9. Alice
Alice
The instructions for today’s event are to meet Brian from the PR team at Skyline Park.
There are several football fields, and it’s the main hub for the youth football program in Tampa.
They are kicking off their season with a jamboree, and we’re there to represent the Tarpons, take pictures, and sign autographs.
I usually love events like this, and here in Tampa I always have girls who are on the Mighty Monarchs come by to see me, but today, I have to share space with him.
I will admit, things were better than I thought they would be at the team barbecue, but I don’t think this is fun.
With anyone else, I would be loving it. How could I not?
The Tarpons invited me as a collaborator on their posts.
My following is growing exponentially, and over this past week, I’ve had more action with my affiliate links than ever before.
I’m being paid to do these events, and I’m making more money on the side. Just why does it have to be with him?
As I approach the entrance, both Brian and Ryder are already there.
I spot them before they see me, and my chest tightens at the sight of him.
Why does he have to be so handsome? And why does just the sight of him still affect me this greatly?
I’ve worked hard to move past this, but being forced to spend time with him thrusts me right back to four years ago and how I felt when he left.
I worked very hard to get to where I am today, to rebuild myself, and with every interaction I feel like we’re poking holes into this.
“Five more events,” I whisper to myself. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. I can cash in for myself and the Monarchs, be grateful for the opportunity, and then move on.”
Ryder laughs at something Brian says, and my stomach turns over. I feel like I’m going to be sick, and this makes me mad. Who is he to have such a visceral effect on me? He is no one. Someone from my past. Someone I’m just being forced to work with.
I mean, everyone has people in their past. Is it as hard for them as it is for me? Reason number two hundred and seven not to become attached to people.
“Hey, Alice!” Brian says once he’s spotted me.
I return the greeting but don’t even acknowledge Ryder.
I can feel him looking at me, and every muscle locks up tight.
He says nothing to me either, and poor Brian has a momentary look of panic on his face as he glances between the two of us, before he smooths it out and goes into professional mode.
“All right then.” He turns and starts walking. We follow. “I had them set up a table in the shade. I figured that would be best for the two of you and for the people standing in line.”
This is smart thinking on his part, as the sun is already high and blazing. The humidity in the air also makes it sticky. Every window in our apartment had condensation dripping down it, and the last thing that I need is to be dripping too.
The table is under a pavilion. There are two rows of picnic tables lined up down the length of it, and our table is in the middle at the end. This way the line can form between them. Behind us is a Tarpons-branded step and repeat for photos.
It’s the perfect setup, and kids and families are already waiting for us.
“Good morning,” I say to them as we pass.
“Good morning,” they all parrot. Their smiles are wide, and their excitement is palpable in the air. They’re so happy to meet us, and all I want to do is run in the other direction.
We move behind the table, and there are stacks of playing cards at each seat, with a cup full of Sharpies—a stack with his photo and then a stack with mine. I’m delighted in a way that’s unexpected.
I have my own sports card.
In addition, there are team stickers, sports towels with King Silver on them, and a large box of teal and silver bead necklaces.
Brian moves in front of the table as we sit to get settled. Ryder’s thigh brushes mine, and I jump from the contact.
“Do you mind?” I ask him, through my teeth.
“What?” he snaps, brown eyes latching onto mine, along with the way he smells. I’m engulfed in what smells like clean man, the same smell he always had after he took a shower. I see he’s still using the same body wash, and I hate that I know this.
“Scoot over. You’re taking up too much space.”
“Well, maybe you should find a different table.” He presses his thigh further into mine.
It would be one thing if we had pants on, but we don’t.
I’m in a Tarpons meet-and-greet outfit, which consists of a sleeveless, full-coverage midriff sports top with the Tarpons logo across my chest and tiny shorts.
He’s wearing black shorts and his jersey over a T-shirt.
His bare leg is touching mine. He’s warm, and I hate that the contact makes my toes tingle.
“Me? I’m not the problem. Most normal people can sit at a table and be considerate of their surroundings.”
He leans down, so really only I can hear him, and a piece of his hair falls onto his forehead. “Oh, I’m supposed to be considerate of you? Cute.”
I frown at how mean that is. In all the years we were friends, not once was he ever mean to me. But then again, we aren’t friends anymore, I guess now I’m getting all of his different sides.
He frowns too at whatever he sees on my face, his gaze dipping from my eyes to my mouth.
My mouth that once touched his. It was brief, but it was the single greatest and scariest moment of my life.
“All right. Enough, you two. People are watching,” Brian chastises us.
And they are. I instantly put a smile on my face to play my part. Ryder leans back in his chair and pulls his leg off mine. He runs his hand over his head, pushing the hair back. I hate how familiar his face is to me.
Brian steps to the side, and the first family scoots forward. It’s a mom and dad with two boys dressed in Colts football gear.
“You’re really pretty,” the littlest of the two boys says. He must be about six or seven.
“Thank you.” I smile brightly at him, and his cheeks flush pink. I sign the top two cards in my stack and hand one to him and another to his brother. Ryder does the same, while all four of them stare wide-eyed at him.
“Can I have my picture taken with you?” the youngest asks.
“Me too,” the older one chimes in, as if he doesn’t want to be left out.
“Of course,” I tell them.
Ryder is frowning. I don’t think it occurred to either of us that the boys would want their picture taken with me. Satisfaction blares bright.
“Why don’t you two step behind the table? You can stand wherever you like, and then Mom and Dad can take a photo,” Brian tells them.
The boys shuffle next to us. The smaller leans against me from the outside, while the older stands between Ryder and me, his hands stretched out to be on both our shoulders, and he’s grinning like the cat that got the canary.
“We just loved watching you play at Clemson. We were very excited when the Tarpons drafted you,” the mom tells him. The dad nods in agreement.
“Thank you. Trust me when I say no one was more excited than me to be drafted by them. The Tarpons have been my dream team for my whole life.”
“I love that for you.” She smiles at him.
After a few more minutes and a few more signatures on some gear they brought, the family leaves and the next one approaches. Rinse, wash, repeat for the next hour until Kelli shows up with a large iced coffee for me and a bottle of water for Ryder and Brian.
“Thank you,” he mumbles. It’s clear to all of us that after the way she responded to him at the barbecue, he’s surprised she thought of him.
“Well, it is hot out here, and we can’t have your delicate self melting.”
“Delicate?” He raises one brow.
“Yes, as we all know, you require gentle handling.”
“What does that mean?” he asks her, leaning back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him and tilting his head to the side.
I laugh. She’s trying to rage bait him. Ryder does not need gentle handling. I mean, maybe he’s not gentle now, but he was always even-keeled and went with the flow when I knew him before.
“Okay, kids,” Brian chastises again. At least it’s not me this time. Kelli rolls her eyes and wanders off to talk to families. I take a sip of my iced coffee and feel instantly rewarded with caramel.
“You were drinking iced coffee at the photo shoot too.” I can physically feel him looking at me.
“So? I love coffee,” I tell him, glancing over. It only took one hour for him to annoy me already.
“You didn’t drink it before. I specifically remember you hating it.” He smirks.
What game is he playing at now?
My eyes narrow as I run my finger over the condensation on the side. It’s so cold when it’s so hot out here.
“I changed my mind. Why do you care?”
“Just curious.” He shrugs one shoulder.
“Why?” I take a sip, and he watches me.
“No reason.”
“I drink coffee every day. It’s called consistency.”
“It’s called dependency.”
My jaw drops a little as I take him in. Yes, I can see that he treats his body like a temple, but coffee has a lot of health benefits.
“I see you’re not just an asshole, but you’re a judgmental asshole.”
“Are you two always like this?” Brian asks. He’s exasperated by us, and I hate that. I hate that I gave him reason to be, and I cling to my coffee so I don’t drop it.
“No,” we both answer at the same time. Apparently, he has some sort of shame or remorse coloring his cheeks too as his skin flushes red.
Forever the giveaway of his true emotions.
“Could have fooled me. Every time I’m around the two of you, the tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. What gives?” he asks, and I suddenly get a pit in my stomach.
I say nothing, as this situation is entirely his fault. He’s the one who left. He’s the one who ghosted me. He’s the one who ended us.
He looks at me, and I stare blankly back at him.
“Nothing. We’ve just known each other for a long time,” Ryder grumbles.
“Yeah, well, I’ve known people for a long time too, and we aren’t as hostile toward each other as the two of you,” he says before being pulled into a conversation with the next family.
Is that what people think? That we’re hostile toward each other? I know we’re not besties anymore, but I didn’t think that things were perceptively that bad. I thought we did relatively okay at the other events.
I think back to my therapist and the many conversations we had after Ryder left.
One of the coping skills she taught me was how to suppress my emotions until later.
I know this seems like the opposite of what a therapist would tell their patient, but I needed to get back to living my life, and here’s what she told me: name, delay, shift, and move.
Name the emotion that I was feeling at that moment.
Currently, I’m feeling overwhelmed with pressure to have to pretend to be cordial with him to make a good impression.
Second, delay. I need to push this feeling aside.
I can think about it later, while here in the moment, I need to focus on the task at hand.
Focus on the families and representing the Tarpons.
Third, shift. Shift my thoughts to what is directly in front of me and nothing else.
I smile at the little girl leaning into her dad’s leg, and she smiles back.
These people are here to see us. And last, move.
I don’t need to sit in this chair. I can move around so that some of this emotional energy can be put to use.
I stand, take a necklace to the little girl, and squat down in front of her.
“Hi, I’m Alice. What’s your name?”
“Breanna,” she whispers. Her mom has whipped her phone out to take pictures of us talking.
“Are you a cheerleader?”
“Yes, for the Raiders.”
“I’m a cheerleader too! For the Tarpons,” I say with a little overexaggeration. Her little smile is all I needed to pull me from my head and get going with the rest of this event. I love kids, and I love encouraging them to follow their dreams.
“Why don’t you come on over to the table with me, and we’ll take some more pictures together?” I hold out my hand to her, and she takes it.
That’s how the next two hours go. I do my best to stop thinking about Ryder and think about all the kids in front of us.
I occasionally catch him glancing curiously at me, and well, he can do that.
He can worry about himself, and I can worry about me.
What I will not worry about is us. There is no us.
Will I have to unsuppress my overwhelmed feelings later?
Yes, but finishing this day strong makes it so much better.
And fortunately for all of us, Ryder mimics me and works in tandem, side by side.
“What do you think the number one thing is that I need to make it to the NFL like you?” asks a young teenage boy from the last family in line.
Ryder’s face softens as he looks at the hopeful boy.
“Heart. Think about it. Professional players are all different shapes and sizes. It’s their attitude, work ethic, and heart that drives them to success.
I’m a linebacker, and I’m six foot three, but other linebackers in the league are five foot ten and eleven.
You can be just about any size, as long as you have heart.
Think about Tom Brady, one of the greatest there ever was.
He says it’s relentless preparation, overcoming doubt, and a refusal to accept losing.
Basically, work hard, be confident, and don’t quit.
All this comes from the heart.” He pats his chest, and the boy does the same.
“Heart,” he whispers.
“Yeah, heart,” Ryder tells him.
Internally, I laugh. Too bad it turns out that Ryder doesn’t actually have one.