campus gym instead of the gym for football players since I wasn't allowed in there. I should have known there would be the possibility of running into Scarlet here. Had Slate and Wilder known she would be here?
