The apartment was too quiet.
I'd turned off the TV an hour ago after catching my face on SportsCenter again. They were doing a whole segment:"Easton Henley: Talented Player or Ticking Time Bomb?"
Complete with a montage of my greatesthits.
The reporter incident, a stick-throwing tantrum from two seasons ago, a shoving match with a ref.
My father would have loved it. Proof that I was exactly what he'd always said.
A screw-up with a temper who'd waste his talent.
The bottle of whiskey sat on my kitchen counter where I'd left it last night, still sealed.
Jack Daniels.
My father's drink of choice.
I'd bought it three days ago in a moment of weakness. I stood in the liquor store for twenty minutes debating, then walked out with it.
I hadn't opened it. But I hadn't thrown it away either.
Now, I stood in my kitchen, staring at the bottle like it was a loaded gun.
Six months ago, I would've drained half of it by now. Would've sat on this couch and let the burn drown out the voice in my head that sounded exactly like my father.
"You're blowing it, just like I knew you would. All that talent wasted on someone who can't control himself."
My hand reached for the bottle. Felt its weight, solid and familiar.
One drink.
Just one to take the edge off, to silence the replay of Coach Martin's words.
"Get your anger under control, or you're done."
My phone lit up on the counter next to the bottle. A text from Dr. Reyes: How are you doing tonight? Remember our breathing exercises.
I stared at the message. Then at the bottle. Then back at the message.
Fuck.
I picked up the bottle, felt its weight one more time, then poured the entire thing down the drain. The sweet, sharp smell filled the kitchen with unwelcome memories, permeating the air.
My father, stumbling through the door at two in the morning, screaming at my mother while Holly and I hid in the basement.
The night he'd taken a swing at me, and I'd finally been big enough to hit back.
When the bottle was empty, I set it in the recycling bin with a thud, then picked up my phone with hands that shook.
Me:Not great. But I didn't drink.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Dr. Reyes:
That's a victory. A big one. What triggered the urge?
Me:
