Chapter 14
Sweat drips down my brow as I slow down the treadmill and grip the sides. Dropping my head, I start to count each step to catch my breath.
“End of the week. I promise.”
That’s what I told Coach Masters yesterday when he called, furious that I’m apparently on a cruise.
He wasn’t supposed to know. I told him it was a family emergency, but Dax—famously incapable of keeping his mouth shut—announced at a team dinner that I was chasing the love of my life. And now I’m paying for it.
The cruise ends in five days. Five days, and I’ll be in Rome training as though this never happened. I was hoping I’d leave with her, but I’m not banking on that anymore.
I crank the speed up when I hit eight miles.
If I run hard enough, maybe I’ll outrun the part of me that still wants to walk down the hallway right now and knock on her door.
That part is loud today. Louder than it’s been since I stepped on this ship.
Yesterday at the zip line, I came up the stairs with my group, and the first thing I saw was her on the edge. Frozen and clutching onto the harness as though it was the only thing holding her up.
Every cell in me was screaming to go to her, but I made myself stand there and watch her instead. I told myself that she’d figure it out, the same way she’d been figuring everything else out, and the best thing I could do was stay out of her way.
Unfortunately, when she lost her balance, my body moved before my brain caught up. I caught her, and the second she was in my arms, any pretense that I was here to give her space disappeared.
When we reached the bottom of the line, I tried not to make a big deal of it, but I could see it in her face. She was proud of herself, and I was proud of her.
A question still lingers for me.
Would she have done it if I hadn’t shown up?
That’s something we’ll never know because I didn’t give her that opportunity. I didn’t let her believe in herself long enough to figure it out.
That’s the part of yesterday that won’t leave me alone.
I’ve known what I’ve needed to do for a long time; the zip line was just the latest piece of evidence.
Honey doesn’t need me showing up in every room she’s in.
She needs space to figure out who she is when no one is watching her, and every time I plant myself in front of her, I’m taking that opportunity away.
That’s what I’ve been doing this entire time. Trying to fix it and hoping that she’ll be happy I solved all her problems.
Fucking idiot.
My feet pound the belt, and the numbers tick up.
Nine miles.
Ten.
I’m cranking the speed up again when I realize I’m not alone.
Drew’s at the bench press, drinking from his water bottle.
I tip my chin toward him, surprised he’s here. It’s peak time for dinner. Surely, he’d want to be out at one of the fancy restaurants with Bella. I certainly wouldn’t be here .
Give her space.
That’s the mantra I’m trying out for the first time in my entire life, and it’s so much harder than I thought it would be.
Still, I try.
I push through to fifteen miles, and only then do I let myself stop. The belt slows under me, my legs shaking as I grip the handles. Sweat is dripping into my eyes, my shirt is stuck to my chest, and I'm breathing heavily.
Still don’t feel any better.
I grab my towel off the rail, wipe my face down, and step off.
Heading toward the free weights, I pick up a pair of dumbbells and find a clear stretch of mat.
With every set, I go heavier. Then heavier, taking progressive overload to the limit.
My legs are already trashed from the run, but I keep going, because the burn in my quads is the only thing competing for my brain's attention right now, and I need it to win if I’m ever going to have a chance at being successful in the NFL.
I can’t keep trying to solve Honey’s problems like this.
By the third set, my form is going. I plant the weights on the floor.
“You good?” Drew asks, throwing me a clean towel.
I catch it and focus my attention on the fluffy fabric. “Yeah,” I say unconvincingly before wiping my face down with the towel.
By the time I’ve finished, Drew is sitting on the bench across from me, watching me with a raised brow.
“That's about as convincing as you taking the Raptors to Super Bowl victory this year. No offense, Rookie. You're good, but your defense could use an upgrade.”
“Don't I know it,” I mutter, wiping the towel across my face.
“What's up? You thinking about all the shit you're missing to chase a girl?”
“How did you—”
“We've all been there,” he cuts in. “But my question is, did it work? Because you don't look like a man who's ready to go out and play against my team.”
“Did what work?”
“Chasing her.”
“No,” I mutter with a sad smile. “I guess it didn't.”
He nods slowly.
“I keep getting in her way,” I say, playing with the towel. “She’s trying to figure herself out, and I keep planting myself in the middle of it. I know I’m doing it. I’ve known for a while.” I look up at him. “Knowing hasn’t stopped me, though.”
“No,” he says with a chuckle. “It usually doesn’t.
That's why you were recruited first pick in the draft, though.
You play to win, but I'm going to be honest here.
You're going to have to learn to lose. A lot.
You're in the NFL now. The caliber is different. You'll be broken down and torn apart. Then you’ll have to find a way to build yourself back together when everyone is rooting against you.”
I nod, knowing he's right. It's what coaches, psychologists, and ex-teammates have been telling me since I stepped onto the field at St. Michael's, but it's only sinking in now.
Pure talent won't get me through like it did in high school.
A great team with a fantastic legacy of winning won't get me through it like it did in college. I have to work harder than I ever have before if I want to keep my dream alive. If I’m honest, maybe all of this running around and chasing Honey has been a good distraction from that.
I scrub a hand across my face. “I just don’t know how to stop myself.”
He’s quiet for a long moment.
“You can’t,” he says eventually. “Not while you’re still close enough to give in.
That's the part I had to learn the hard way with Bella.
We were going in circles, and every time I told myself I was going to back off, I'd see her or she'd send me one text, and I'd be right back in it.” He shrugs.
“Backing off when she was right there wasn't backing off. It was just waiting for the next excuse.”
I go still, because he’s just described my entire dynamic with Honey.
“So what did you do?”
“I left,” he says simply.
“You—”
“It wasn’t entirely by choice,” he mutters. “But I got on a plane, transferred to a school she wasn’t at, and stopped checking in. Gave us both time to really figure our own shit out.” He leans his elbows on his knees. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever done, and the only thing that worked.”
“How'd you know she'd come back?”
“I didn't,” he answers honestly.
I wait for him to say more, and when he doesn’t, I ask, “Is that it?”
“That’s it. I left because I couldn't be the reason she didn't live her own dream. Whether she came back wasn't up to me. That was the whole point.”
I drop my head back against the wall and close my eyes.
I need to let her go.
I need to actually get on a plane, go to Rome, and let her finish this cruise without me in her peripheral vision.
The thought has been circling for days. I've been refusing to look at it directly because looking at it directly means doing it.
“You can't force someone into position,” Drew says, quieter now.
“You run the play the way it's meant to be run, you put the ball where it needs to be, and you trust they'll get there.
That's the whole job. Showing up, doing your part, and trusting that when the moment comes, she'll be there to catch it.”
“And if she's not?”
He looks at me steadily.
“Then you find out you weren't running the right play.”
I sit with that.
He's not telling me anything I don't already know. Mike has told me. Olivia has told me. My parents have told me. Hell, even Honey has told me, in her own way. The realization isn't new.
What's new is that someone who has actually done it is sitting across from me telling me it's survivable. That the gamble doesn't come with guarantees and you do it anyway.
That's the part I needed.
“You're right,” I mutter.
And that's the scariest part of all.