He elaborates on the temptation of the opioids he was taking for pain management. How they numbed his emotional pain. How it got easier and easier to rely on them. How it seemed easier to numb the physical pain than to do the actual work of physical therapy. He tells them that by the time you realize your decision was bad, you might already be trapped. I swipe a tearoff my cheek, grateful he hasn’t looked up here, even though I told him right where I would be if he needed to see me to ground himself. All the while, he paces slowly back and forth across the stage, one hand tucked in his pocket, in front of a sea of silence as though he’s a natural. Should I have expected anything less from Chris when he puts his mind to something?
“When you head out for the holidays, and even when you come back, I hope you can take something from this throughout the rest of your time here because you’ve got your whole lives ahead of you. There will be days, weeks, or months, even, when you might feel like no one understands you or what you’re going through. There will be times you won’t think you’re enough for yourself, your family, or maybe a special someone.”
My breath catches when he pauses and searches the back of the room until his eyes land on me. He flashes me a sympathetic smile that heals an old wound I didn’t know was still there.
“Or your introduction to a bad decision might just look like celebrating when you feel so good you think you’re invincible. But we aren’t,” he affirms with finality.
“I could have made this university very proud once, but a bad decision found me, and I took it. I was on top of the world, living a life some people only dream of living for a twenty-three-year-old. That party I told you about? The one where I was at a mansion, surrounded by celebrities and women throwing themselves at me before I got in my car—a car that would take me twenty years to afford now. I wasn’t happy. I was miserable, in fact. I’d never felt so alone or trapped in my life. And the pressure I thought I’d overcome by finally making it seemed like it had just been reset, knowing I’d have to keep being the best every single day on the field after that. All I wanted was someone to talk to and maybe a hand to hold, not champagne, money, fancy cars, or a Super Bowl ring. The hand I wanted to hold belonged to another student here at Cameron U.” He pauses,and I don’t know how I’m still standing. “Because there are a lot of happy times you’re going to have here, too. Some of the best times of your life. But back then, I was so conflicted, thinking there was no way I’d be able to hold his hand and be allowed to play on national television. Walking away from him was actually my first bad decision and cost me more than I can ever explain.”
A few whispers float over the audience. Chris runs his hand over the top of his head and clears his throat. God, I just want to run to him and tell him he’s done enough.
“I didn’t know if the team would drop me, if my family would look at me the same way. If anyone would. I was scared and overwhelmed by expectations I didn’t think I had control over. So, I got in my car and drove as fast as I could, chasing that feeling of invincibility, to let life know that it couldn’t break me. Just so I could feel like I was in control of something for a few minutes.”
He finally comes to a stop, squaring off with the audience. He shakes his head.
“Life doesn’t break you. But your bad decisions can feel like they do for a long time. So, when you’re out there, think about what it is that you really want. Think about what you want your life to look like when you’re faced with drugs, alcohol, or feeling like you don’t belong here. They’re not decisions; they’re just temptations. Sayingyesto them is the bad decision. Don’t let them win, or you might never know how great you really could have had it after you overcame your struggles on your own. Because they’re sure as shit not going to help you.”
I hiccup out a laugh that they got a glimpse of the full Chris. Only one expletive is impressive. He thanks them and waits for the dean to walk over to retrieve the mic. She doesn’t let him sneak away, though. The attendees are all on their feet, applauding, a thunderous sound.
Trembling with anticipation, I push out the door, the noise erupting with me out into the hallway. My pulse is pumping with every step down the side corridor that leads to the back of the auditorium, where I told him I’d meet him.
It’s my turn to pace now, anxiously walking in circles as I wait for him to appear. Each time the door swings open and a staff member comes out, my heart jumps into my throat.
Finally, the hinges creak again, and out walks Chris. His complexion is pale, his eyes searching until they land on me. He looks like he just came from a bomb blast.
I smile encouragingly and open my arms as he lumbers over. He buries his face against my neck and grabs onto me like he’s about to collapse. His chest pushes against mine, a heavy exhale ghosting against my skin.
“Hey,” I coo, rubbing his back.
“How awful was it?” he mumbles against my shoulder.
“Awful? Chris, I’m not letting you go because every man and woman in there probably wants your phone number right now.”
My flattery earns me a scoff against the seam of my sweatshirt. I practically have to pry him off me just to get enough space so I can cradle his face and force him to look at me. I’ve never seen a more pitiful and yet endearing sight.
“I’m serious. You were fantastic. You were…you.” I wish there were better words to reassure him, but that seems appropriate. I suck in a breath, trying to hold my tears at bay. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
He searches my watery eyes, shaking his head. “How?”
“Because I could never do what you’ve done.”
I want to rattle that skeptical look off his face. Brushing my thumb against his cheek, I shake my head, insisting, “Icouldn’t.”
He sighs, giving up arguing with me, and chews on his lip. I wish he’d been in that audience so he could have seen and heard himself. My big man with his big feelings.
Running my hands down his arms, the smooth fabric of his dress shirt feels damp in places. Someone was clearly sweating himself into a tizzy. I lace my fingers through his, realizing I have one other idea on how to boost his spirits.
“Listen, I need to ask you something…”
That gets him to lift his head. The wariness in his features tugs at my heart. I remember how vulnerable he looked last week when he told me he wished for me to look at him like he deserves me. Each time I look at him, I ask myself what I did to deserve him, and I think now is a good time to reassure him.
“I was wondering if it’s okay that I’m in love with you?”
His mouth falls open, and he blinks several times, looking at me like I’m not real again. God, could I have ever asked for more love than that?
His features crumple suddenly, scaring me into thinking I said something wrong. Then, he yanks me against him, crushing me in his arms, and sputters.
“Thank you,” he heaves against my neck like the words freed him from a prison. I’m jostled, and he pulls back, cupping my face with tears in his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers again, kissing me. His mouth moves to my cheek, but doesn’t stop there, peppering little kisses all over my face. “I’m going to make sure I deserve it every single day.”
