Chapter 18
Eighteen
Blair
Seeing Tyson at practice is what’s keeping me going on limited amounts of caffeine this morning.
I’m at Embers and Ashes, trying to wrap up a ridiculous amount of work before being off for a few days.
Thanksgiving isn’t until next week, but we’re celebrating with Tyson’s family early since the Cosmos have a Thanksgiving Day game next week.
I have a Thanksgiving Day game. Wow.
My brothers have shelled out some serious cash for tickets. Even though I would’ve paid for them, considering I fell into a bucket of money—at least for my standards—but they insisted.
I still think it’s wild that NFL players don’t get a ticket allotment for games.
Yes, the staff will help them secure whatever they need, but everyone pays for them.
Makes me wonder what Tyson paid for my birthday tickets.
I shimmy my shoulders, shaking off the flush to my skin, and try to stay focused.
My to-do list is still too long, even though I got here at four in the morning, trying to catch up because of the away game trip this past weekend.
There are so many things I want to oversee and take the lead on, but that makes it almost impossible.
I know this isn’t how successful businesses run, but it’s like if I let up, even a little, the thing I’ve built will crumble down.
There’s not a crack in the foundation, especially now—since I’ve joined the Cosmos, our membership have maxed out and we’ve sold out of every new piece of merch we’ve added to the shelves. I’ve hired more instructors and front office staff and still am more profitable than I’ve ever been.
I’ve been around the least I’ve ever managed since starting it—that part makes me feel a little sad. I know it’s a testament to its success, but it’s my favorite place to be, and since joining the Cosmos, I’ve spent very little time here.
Honestly? I think it’s time to consider opening a second Embers and Ashes location.
That’s one of the reasons I’ve been holding onto the cash I got from the Cosmos.
The goal wasn’t to create an empire or anything like that, but I did want to offer up as many safe spaces for people as possible. My eyes water at the possibility.
I need to go back to therapy. The thought that I can’t be all the way happy about my success is a massive red flag.
There were nights I dreamt of getting the gym to this place, the one it’s in right now, and I’m still not satisfied.
Pair that with the unresolved trauma of parent abandonment and my body dysmorphia that’s bubbled back up and I’m a therapist's dream!
Grabbing my phone, I set a reminder to call my therapist and make an appointment. I internally screech to myself when I see the time, needing to get to practice.
Today’s practice was one for the books. I made five field goals, consecutively, ranging from five to eight yards further than an extra point.
Each time the ball went through the uprights, every single person in the room was on another level—jumping up and down and cheering me on like I hit a game winner.
We’re in the film room as the team discusses adjustments for the Thanksgiving game matchup, and I’m trying to find Tyson.
Since we don’t practice with the same groups, it’s common that we do a bit of searching to find each other.
But when the lights go down, and come back up after an hour of film, I still can’t find him.
I decide to check with Coach Dylan—maybe he needed extra treatment or something—I know he tweaked his ankle during the game on Sunday.
Down the corridor I walk to Coach’s office, seeing the photos from all the key Cosmos moments thus far.
Considering the Upstate Cosmos were an NFL expansion team and have only been in the league a few years, it’s impressive to see what they’ve accomplished.
Many NFL teams have never won a Super Bowl, but here are the Cosmos with two checks already in that column.
When I approach Coach’s door, I hear the sounds of someone borderline yelling. I stop and wonder if I should turn around—I don’t have an appointment or anything. Just when I’m about to pivot and head home, it’s clear they’re talking about me. Or someone is talking about me.
“This little PR stunt has run its course, don’t you think? Women don’t play in the NFL,” the voice says; it’s familiar but I don’t know who it belongs to.
Coach Dylan’s voice interrupts. “What is your issue? She has nothing to do with your client.” His voice is barely raised but it’s enough to raise my eyebrows.
“She’s occupying my client’s roster spot. I just need to know you’re going to come when Benny is ready and there isn’t going to be a murmur of keeping her on the roster.”
I can’t roll my eyes hard enough listening to Benny’s slimy agent talk to Dylan about me. Part of me knows this isn’t something meant for me to hear, but the other part of me is glued in place—there’s absolutely no way I’m leaving.
Dylan says nothing; it feels like the office is frozen in time. Fuck, what if Oscar storms out and sees me? The rational part of my brain says, Well, that’s on him and he shouldn’t be talking shit like this with the door open.
“Oscar, get out of my office,” Dylan snaps, the wheels of his chair moving on the floor the only sound. “And if you do this again, I’ll make sure security doesn’t even let you in next time.”
There’s another gap of silence and I use that to loudly walk outside, like I’m just now approaching the office and not like I was eavesdropping on this out of line, toxic man. I even pair it with a knock on the open door.
“Got a minute?” I say to Coach, not paying any attention to Oscar. Coach nods and Oscar finally gets the hint, turning and leaving, sighing like a toddler on the edge of a meltdown.
At first, I can see the guilt in Dylan’s face, but he shakes it off.
“I was looking for Tyson Bishop during film but couldn’t find him. Do you know if he’s getting treatment or where I can find him?”
Dylan scrunches his brows, like he’s trying to remember something, and then says, “Bishop requested permission to miss today. I’m pretty sure he flew home this morning.”
What? He left? Without saying anything?
“Ah, okay. Cool. Appreciate it,” I say and try to keep my face normal and not in the ‘what the fuck’ expression I feel like giving.
“Blair, have a good week off. You deserve it.” Dylan smiles at me and it soothes my confusion for just a second.
“Thanks, Coach.”
And then I’m out the door, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
Me
You’re already home?
everything okay?
Tyson doesn’t immediately respond, and it looks like his phone is off—the messages go undelivered. My stomach rolls. Why would he do that? Just head home without saying anything? Especially because we originally were on the same flight to go together?
I’m too anxious of a person to just wait until tomorrow to fly out. Or maybe I shouldn’t go at all? Before I’m in a full blown spiral, I scroll my contacts until I reach Teague’s number. Not quite sure what I’ll say to Ty’s older brother, I can’t just sit here and act like everything is fine.
It rings three times before Teague answers, and says in a hushed breath, “I thought I’d hear from you.”