Or am I just seeing what I want to see?
I drive to the training facility with her voice echoing in my head.Stay out of my way, Griffin.Like it would be that easy. Like I could be in the same city as her and not think about her every second of every day.
I’ve tried that. For five years, I tried to forget her. I threw myself into football, into training, into anything that might fill the Jess-shaped hole in my chest.
Nothing worked.
An hour later, I’m sitting in the Southern Knights’ training facility waiting to head inside. I still smell like coffee and regret. The clean shirt doesn’t help. The scent of her anger clings to me like a brand.
My phone buzzes and I welcome the distraction. I dig it out of my pocket to find a text from Landon Maddox. He’s the team’s tight end, my oldest friend on the roster, and exactly the person I don’t want to hear from right now.
Landon:Saw the video with the coffee. It’s a good look.
Me:Not now, asshole.
Landon:Already at 50k views. The comments are brutal.
Me:Dammit dude, I knew I didn’t want to talk to you right now.
Landon:Also Coach wants to see you before you head in. Something about your PT assignment.
CHAPTER 3
GRIFFIN
I shovemy phone in my pocket and head to Coach Andrews’ office, trying not to limp too obviously. My knee is worse today than usual. It could have been the fall, but if I had to guess, it’s more likely the stress. Seeing Jess again was an emotional gut-punch. The way my body moved without thinking when I reached for her, like muscle memory. It’s like the last five years never happened. But I don’t have time to think about it. Not right now. Right now I’ve got to push Jess out of my head because everything is on the line.
By the time I push through his door, I’m gritting my teeth against the pain.
Coach looks up from his desk. He’s a weathered man in his sixties, though he hasn’t changed a bit over the years. His face is like worn leather and his beady eyes miss nothing. The dude doesn’t suffer fools, never has.
“Callahan. Sit.”
“What’s up Coach?” I ease into the chair across from his desk.
He continues, “I’ve got news. We found you the best sports therapist in the state. Maybe even in the whole Southeast. Her ACL recovery program has a ninety-five percent success rate. Players have come back from injuries worse than yours. Had tomove hell and earth to get you in, but her team’s added you to their client list.”
I exhale. Finally, a win. “That’s fantastic. Thank you, it’s the best news I’ve heard all day. When can I start? I’m ready to put in the time.”
“Calm down, there ain’t nothing fast about this recovery.” He slides a folder across the desk. “You’d better get used to the idea that these things take time.”
I open the folder. A wave of emotion washes over me. Excited isn’t the right word for it, but a flicker of hope bubbles up low in me for the first time in a long time. Having the right medical team behind me is a step in the right direction. It means I have a chance at fixing my life, or at least my career. It’s about time something goes my way, and this could be the fresh start I’ve been searching for.
My eyes roam the folder’s contents.
Then my heart stops.
Jessica Hartwell, PT, DPT, OCS. Founder and lead therapist at Hartwell Sports Medicine.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Her professional headshot stares up at me. She’s smiling in it. It’s that warm, genuine smile I used to wake up to every morning. Her hair is pulled back. The look is professional, but I remember exactly how that hair looked spread across my pillow. How the floral scent of her shampoo lingered on my sheets. How she’d laugh when I pulled her against my chest and refused to let her get out of bed. I remember the way she’d trace her fingers across my chest while we talked about nothing and everything. It was back when she looked at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered.
I close my eyes.
Coach leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head. “Nothing but the best around here, as you requested.”
“I didn’t request her.”Because why would I when this is going to be fucking torture?
