Chapter 16 Ian
SIXTEEN
IAN
Someone cut off my dick already. It would be the merciful thing to do. And rip my heart out as well. I think priesthood will be the next logical step after I end my athletic career—embracing celibacy fully.
Seven months after Lilly stormed back into my life, craving her doesn’t get easier.
When I have bad days, I don’t succumb to despair because I have Lilly. She’s my stability in the chaos, weaving ease through uncertainty—making my life easier.
Sunday is the Super Bowl. I am pumped for the win, but more than that, I need a break. Some time to find my love for playing again. Too many changes and shifts in my life. I need to sort things out mentally.
My phone rings and I grit my teeth, letting Levi’s call go to voicemail.
I am still hurt and angry. And like he always accused me of being—stubborn.
But add that to my sister sounding miserable, yet forcing cheer into her voice every time we talk, and my parents constantly asking what’s going on between them, and I wish he were here to take care of his mess.
My agent called me yesterday to inform me that the San Diego Sharks are interested in renewing my contract for two additional seasons. Coach doesn’t give me the impression he will retire anytime soon. Fabulous. All those millions, and I’m miserable as fuck.
My desire for Lilly is a fireball rolling through my veins, heating my insides into an inferno. I either make her mine, or I’ll die. Both my heart and dick won’t survive the long haul. I am too fucking weak in my need for her, too exhausted to fight my default setting—to want her.
In my head, I have gone over my talk with Coach a hundred times. I could sign a contract telling him how serious I am about his daughter. My being with Lilly doesn’t have to come between me and him. Maybe if I win him this Super Bowl, he’ll be happy enough and I should use that as my chance.
Mental preparations, light training, team bonding, and reviewing our game plan fill the days before the big event. My mind should be focused on that, but it swirls with thoughts of her.
We’re in the recreational part of the building. Some get massages, some laze around. I recline in the massage chair, playing video games with Roman, who asks me, “What are your plans after the season ends?”
“First, I’m going on vacation. And you?”
“I just bought a boat.”
That’s so him. I chuckle. “Giving you an incentive before the win?”
“How else am I going to spend my millions?” he asks seriously.
“Do you even like sailing?”
“Her family had one,” he mutters.
I shake my head at him.
“What? Mine is bigger.”
I can’t shake the impression, the moment a woman latches herself onto your blood cells, you can’t remove her from your system—absorbed, forever in love, even if you’re sick of feeling like that.
Back in my suite, my thoughts speed in a direction that does nothing to tire me, but keeps me wide awake. Me and her far away—alone. Me inside her, taking her in every position, on every surface—the possibilities are endless.
I call her to ease the part of me who seemingly can’t function without her.
“I can’t sleep,” I groan.
“It’s understandable. Let’s try a breathing exercise. Breathe in for four seconds, hold for three, and exhale for seven. Do that a few times.”
The patience of this incredible woman makes me love her even more. She’s pure perfection. More than a man could ever dream of.
I try it and tiredness pulls me under. She doesn’t know but one day, I’ll make her my wife. First, I have to make her my girlfriend, my mind reminds me, but I ignore that pesky thought.
What happened to chasing my dreams? I don’t recognize myself these days. This perpetual waiting for something instead of making it happen is emasculating as fuck.
I channel all the passive aggressiveness and pent-up frustration into determination. Nervous energy fills me up, eager to get my third ring. You come this far in the season; the final game is always bittersweet.
Your mind and body scream with exhaustion. With the last powers, sheer will and ego, you play, giving your all. Because the trophy, the glory, awaits you after a strenuous season.
Looking through the window on the way to the stadium, I see the streets filling with the crowd chanting. If we win, pandemonium will ensue. The streets will teem with fans who will celebrate the win throughout the night.
When the bus stops, I inhale a big gulp of air, steadying myself before stepping off and walking through the players’ entrance.
There is a somberness, but also excitement, in the atmosphere as I enter the locker room. From the team owner to the staff, my teammates, and coaches, all are here, crammed together.
As the game approaches, I change into my uniform, then I plop on the bench, my helmet and mouthguard lying by my side.
Putting my headphones on, I tune out the world. Every player has their own rituals. Some chatter their nerves away, some pray, and some listen to music. I have noise-canceling headphones and do breathing exercises to anchor myself.
My phone pings with two messages, one from Levi and the other from Lilly. I read hers first. It’s a pic of her, Kat, and her fiancé in the suite, lounging with glasses of champagne.
I’m celebrating the win early.
A smile tugs at my lips, and I reply.
So now it’s a must-win situation?
You’re already a winner.
I open the message from Levi next.
Hey man, good luck tonight. Show them what you’re made of. I’ll call you after the game. Pick up this time, asshole.
Emotions knot my stomach, and I reply.
Thanks. Will do.
Before I place my phone in my locker, another message comes through.
Good luck, big brother. I’m proud of you. You’re my champion.
Is everyone on a damn mission to make me emotional today?
One after the other, my teammates strut out, heads high, shoulders rolled back, helmets slid over our faces. Cheers boom in the air, deafening us as we run onto the field. Nothing compares to the spectacle of the Super Bowl.
When the game starts, I focus solely on playing my best. Their defense is strong and Deacon, my wide receiver, gets tackled constantly.
We’re down one touchdown at halftime. While Coach gives interviews, I stand up and say to my teammates, “Hey, look at me.” When I have their attention, I add, “Stand up.”
We slide our arms around each other. “We still have half a game to play. Stop sulking and let’s go out there and rule that motherfucking field. Now, let me hear you say we’re the winners.”
A ruckus erupts and when Coach Parker strides inside, he blinks at us, taken aback at our stance.
“You know what you did wrong.”
We all nod, and he continues, “Don’t let them gain one damn yard. Deacon, slip through their defense. Stop thinking and react sooner. I know it’s a lot of pressure on you, but you must learn to overcome that.”
We all encourage Deacon. He might not be Levi, but a lot rests on his shoulders.
We storm the field, and I stare each opponent down.
The ball and I are one. While they’re busy going after Deacon, I change my pass, and we secure the first touchdown. For the rest of the second half, we don’t let them gain one damn yard.
The game ends, and I rip my helmet off, throwing my head back—overcome by relief. Roman and my other teammates crash into me, lifting me up. The celebratory shouts roar in the air, adding to the ruckus that ensues from our fans. The chants might be heard from outer space.
After the Lombardi Trophy ceremony, I give a few interviews while still on the field, my mind drifting to Lilly as I answer the questions, wanting time to pass faster so I can get to her.
In the locker room, we throw our arms in the air, dancing, goofing around, and taking pics—drunk on the win.
After celebrating with my teammates, I slip away from the party to call Lilly. When she picks up, I can barely make out her words.
“Hi, oh my god. You were amazing,” she says, voice hoarse and crackling. So, she cheered me on, just like she promised.
“Where are you?”
“At the airport. My flight home leaves in an hour.”
“Can’t wait to see you when I get back tomorrow. Be packed and ready to go when I get there,” I tell her.
“I’ll be waiting.”
Just like me, flower girl. Just like me…