Chapter 2
NINE MONTHS AGO
The manilla folder on this coffee table has been staring at me for the last hour. It’s a thin folder, only a few papers inside the clasp, yet it carries so much weight.
It’s an ending. And a beginning.
Filing for divorce isn’t something I ever thought I’d be doing, but life is full of countless moments we never expected.
It’s a surreal feeling, considering I was raised in a home where divorce wasn’t a word that was spoken. Marriage is sacred and forever. A lifelong commitment you make to someone, for better or worse, in sickness and health, until death do you part.
Except, I learned that sometimes the “’til death do you part” tidbit doesn’t have to be literally kicking the bucket. There are many ways to die in a relationship.
I cherished my marriage. I fought for it when things got tough. And then, silently, I grieved the loss while still wearing the ring.
The last year has taught me that I’m a hell of a lot stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. I’ve always been independent and confident, but the ways my soul shattered in recent months showed me a strength I didn’t realize I had.
My coffee is getting cold as I sit in this little cafe downtown. I can practically hear the echoes of Brandon’s raised voice from countless arguments swirling over people’s chatter and the whirring of the espresso machines.
I’m trying to keep busy, procrastinating watching game footage on my laptop, as if I’m on a deadline.
I am—except I have four more days to finish watching sixty minutes of game play for an upcoming interview, and I don’t need four days for that.
I’m stalling. Avoiding the inevitable because even though there’s relief in this part of my story, I can’t help the feeling of sadness in my chest. And there’s a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach, something that feels so heavy I can’t physically leave this stupid chair.
I inhale a deep breath, in through my nose for four seconds, hold for four seconds and out through my mouth for four seconds. The aroma of coffee fills my senses, and I instantly relax my shoulders.
A thousand memories play in my mind.
Brandon and I fell in love at twenty-two the moment we met.
God, it was instant. And it was consuming.
But looking at it now…maybe it was reckless and forced.
There was no friendship beforehand, nothing to build on.
No taking things slow. No late nights up talking. No tender moments that felt like home.
We jumped and we soared. But rose-colored glasses only work for so long until they eventually become distorted. We outgrew each other in all the ways that mattered. And now he’s someone I don’t even recognize.
I sigh, leaning back against the chair and close my laptop before placing it back into my tote.
Get up, Demi, I internally shout at myself.
Just because it’s the end of my marriage, doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.
Endings can be beautiful too.
I repeat the words in my head over and over until I can breathe without my eyes watering.
I hate that I feel sad. Because I shouldn’t.
He sure as hell doesn’t. And not because I’m upset about being thirty-five and single—it’s something much deeper.
A different level of heartache. Even though I know this is the right decision, it’s still there.
Failure.
I feel like I failed. Like we failed. Like I let everyone down by ending my marriage. Because even though he was the one who initiated our downfall—I’m the one who left, the one who filed for divorce, and after today I’ll be the one who serves him the paperwork.
My phone dings with a text from Greg, my boss at the network.
He’s letting me know I’ll be assigned to cover the interviews for the Tampa Bay Knights training camp next season and the corners of my mouth tip up.
I’ve always enjoyed working with the Knights, and it’s definitely a chance to continue proving why I deserve more large-scale interviews—maybe even a broadcast position for the prime-time games.
Just get up, Demi. There it is again.
“Are you doing okay over here?” A petite blonde girl with glasses and a sleeve of cups in her hand pulls my attention away from my phone.
I stare at her blankly for a few seconds, noticing the ring on her left hand.
I’ve let this marriage make me feel small for long enough. I’ve begged for the bare minimum. I bent over backward trying to please him for longer than I needed to. I bit my tongue when things bothered me just to keep the peace. How fucking silly of me to think his voice meant more than mine.
“I’m good, thank you. Just packing up,” I say, offering the barista a smile.
Just get up, Demi.
And this time, I do.
PRESENT
Being one of the only women in a male-dominated field is a challenge—add in the fact that I’m a Dominican woman talking about sports in a highly competitive field, and I really chose the path with the most resistance.
But it’s a challenge I’m always up for. The crew I work with for the Knights is amazing, but I still see comments online where people question me and the other female broadcasters.
When I first started, I was the only woman in the room during meetings, but now, at least there’s two of us.
My job as a sideline reporter is something I take a lot of pride in.
I’ve worked really hard to get where I am—harder than most. But I still have goals I’m trying to achieve and people I’m trying to prove wrong.
Women are important in sports, and I only hope that my presence can somehow inspire others.
Teenage Demi would be screaming if she knew this was her life. Traveling to amazing cities, reporting on a sport I truly love, attending award shows and community events—this career is everything I used to dream of, more even.
I can still recall the first interview I did in high school with the running back during my sophomore year.
I stumbled over words at the start, but about halfway through something clicked and it was as if everything in me—in my bones, in my soul—knew I wanted to do this, had to do this.
And I’ve been tangled up in this world ever since.
Women belong in this space, and I’m not going to stop pushing for that.
While professionally I’m flourishing, my personal life has been an up-and-down roller coaster for the last year and a half.
I flow through days where I’m happy and so proud of myself, but then there are days where I feel that hurt all over again.
That stinging feeling of failure. But as much disappointment as I ultimately felt when I drove away from the person I thought I’d grow old with, there was also a push of confidence.
A swell of something within me whispering, you’re doing the right thing.
Two things can be true. And two feelings can coexist. It’s okay to be sad about something ending, while knowing it’s the right decision. The best thing I ever did for myself was leave that marriage, even if I stumbled a little on the way out.
Sun gleams through the windows of this hotel building next to the Knights facility. Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the bay as light glistens on the water, and I get lost in thought staring at it.
“Demi, Ford’s on his way in.”
Greg’s words bring me back to the present, and I tuck my loose curls behind my ear as I close the notebook on my lap.
When I do, I get a quick glimpse of my fingers, noticing the naked one on my left hand.
I’m still getting used to it being bare after wearing a ring for so many years.
But there’s no time to feel anything or let my mind wander as Ford Anderson strides into the room.
His big, bright smile lights up the room the second he steps through the door, and I watch as he says hello to every single person on his way to me. Ford’s tall and lean, but full of muscle. As a tight end, he’s not as slender as a wide receiver, but still has an incredible athletic build.
I haven’t spoken with him since last season ended, and it’s obvious as he comes to give me a hug hello that he wants to say something about my divorce. I can see in his eyes that he’s silently telling me he’s sorry.
Although, he doesn’t need to tell me he’s sorry. One man can’t possibly carry the burden of apologizing on behalf of the entire male species being crap. Present company excluded. Anderson’s a great guy.
Ford’s sigh carries across the space between us as we both take a seat just feet apart in these dark brown leather chairs. His denim-clad legs extend in front of him coupled with his black T-shirt that showcases the sleeve of tattoos. It looks like they’ve grown to start covering his hand now too.
“Long time no chat,” I begin.
“It has been a long time.”
I want to jump right into the conversation, there’s always so much to discuss with these guys and no use in wasting time with any small talk. Nodding at Greg again, I let him give us the go ahead on cameras and we get started.
“Another season on the horizon. How are we feeling? The last time we spoke, you were coming off a really great year. Seems pretty routine for you, though. I feel like every time we turn around, there’s someone talking about Ford Anderson.”
“I’m excited every season. Even if we ended on the losing side of things. I’m always going to walk back into this building with my head high and just ready to go.”
“The fans down here love you and that’s probably a big reason why.
I think it’s so obvious to this city how much you love the game and the whole spirit of football.
Let’s run through that final game of the season last year.
Where was your head at when you decided to make that impressive hurdle over the defender?
We don’t see that often from six-foot-four tight ends. ”
Ford drops his head back with a laugh and runs a hand through his hair.