Chapter 17
Taylor
By Tuesday, I stop trying to contact Harper.
I played like shit on Sunday and Monday because I couldn’t get her out of my head, couldn’t get the idea of her thinking I’m cheating on her to stop plaguing me.
I miss her. I want to see her, and I’m also absolutely pissed off at her.
Why won’t she fucking answer me? This is ridiculous.
It would be one thing if I was actually cheating on her, but I haven’t given her any reason to believe that.
Sure, I’ve gone out with a few models and maybe some actresses that were obviously using me for clout.
Harper should know what’s going on there, though, we joked about it all the time. How could she not know?
I have to stop thinking about whether or not I’m going to hear from her so it’s time for me to make a move. One last text, then I’m calling Mike to go back to the gym. After this, I’m taking some space from her until I figure out what I’m doing.
Me: I’m sorry I’ve been blowing up your phone.
I just wanted you to see that I’m here for you, that what you were thinking isn’t true.
I care about you. You know I’ve cared about you for a long time.
But for now, I need some space. I need to concentrate on the team, the playoffs.
Maybe after I get through it, we can talk about this.
Her response comes within a few minutes.
Harper: Ok
That’s it. That’s all she has to say to me after that? I wait a few more minutes and nothing else comes in. I think I’m even more pissed off with that reply, but I’m not going to say anything else. This has taken up too much of my time already. I can’t keep letting the situation get to me.
We have practice in about a half hour and I know I need it.
I need to talk to the guys too. The press was on my ass again last night and no one’s happy about it.
We’re going to have to talk about me possibly retiring before the end of the season.
It’s really not what I want but I have to think of the whole team.
At practice, I ask everyone to gather around and tell them I want to talk about the press conference shit show of last night. They all agree that we don’t need another press conference like that one. We’re barely in the bracket for the playoffs and that has to change.
Mike starts the conversation. “I’m not really looking forward to you retiring. You’ve been a huge part of this team for the better part of a decade.”
“Which is much longer than most players stay active.”
“So? You can still play. You can finish the season.”
“Mike, I think you’re letting our friendship get in the way of this. I’m still going to be friends with all of you. I’ll still see you.”
“What will you do?” Jakson, one of the linemen, speaks up.
“I was considering being a personal trainer, but I think that might be too unstable for me.”
“What about coaching?” Mike’s voice is bright.
“Honestly, that’s never even crossed my mind.”
“You could start at the collegiate level,” the lineman says, “I heard that the assistant coach over at our alma mater is leaving at the end of this season.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I bet if you asked about the position they’d consider you in a heartbeat.”
“You’re probably right. And I can take on some personal training clients in the meantime.”
“Exactly.”
I look around at them. “Not a word about any of this to anyone until I talk to that coach, agreed?”
There are murmurs around the group, and everyone seems to be in agreement. We do our practice, and I let it all drain out of my mind. Harper, the press, everything. I just want to concentrate on the game and my team. We need to rebuild morale. A guy’s night out.
I probably drink more than I should, and I probably let more people take photos with me than I should, but I don’t really care right now.
I need some fun. I need to keep putting the drama out of my mind and let go.
The night goes on, drinks are heavily poured, and I’m getting more sloshed by the minute.
I haven’t done this in a long time and my tolerance is shit.
Oh well. Bottoms up.