I sighed and shot him a menacing look. "Seriously?"
"I'm totally serious. We need to think this through. What are you specifically worried about?" Eric asked.
I knew Eric well enough to realize that he wasn't going to leave me alone until I played this silly game with him, so I answered. "I'm specifically worried that my team isn't going to respect me anymore. That I'm not going to be able to lead them because they've lost faith in me."
"And why are you worried that they've lost faith in you?" he asked.
"That's another stupid fucking question."
"Just answer it," he insisted.
"I'm worried that everybody's going to think that I have no dick because my wife left me for a teammate—the worst teammate I've got. And that Pax's going to try to rally them all against me, because that's the kind of shit-starter he is."
Eric's brow furrowed. "He doesn't care about the team?"
"He's fucking the quarterback's wife. What do you think?"
"Tim'll cut him," he said confidently.
"Pax is an asshole, but he's a strong defensive player," I countered. "We need him more than he needs us right now."
Eric shrugged. "He needs a paycheck, Chase. Just like the rest of us."
"He seems to think he can do whatever—or whoever—he wants."
"We'll deal with Pax. Let's see what management does first." Eric seemed to concentrate on his coffee. "Either way, we have to face the whole thing head on. So let's break it down. Even though you're glad Jessica's gone, you're worried about what your team's going to think of you because you're a cuckold."
I looked at him grimly. "What the fuck does that mean?"
"It's a Shakespearean term, buddy. It means you were cheated on. Duped. Humiliated. And everybody knows it."
I grimaced. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No," Eric said carefully, "it's supposed to help us identify the real problem so we can come up with a solution."
"I don't think there's a solution to having your wife sleep with your teammate and then leave you for him. In the public eye. With a very large chunk of your money."
"You're right," Eric conceded. "But there are ways to make you feel like you're back on top. To maintain your team's respect—but if I'm being honest with you, I know those guys. Your teammates worship you. They'd do anything for you. I don't think that's going to change just because of what Jessica did."
I shook my head. "I don't know…they won't see me the same way." Thick misery descended on me again. I could deal with everything that had happened, but I didn't want to lose the trust and camaraderie I'd worked so hard to build with my teammates. I didn't want them to doubt me, doubt my judgment.
Doubt my balls.
They were counting on me, just like I counted on them. This was supposed to be our year, and now everything was on the precipice of going to hell.
"You just need to seem like you're still on top. That's all," Eric said. He never failed in his supreme confidence in me. "You guys are in good shape to make the playoffs. You'll be the NFL Player of the Year. I know it. You've been working hard for this your whole life. Don't let Jessica fuck it up for you."
He stood up and started pacing. "You show your team you haven't faltered, their belief in your leadership won't falter, either."
I ran my hand over my head; I could already feel my crew
cut growing out. "How do you propose I do that? Am I supposed to go back to practice next week with a big grin on my face? Fake it until I make it or something? That's fucking stupid."
"Jessica wants the house, right?"
I nodded.
"So let her have it," he continued. "Let's go find a sweet condo in downtown Boston. The press is going to be following you. Let the public see you out and about, looking fine, moving on. That sends a message. And I'm going to get you a smoldering hot girlfriend. Blistering hot." Eric had a manic gleam in his eye. "We'll stick that in Jessica's pipe and let her smoke it."