“You’re off tonight,” she says. “You know that? You’re really off.”
I nod. “I know.”
She reaches over and gently takes my drink away.
“Okay then. No alcohol. Let’s get food instead. You need carbs, human interaction, and maybe a reminder that you’re not, in fact, dying.”
I laugh softly.
But as we get up from the table, I check my phone one more time.
Still nothing from Colt.
And the ache inside me sharpens just a little more.
Chapter Twenty
COLT
I don’t go to the gym. I mean, I’m not welcome at my own gym anymore.
I don’t hit up my bros to go out. Something tells me getting drunk won’t help me.
I don’t even go for a run, which is my usual way of dealing with existential dread.
Instead, after a few hours of staring at the walls in my apartment, I go to my Mom’s.
Mom’s watching some home renovation show rerun in the living room. She looks up when I walk in.
“There you look…”she tilts her head, squinting, “stressed. Like someone just told you carbs were outlawed. And I know how much you love spaghetti.”
I try to smile. “I’m probably overthinking everything. It’s just been a long day, at the end of a long week.”
She studies me like she always does. She’s always been able to see right through me.
“You want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “Nah. Not right now.”
She makes an unconvinced noise, but lets it go as I slip down the hallway to the room I stay in when I stay at her place.
I fall onto my bed and grab the burner Instagram account I made recently. Basically it’s just clips of my old football highlights. And a couple of workouts—sprints and lifts—I’ve done in the past year. Mostly it’s just stuff I post for nostalgia. For fun. For ego.
For the version of myself I thought was gone.
I scroll…
Until I pause.
I notice a message request.
Hudson River Hawks
Semi-Pro Football, NY/NJ Division
My chest tightens.
I open it.
