25. Chapter 25
Chapter 25
Tripp
I sink into the hotel bed and stare at the ceiling. Tomorrow is our season opener. Typically, I’d be wired, packed full of energy, itching to play the game I know and love.
Instead, I’m thinking about how quiet this room is. How it’s too put together. The white comforter tucked into the king bed, doesn’t have a wrinkle on it. It screams “wash your hands” before getting too close. Empty bedside tables and a generic photo of a beach make me hurt for something familiar. It’s too sterile, like a hospital room but with a bigger bed.
Truth is, being on a new team is fucking tough. There are so many things with established fans and organizations you don’t realize you appreciate until it’s gone. The buzz I’m used to feels a million miles away, on a roster I don’t belong to anymore.
My heart hurts over my old team. It squeezes and pinches in my chest, all the while soaking in this quiet, too staged hotel room. I thought I had come to terms with the trade and what the rest of my career was going to look like. Guess not.
I reach my arms out. The California king bed, large enough to fit my entire body, feels like it could swallow me whole.
I wish Willow was here.
The thought is quick as sweat beads on my forehead. My heart feels like it stops and starts, erratically, with no rhyme or reason. Like it forgot how to beat. Why is the air so heavy? It’s like my lungs can barely expand. My mouth is dry. Pins and needles creep from my shoulders down my whole body, right to my fingertips. I flex and stretch my hand, trying to ease the prickling.
The room tilts just enough for the familiar feeling to hit me like the cornerbacks are going to tomorrow.
Oh no. Not fucking now.
I’m about to have a panic attack. It’s been years but the feeling brings me back like it was yesterday. Just like riding a bike, I put my legs off the edge of the bed and put my head between my knees. I breathe in for five, hold for as long as I can, and breathe out for five. I visualize waves, rolling in, rolling out, with the pace of my breathing.
In.
Hold.
Out.
Eventually, the pin sensation leaves my hands. I don’t know how long I do the breathing exercise for, but I feel better. Not great but better.
It’s after 9 PM on the west coast, meaning it’s past midnight back home.
I need a distraction. Otherwise, I’m going to be like this all night.
The phone rings. And rings. Until Willow answers.
“Hello?” she answers, her voice dripping with sleep.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. You were sleeping.” I rub my hand over my face.
“It’s okay. Is everything okay?”
I don’t know what to tell her. This thing between us is so new. Does she really want to hear about this? Panic attacks? Over something as ridiculous as a bed that’s too big.
“Tripp. What’s wrong?” She says it in a way that makes me want to tell her everything.
“I have panic attacks. I just need to talk. Or listen to someone talk. I can’t explain it but this fucking hotel room. It’s empty and—”
“Tripp. Take a breath. You’re okay,” Willow interrupts my barely coherent rant. “I’m here.”
And I do. I take deep breaths.
“Is this something that happens often?” she lightly presses.
“It used to.” I stare at the floor. “I’ve done therapy on and off when it becomes an issue. But it’s been a while.”
“Are you nervous for tomorrow?”
“No. Not really. I feel like this game is one thing that I’m good at. I’m a key part of the team and they need me.”
“Well, you’re good at other things. Like singing,” she jokes, and it brings me back to her piano. The lightness I felt when she played music and I sang along. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I sigh like a dramatic teenager.
“People don’t play football forever. I’ve been thinking about what happens after this. And when I saw this stupid fucking bed it just made me feel like… I’m all by myself. I know it sounds ridiculous and it doesn’t make sense but it’s all I got.”
“It doesn’t sound ridiculous. You don’t want to be alone.”
“No, I don’t,” I say, my voice quiet.
Alone. My mind races. Did I go about this the wrong way? I’ve done nothing but pour myself into a game, a thing that is temporary. It’s always been this way, but I’ve acted like it’s forever. Me. My mom. Football.
The list is small.
“You’re not alone. I’m here. I wish I was there with you.”
“This doesn’t scare you? Me, calling you in the middle of the night because I’m spiraling? You probably thought I had a better grasp on all of this.”
Willow laughs. Actually laughs.
“What? Why are you laughing?” Insecurity runs through my blood .
“I shouldn’t laugh but I like that you think everyone has it together besides you. No one knows what’s going on. Tripp, hear me when I say this, this doesn’t scare me. Not at all.”
A wave of relief runs over me, and I can feel my shoulders moving away from my ears.
“Are you sure?” I’m a needy bastard right now.
“I’m sure. So sure. If you were perfect this would be so boring.”
To my surprise, I laugh. Just for a second. But this is the distraction I need.
“Is there anything I can do to help right now?”
Two choices: I can tell her that I’m fine, when I’m not and wrap this call up. or I can tell her what I need.
I’ve been honest up until this point. Don’t see the need to change it. “Can you tell me a story? Distract me.”
“Sure can. How about the time I was a concert opener and the headliner got too drunk? Do you know this one?”
“No. Tell me everything.”
I can hear her situating herself, probably sitting up in bed. I try to get comfortable while she launches into a story.
I fall asleep listening to Willow. And thinking about how the Willow I’m getting to know is better than I could’ve imagined.
The Upstate Cosmos are undefeated. We stole a win on the road with a go-ahead field goal. Our kicker was fucking losing his mind. He had missed two easy kicks—wide right—throughout the game, and I can’t imagine what it’s like to walk up and kick like that. Everyone holding their breath, praying one way or another .
But he drilled it. A goddamn 50-yard field goal, like it was cake. Celebrating with the team was pivotal. Felt like we were creating something, not because we’re all in the same place doing our job but deeper than that.
I had a solid game: 90 yards, 12 receptions, 1 touchdown. When I scored, I felt this weight lift. It was like I could relax. I’m still fucking good enough to be on a roster.
Talking to Willow was just what I needed last night. I can’t believe I woke her up and she did nothing but try to help. She showed up for me.
I can’t wait to see her.
I open the door to my apartment and see a bouquet of flowers on my kitchen island. Did I accidentally send myself flowers?
They are yellow and white peonies with tons of greenery. The card sticks out the top and I open the tiny envelope.
Tripp – I don’t know your favorite flower, so I sent you mine.
Congrats on the win.
Willow