Chapter Eleven #2
Like how I work hard day in and day out for her.
Yes, I love football, love the competition, but wanting her to have the best life possible is what drives me.
I know what life was like for her growing up, and I’ve made it my mission to give her everything she desires, but now she’s saying she wishes we had a different life? Like what we’ve built doesn’t matter?
“What?” she says with a sigh. “You’re clearly holding something back, so just say it.”
I continue holding my tongue, because I know better. She accuses me of not wanting to hear the truth, but she doesn’t like it either.
So, my response is a grumbled, “Nothing,” and I leave it at that.
“See?” she scoffs. “This is the shit that keeps us going in circles instead of making progress. We go around and around the same issues, because we never actually deal with them. How can we fix this if we don’t actually say what’s wrong?”
“Fine, you want me to say it?”
“Yes! All I’ve wanted for months now is for us to talk these things out, West. For us not to be afraid to say what’s on our minds, so we can start working together again, instead of against one another.”
I take a deep breath, fighting everything within me that says this is a bad idea, and then I just… say it.
“Sometimes I think you want this life, but you forget all that comes with it.”
She doesn’t speak as she crosses her arms over her chest.
“You love this house, love that I’ve been able to fund the center, love that we have stability and want for nothing, but you hate that there’s a dark side to this shit.
Fame comes with criticism, and our names getting dragged into shit, and things that should be personal becoming a punchline.
You can’t have one without the other. Which means we’ll have to weather some storms most people won’t have to weather.
And honestly? You keep bringing up counseling, but counseling won’t fix my shoulder, it won’t help us start a family, and it won’t make people like Ira and Pandora mind their own damn business.
You want to talk about what’s really wrong with us?
That’s the shit that’s really wrong with us.
We’re broken because we’re trying to have it all, trying to be perfect and life doesn’t fucking work that way, Blue. ”
My chest rises with every deep breath I take, and I already regret being so honest. I’m worked up because my emotions are raw.
She’s completely silent, but her eyes are fixed on me, and I don’t miss the sheen of tears pooling in them now.
Shit.
Fuck!
Why couldn’t she just let me wallow in this shit by myself like I wanted, instead of dragging her down with me?
“Thank you,” she says quietly as she takes a step toward our bedroom door. “I asked you to be honest, and you were.”
“Blue, I—”
She glances over her shoulder. “No, it’s fine. Really. It’s better that I know how you feel.”
I stand, gritting my teeth through the discomfort. “I only mean that—”
“West, I can’t do this right now.”
When she faces me again, her eyes are redder, completely flooded, and if I didn’t already hate myself, I would now.
“I heard you,” she says. “You think I’m impressed by this lifestyle, or in the very least you think I’m beholden to it, but… all I’ve ever wanted… is you, West. And if you can’t see that, maybe you’re right. No one can help us.”
She leaves, closing the door behind her, and it feels like there are a million miles between us.
Only now do I even hear the television again, and it’s more of the same—a new reporter’s segment, but he’s spouting the same bullshit about me.
That I should’ve stayed in Sacramento.
That there’s a target on my back that has any opponent I face hungry to dethrone me.
That whatever surgery lies ahead for me will probably be more extensive than the last with a harsher recovery.
That there are already reports that I’m losing endorsements.
And I can’t take another fucking thing going wrong.
My mind’s a blur, and all I can think about is how I’m losing everything. Everything. Rage pulses through my veins and the next thing I feel is a burn in my knuckles as the drywall beside the TV smashes beneath my fist.
I can hardly breathe as I stare at the hole. I’ve thought I’d found my breaking point before, but I was wrong. This… this… is my breaking point, and I’m on the verge of giving it all up.
All of it.
Just to maybe reclaim some shred of my sanity.
But there’s something that terrifies me more than losing my career, more than being alone, more than disappointing everyone I love.
And that’s the fact that, as I stand here imagining it, fist-deep in a wall, the thought of giving up the fight—every fight—is almost… a relief.
I slump to the floor, doing my best to ignore the voices on the TV and the one in my head, all telling me I’m nothing. But then I hear her voice—Blue’s—making it clear that she’s never wanted anything from me but me.
And as I replay all the shitty things I just said to her, things I can never take back, I think I’ve proven something valuable to myself today…
I’m an even bigger fuck-up than I give myself credit for.