My mom starts to frantically argue and beg. She doesn’t give a shit about my job, or about the fact that my entire life has been about ball since I was a kid and my father realized I could throw like a pro. She doesn’t give two fucks that I’m not even thirty years old and my football career might be over. She cares about one thing: how this will look to her stuck up country club friends.
“Mom.” She ignores me. “Mom!” I yell louder, but she just keeps going on and on. “Mom!” I shout, and everyone looks at me. “Stop!” I glare at her and see she has actual tears in her eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cry before. “Coach, Mr. Smith…thank you for coming by to let me know.”
“If anything changes…” Mr. Smith starts to say but doesn’t finish. We both know my career with North Carolina is over. There’s no point in making false promises he can’t—and won’t—keep.
“Thank you,” I respond politely.
They leave, closing the door behind them, and then my father starts. “This is just a temporary setback. This isn’t the end, Nick. Rest up, do your physical therapy, and next year we’ll get you back on a team and making money again.” He says all this while he’s typing away on his phone. “I need to take this. It’s Roger Cedarbeck, the rookie offensive tackle. We’re in negotiations.” Bringing the phone up to his ear—not even bothering to look at me—he walks out, leaving only my mother and me in the room. Guess some things never change.
“Well, since you’ll be available, we can schedule luncheons and charity events. We can find ways to make you look good in the public eye. As soon as you get out, we’ll go over the social calendar.” She gives me a kiss on my forehead, and then she’s gone, leaving me alone.
The doctor comes back in and lets me know I’ll be discharged from the hospital by the end of the day tomorrow. Not wanting to text Fiona and ask her for a ride since she left here upset, I put a call in to the car service I use often and arrange for someone to pick me up tomorrow.
* * *
“I don’t love you anymore, Nick, and I can’t be in this relationship another damn day.” I’m sitting on the couch in my apartment, listening to my girlfriend explain why she’s leaving me. When I arrived home, I found all of her stuff already loaded into a U-Haul truck. The only reason why we’re even having this conversation is because she thought I wouldn’t be home for another couple days. She was planning to leave with nothing more than a note and her apartment keys on the counter.
“Okay, so let me get this straight. You loved me a week ago…hell, supposedly you loved me two days ago…but now you no longer love me?” I ask, confused as fuck. “So, all the talk about wanting to get married and have a baby…it was what, just talk?”
“It was me being stupid. I have no family or support, and your parents, they would make horrible grandparents.” She cringes. “Plus, you always put them and your job first. I need a man who actually puts me first.”
“I’m right here. I’m putting you first.” Was my paying for all of our bills and her schooling not putting her first?
“Until next season…then you’ll be back to playing football, and I’ll be stuck here by myself. I have dreams, and I need to follow them, and starting a family with you is no longer one of my dreams. To be honest…” Fiona pauses. Her eyes close, and a second later they reopen with a look of such contempt, I can feel it down to my bones. “I would consider it a nightmare.” She lifts her purse over her shoulder and says, “Honestly, Nick, I don’t think I ever really loved you” and walks out the door, slamming it behind her.
Well, damn…okay, then.
My head hits the back of the couch as I think about how much my life has already changed because of my injury. My dad hasn’t once called me since the doctor gave us the verdict—not even to see if I made it home okay. My mom’s one and only text was regarding the charity functions she thinks I should attend to keep myself in the public eye. And Fiona, as you can see, just walked out the door and out of my life.
Maybe it’s time for me to make a change. Time to put myself first. There’s no way I’m staying here for the next year and attending charity functions with my mom. Grabbing my phone from the coffee table, I shoot a text to Killian. The year after I was drafted, he was drafted to New York. We might not be roommates anymore, but we’re still best friends.