23. Cole
23
COLE
M y feet shuffled on the blacktop as I bounced the ball. I felt weak, probably dehydration and fatigue. I'd been drinking more, which made me sleep less and stress more too. I hadn't taken a surgery in a week. Rose hadn’t responded to any of my messages in days. I was full of anger and out of whiskey and I knew if I didn’t stop, I was going to do permanent damage. I felt worse than I had days after Kate died with no outlet for the stress.
"Ya game's off!" Juan said, swiping the ball from me. He dribbled effortlessly around me and took a shot. The ball soared through the hoop and hit the net with a swoosh, and I scowled again and jogged over to the baseline to pick up the ball.
"Shut up," I growled, sick of his taunting. He'd been picking on me over my lack of coordination today, and I hated it. I wasn't a sore loser at all. I just had too much on my mind and I'd been drowning my emotions in alcohol instead of dealing with them, which only let them bottle up. I couldn't help it that they chose today to start leaking out.
I felt my hand shake a little and tried to ignore it. The tremors had been worse this week than last, though over the weekend they were a little better. But I slept most of the weekend away. After meeting with my lawyer who had zero update on the lawsuit except to say the patient had the right to continue or drop the thing, I just felt angry and out of control. It felt like my life was hanging by a thread on the whim of some man with power and money who could destroy me, and I couldn’t even plead my case.
The worst part was the one person in the world who I knew could help me refused to speak with me because I'd hurt her, and Juan had no clue the depth of the anger I felt. He wanted to understand, but unless he walked in my shoes, he'd never know. He had never known loss like me. He didn’t know what it felt like to have something you love ripped away from you. I watched Kate slip away and I had no control over it. Now my career was taking the same dive and I was helpless to stop it.
"Yo, you alright?" he asked, and I bounced the ball at him. He caught it and bounced it back, and I caught it, but barely. My hand twitched, and I flexed it and clenched it, then shook it out.
"I'm fine," I spat, and I started dribbling. It felt good. I had my back to Juan, whose chest was pressing against me. His arms were extended to either side, attempting to block me from turning. I pushed backward, keeping the ball going with one hand as I peeked over my shoulder and glanced at the hoop.
"What's wrong, old man? You slowin' down?" This sort of trash talk was what I did to him normally. I was okay with it because it was just part of the game, but I had to bite back my negative responses because I knew anything coming out of my mouth would not be fun, playful things. My tongue was hateful because of my anger.
I gritted my teeth and backed into him harder, and he put a hand on my back, pushing me slightly. I had taken at least twenty shots and missed every single one of them because every time I pushed my hand into the air, it twitched. Most of the shots hit the rim and bounced away, but twice they went far left. This time, I was determined to make it.
I glanced at the basket again and turned quickly, leaping on one foot as I thrust my arms upward with the ball. It soared in the air and slammed into the backboard before bouncing wildly out of control and rolling off the court, and I screamed out a curse word in anger. Juan laughed and shook his head. He jogged over to pick up the ball, and when he came back and bounced it at me, I took it and threw it hard at the fence.
"Damn, man. What's your problem?" Juan scowled at me and took a step forward, and my anger got the better of me.
I took two steps toward him and put both of my hands on his chest and gave him a shove. He stumbled backward and came at me in a huff, thrusting his chest against mine and facing off. His chest heaved and his forehead touched mine as he squared his shoulders and puffed his chest out on mine.
"The fuck?" he asked, and I almost shoved him again, but I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth.
"Just back the fuck off, okay?" We stood there face-to-face in a show of dominance until I broke. I knew if I kept it up, I'd punch him, and he was my friend. I didn't want to destroy another relationship because my stress level made my temper flare.
I backed away and walked over to the bench, parking my angry ass next to my duffel bag. I ran a hand through my sweat- soaked hair, and it dripped to the pavement below me as I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees.
Juan went after the ball and then walked over toward me and sat down a few feet away from me. He put the ball on the ground between his feet and matched my pose, except my head was hanging and his hands were folded together.
"I get it, Cole, you're going through shit. So talk to me." The way he reacted to me wasn't what I expected, but I didn't hate it. I just didn't know what to say. Telling him what was going on wasn't going to change anything at all. It just let someone else in on my shame.
"What do I say?" I asked, bobbing a shoulder. I raised my head and stared out over the park. People were running and walking on the trails. The sun beat down on the entire area, baking us with its heat. Children laughed and giggled, and there were even a few dogs running around. Everyone else was enjoying life while I was struggling to exist under the weight of everything going on.
"Well, start with whatever is making you a cranky old bastard," he said, and he chuckled.
I didn't know what was bothering me most—the fact that I was being sued for almost killing someone, the tremors that were definitely going to end my career as a surgeon, or the idea that I might have destroyed the one pure thing in my life right now.
"How?" I asked, and I looked at him. He nodded his head. Juan wasn't a stranger to trouble or stress, but he just had no clue.
"It's the lawsuit?" he asked, and this time, I nodded.
"Yeah, well that and some other things. I don't stand a chance, and it feels like I don't even get an opportunity to speak my mind." I sighed hard. "My career will be over. That's twenty-plus years of hard work down the drain because Victor Ronald has to protect a billion-dollar machine that employs him." I shook my head and hung it.
"Yeah, that's shit," he said, and I heard the resignation in his tone. Even he knew that what I was going through was shit. No one should have to suffer this. It was the reason we had assurances like malpractice insurance and contracts. In the grand scheme of things, however, it was every man for himself.
"I take it your lawyer doesn't hold out hope?" Juan's question made me cringe. The lawyer never had hope. He told me we'd just settle and lessen the damage, but I wasn’t going to concede. I’d done nothing wrong. I was fighting this.
My hand shook a little, so I clasped it together with my other one and rolled my neck a little as I responded. "I'm fighting it no matter what they say, Juan. I just wish I had someone in my corner…"
My eyes caught on the bench just outside the basketball area where Rose had been seated the day I first approached her seriously about dating. Juan pushed me a little, made fun of me a little, and in the end, she'd agreed to join me for a smoothie. How different my emotions were that day from today, and I wished I could reverse time to that moment when the chemistry between us was so thick and real.
Now I'd kill just to hear her voice. I hadn’t realized how much I'd come to depend on a smile from her or bumping into her during work, her laughter at my stupid jokes or the way she always had something encouraging to say. I really screwed up when I snapped at her, and I regretted it the minute I woke up from being passed out that night.
"Well, I'm not gonna lie and say there's anything I can do, but I'm here to talk. It can't be easy what you're going through."
Juan's utter lack of ability to help me only frustrated me. I couldn’t blame him, but I didn't want to sit here feeling like he just pitied me. I stood up and grabbed my bag.
"Look, man, I'm not feeling up to this. You'll have to play solo today. I'm gonna go home and shower." I hung my duffel bag on my shoulder, and he stood up and shook my hand. The handshake turned into his pulling me against his chest and slapping my back hard once.
I nodded as I backed away and he said, "Call me if you need to vent. We can go for a drink."
I touched my fingers to my eyebrow in a mock salute, but I knew I wouldn't. I had to quit burying my feelings with alcohol or I'd end up addicted to it. I fought out of that hole once after Kate died, and I wasn't going back. I couldn't.
I went to my car and climbed in, and when I sat down, my phone rang. I dug it out of my bag, hoping it was Rose calling me, but it was just the insurance mitigator. I sent it to voicemail, but the overwhelming urge to hear her voice hit me and I just had to try calling her again. I dialed her number, and it rang through to voicemail and I left another message for her, hoping this one would be the one she'd respond to.
"Rose, it's me… Cole. Please call me. I'm sorry for being a jerk. I miss you, and I was hoping you'd be free to talk for a while. I could use a friend."
That was the most honest I could be with her and still keep my privacy. I didn't think I could really feel good about opening up and telling her yet, but I needed the reassurance that we weren't completely over. I didn't want to lose every good thing in my life all at once. God knows, I'd never survive that.