“Hey, man, I think you have the wrong idea. I wasn’t doing anything.” His words are hurried.
“Your camera was angled up and pointed at two women ten yards away from you. The game is in the opposite direction. Let’s remember why you’re here, shall we?” I gesture toward the field.
Men who don’t respect women are the most despicable fuckers on earth. It really makes me want to take a fist to his face, but I know that isn’t the answer, so I land on a different kind of blow.
“I hope you enjoyed the first half, buddy. You won’t be around for the second.” I sneer at him, walking away. I’m just steps away from Demi and Abby now.
“Whatwas that?” Abby charges me, all five foot seven of her, and I peer down.
“Me saving your husband and brother from a suspension and a fine at the least. Charges at most. You’re welcome.”
My hands grip the sides of Abby’s arms lightly and I kiss the top of her head as I pivot past. Demi doesn’t say anything to me, but she watches me as I walk by, and I don’t miss the subtle nod and faint smile she hands me as I do.
I can bounce back from a bad call, a bad mood, or even a bad day pretty quickly. I think it’s part of some coping mechanism I learned as a kid. Letting myself sit in any kind of emotion was frowned upon—heavily. Even with success, when I’d win games or have a great day on the field, I was always told not to linger in the moments.
The text from my dad has sat unanswered for days now.
Dad
If you think another passer rating like last year is going to get you where you want to be, you’ve got another thing coming. Work harder, Liam.
My dad has no fucking idea the personal work I’ve been doing in the last few years to undo all the terrible shit he made me believe growing up. Now I try really hard to allow myself space for the emotions I feel. I still can bounce back and turn things around quickly, but if something upsets me, I’m learning to let myself understand the emotion instead of just tucking it away like it doesn’t belong. Because what I feel is valid, even if I was raised to think the opposite.
I rarely complained as a kid, mostly because I knew that I was more fortunate than most. We had a nice home, fancy cars, any kind of toy we wanted, and the best resources at our fingertips. That’s the shit I used to think meant you were rich.
Now, as an adult, I realize how little a fancy house and car mean.
There was no compassion in my home. No love, aside from the conditional type. Landyn would’ve been my dad’s pride and joy on the football field if he hadn’t broken his collarbone in high school. After that, my dad focused all his energy on me. For a while I resented my brother for it, but it wasn’t his fault our dad was a fucking dick.
Any time I feel aggression over something, the years of frustration toward him come up too. It’s like I want something else to be able to blame an outburst on, when in reality it’s just thirty years of a shitty parent who needs the blame.
The bullshit at the game last night has been bothering me since. I just can’t fucking believe there are men out there like that. I didn’t hesitate in making sure that jerk lost his access, andI made a strong case for why he should lose his right to cameras too.
This morning, it’s just me and Birdie. Just the two of us on the couch as the sun comes up and I sip my coffee. No television, no music, no Walt. She’s purring as she lies on my abdomen, and I can feel the tickle of her whisker when she twitches.
I place my coffee on the end table to my right as I rub the back of her head by her ears. Somehow this little thing has weaseled her way right into my heart. She’s like a comfort I never saw coming, but now feel so damn thankful to have.
My phone vibrates on the cushion beside me, and I glance at the screen only to be shocked by the name that pops up. Especially at seven in the morning.
Girl of my dreams
I don’t know if this is appropriate or not, but I feel the need to thank you for last night. You didn’t have to say anything, but you did and I appreciate it.
Little does this woman know, I’d do absolutely anything for her.
I’ve reread my text to Liam six times in the last minute since I sent it. Should I have even sent it? Why the hell did I? I shouldn’t actually want to talk to this man outside of my work requirements, yet here I am up for an hour contemplating whether or not to send it before I just said fuck it.
Something tells me, though, that Liam would’ve done that for anyone, it just happened to be me and one of his closest friends.
Hotshot Quarterback
I just did what any gentleman should. No need to thank me, but come to think of it, I do enjoy cake.
I roll my eyes at his name coming up as Hotshot Quarterback. I should change it to his name, or something a little less ego boosting for him.
your nutrition plan calls for cake?
Hotshot Quarterback
