Marek
Shit, I screwed up.
I did exactly what I’ve done in the past that created messes in my life. I lead with my dick and didn’t think things through or consider the long-term ramifications.
Which is ironic since it’s exactly what I do in my job that makes me a good general manager. I weigh the risks and plan and prepare. I’m not an impetuous decision maker who runs on emotion. I’m a methodical, critical thinker who makes calculated decisions to have the best long-lasting impacts on the team.
But in my personal life, things are different.
If I was a guy who knew how to keep things casual, I would. But I’m not. I never have been.
It’s the reason I was with Jasmine since we started dating in college. And the reason I’ve been single ever since our divorce.
Once I engage in a relationship, I commit. There’s no other way for me. It’s how I’m made. I can’t do no-strings-attached, just sex encounters like other guys.
The thing is, in the years since my divorce, I haven’t found a woman who held my interest long enough to even consider having sex with her. Until Harper.
And look what it got me.
I allowed my body’s physical reaction to Harper to get the best of me and take control, leading me down a path I can’t course correct or take back. The only thing I can do from here on out is avoid her as much as possible, except when necessary or in the company of others. Like tomorrow night at the awards banquet.
Christ, that won’t be awkward at all.
I close the door to the guest room, which thankfully is several doors down from the one Harper selected and pull out my phone. I need to talk with someone. Figure out how to unravel this mess I’ve gotten myself into.
Ballas immediately comes to mind, but then I mentally scratch him off the list because he’s no good when it comes to discussing women or relationships. He only sees them as traps and gold diggers. He’s remained single for a reason and has never been in a committed relationship.
I could call Zeke, whom I’ve become close to over the last year through all his mental health crisis and public relations spectacle, but I don’t want to cross the line between professional and friendship any further than I already do. And, honestly, I do not want to admit my failure to a player.
However, I could set up a time to talk to his fiancée, Kendall. I tap in her contact and stare at the number, considering what to do.
I know she’ll keep anything I share with her under the guise of psychological counseling and the strictest of confidentiality. However, she also just recently had a baby. A son, Gus, who is six months old. I don’t want to put her in a position to cater to my whining if she has a child who needs her.
As I mull this over, I figure that Kendall is on retainer to support our team during emotional and mental health crises at any hour of the day, available whenever needed. I figure there’s nothing to lose if I call and leave a message if she’s not answering right now.
I make my decision and hit the call button. It rings twice and goes to voicemail. What did I expect? That she’d see it was me calling and immediately answer? She has a life, too.
I’m about to hang up as her recorded message runs through its spiel when I hear the telltale beep of an incoming call. I glance down at the screen to see it’s Dr. Rush calling me back.
Disconnecting the first call, I answer her incoming line.
“Hello?”
A slight pause and a little shuffling can be heard on the line before she speaks.
“Hi, Marek. It’s Kendall Rush. I saw you just called. Sorry I missed it; I wasn’t quick enough. I’d just put August down for his nap.”
I consider the time difference and that makes sense since I’m in Chicago and the West coast is two hours behind. But it does nothing to assuage my guilt for interrupting her day.
“I’m so sorry to have bothered you, Kendall. It’s not important and can wait. I hate that I disturbed you.”
She chuckles softly, humor laced in her tone. “Marek, please. The definition of disturbing me is when Gus wakes me up at 3:00 a.m. with loud, ear-splitting screams after I’ve just gotten him back to sleep an hour earlier. Your call is not an interruption or disturbance in the slightest. Now, what can I help you with? You’re in Chicago this weekend, right?”
“Good memory. Yes, I am. We just arrived earlier today,” I acknowledge and take a seat in the overstuffed chair tucked in an alcove near a window where, if I had to guess, it’s the perfect reading spot when the sun shines through in the mornings.
Kendall hums. “Ah. Zeke mentioned something about a pre-draft event and some sort of sports honorary banquet where you’re being recognized. Congratulations. It’s well deserved.”
I snort. “I don’t know about that but thank you for your kind words. It’s really nothing but a bunch of basketball enthusiasts wanting an excuse to eat, drink, and talk sports.”