“Is that the only thing you heard from all of what I’ve just said? No, Dak, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“I can’t visit McCall,” I mutter softly. “I just can’t. I put him in that hospital bed. I don’t have the right.”
It would be a disaster.
“I just used that as an example and I can see it was a bad example. You don’t have to visit him, and I’m not suggesting that you do. I’m saying that the fact that you haven’t done so is out of character for you. It tells me that you are probably struggling with some strong feelings of guilt that you might want to talk about with someone who’s paid to help you deal with that kind of thing. And the bottom line, Dak, is if you want to get your next paycheck — if you want to continue to play the game you’ve been training for your entire life — then you need to go see this quack. And if none of that matters to you, remember who you do this all for.”
“Bella.”
“That’s right. Your baby’s mama is looking for any excuse to cut you out of her life and make somebody else her new daddy. Don’t give her ammunition by allowing your life to implode.”
Cap is so right.
I’ve wallowed long enough.
“I’ll call coach.”
As soon as we hang up, I wander into the kitchen and make my first protein shake of the week. I’m chugging it down as I stare at a crayon colored picture that Bella drew for me a month ago. It’s a sketch of me with messy brown hair, wearing a yellow cape, and holding the hand of a little girl with two curly ponytails.
If I’m her superhero.
I need to start acting like one.
I pick up my cell phone, blink slowly at it for a moment, then click on the name I’ve been avoiding all week in my contact list.
Coach.
katrina
“My head feelslike someone took a mallet and crushed my skull open,” I whisper to my sister Pat, through the speakerphone of my cell phone.
“Why are you whispering? I can’t hear anything you’re saying,” she replies, while her two Pomeranians bark incessantly in the background.
“I said my head feels like someone took a mallet and crushed my skull open!”
I speak to my sister Pat every morning because while we may physically be miles away from each other; she is my best friend and my only support system, especially over the last year.
“How much did you drink last night?” she asks.
“I don’t know, Pat. I wasn’t keeping track.”
“If you had to keep track, then you drank too much.”
“This from a woman who owns a bar.”
“You’re only supporting my argument. Who would know better than me about drinking problems?”
“I’m sorry, but are you a member of the fun police these days? Stop killing me vibe.”
“Nothing you’ve been doing lately has anything to do with fun or a vibe. Have you spoken to any of Aaron’s family yet?”
“No.”
“It might be a good idea, you know? You can’t go on like this forever.”
“Call them and say what?” I whisper, as I push both of my temples in with my pointer fingers, hoping to relieve the painful pressure of all the gin I consumed last night. “They don’t even know who I am.”
“You’ve got to try, Trina. Your life is a mess and you need closure.”
