And then she stepped into my life, all red lipstick and danger, and made me see that maybe, just maybe, there could be something else in this life to bring me some semblance of joy again.
I’ve been standing on the sidelines of my own goddamn life for too long. It’s time to take it back, and she’s the one who’s making me see that.
I walk over to the mantle where I keep the photo of my mother and me from my wedding.
I allow the memories that I’ve worked so hard to push away to rise to the surface. I think back to this exact moment. I’d just married the love of my life. We were young, only twenty-two, college graduates getting married the week after graduation—before my first season as a pro football player got underway. It was quick, but we dated all through college, and when you know, you know. Right?
I knew.
I don’t know ifsheknew.
Distance helps define things, and it’s easier to see now that she loved the idea of being a football wife more than she loved actually being one. She loved being a football girlfriend, too. Of course she did. She was a cheerleader. I was the captain of our college team. We went together like peanut butter and jelly.
Or so I thought.
I was wrong, and I didn’t find out until it was far too late, creating scars in the already broken heart that would never, ever fully heal. I’d never, ever fully trust again. Little did the man in this photo, the one dancing with his mother at his wedding reception, know. There’s so much joy in this photo.
It was before my mom’s diagnosis.
It was before I found out the truth about my wife.
It was before I knew exactly how much I lost.
It was before my first season ever started as a pro football player.
So little joy has followed the events that took place a mere month after this photo was taken. We were still newlyweds. We were still celebrating. I had to leave a few weeks later for my first training camp, and football was the only reprieve from the harrowing loss that was eating me alive.
The harrowing loss I’ve constantly lived with for a decade.
I deserve the chance to move on. I never thought I did until someone pointed out to me that maybe I’m not broken.
Maybe the one who created this mess was the one who was broken, and I was just the debris in the aftermath. One of many pieces of debris, really.
I pack for my one night out of town tomorrow.
I think about texting Everleigh. I think about asking her if she can come over.
I don’t.
I also don’t get much sleep.
When morning dawns, I get up and run on the treadmill. Since we won, we don’t have practice today or tomorrow, but Coach has sent some film for me to review. I can do it on the plane later, but I decide to do it now so I can focus on other things while I travel.
I study, analyze, and make mental notes to prepare for our home game against the Eagles this weekend—my first regular season game as the starting quarterback of the Vegas Aces.
And then it’s time to meet Everleigh.
Unfamiliar nerves dart through me. I run my sweaty palms down the front of my shorts to dry them off as I sling my overnight bag over my shoulder and my garment bag over my arm. I head out into the hallway, and I find my neighbor locking up her door, a small suitcase that’ll fit in the overhead by her feet.
“You ready for LA?” she asks.
I nod, and I find myself without words.
I hope they come because I want to tell her everything. I need to tell her like I need to breathe.
We take a car toward the airport, and before I lose my nerve, I reach over and take her hand in mine in the backseat. I lower my voice so it’s just for her, and I say, “I hated the idea of this when Ellie first mentioned it, but now I’m glad to have some time with you.”
She squeezes my hand, and she looks a little confused, like she’s not quite sure what to say.
