Shattered Dreams with My Best Friend

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Andre

Fuck, this never gets any easier.

I look down at my daughter, at the tears in her eyes and the way her bottom lip pouts out. Her tiny hands grasp onto my mother’s skirt, holding on tightly, like if she lets go she’ll float away and never see us again.

I hate leaving her, but this time… I need to do it for myself.

I kneel down in front of her. “I’ll be back, Rylee. I promise.”

“But you’re always leaving,” she says, stomping her foot.

“I know, pumpkin. And I’m sorry, but I—”

She growls, then runs off. A moment later, a door slams shut, echoing through the old house. I flinch and let out a sigh, taking a moment before I get to my feet and face my mother.

No matter how often I do this, it never gets easier.

“She’ll be okay,” my mother says.

“I know,” I agree, even though my heart feels like it was ripped out of my chest… for the second time this year.

“She doesn’t understand now, but one day, she will.” I hope that’s true, but I’d be lying if I said I believed her. “Maybe she won’t remember this when she’s older,” my mother adds, but her words don’t comfort me; instead, they make me feel guilty.

“That’s the problem,” I mutter, running my hand through my hair. “What if she never remembers anything about her childhood? What if I’m gone so much that she will never have any good memories of me at all, her father? The only parent she has left.”

My voice comes out harsher than I intended. My mother looks at me sympathetically, not commenting on my rude tone.

“Have you reached out to Christian?”

I grit my teeth. “No.”

My mother puts her hand on my shoulder, looking up at me with tired eyes. “You should really do that, sweetheart. I think he can help you.”

“Yeah, maybe when I get back,” I say, if only to placate her and shoot down this conversation because I know how it ends.

I don’t have time for a therapist. I barely have the time and energy to do the things I need to do, never mind the things my mother wants me to do.

“All right,” she says in that same tone she always uses when she knows it’s time to stop pushing.

My mother has lost a lot of the fire she was once known for.

She always said I was a replica of her, giving her back the attitude that she had.

I kept her humble and entertained her at times.

She never missed out on having a girl because she said I had enough of an attitude to make her feel like she had one.

We’d always go back and forth, having heated debates and discussions about everything, but they were never angry or violent.

It was healthy conversation, fueled by amusement and passion from each of us on opposite sides.

She’s the reason I’m so good at arguing with people.

Maybe I should have been a lawyer. But I guess if that were the case, I probably never would have met my wife, Victoria.

The momentary thought is like a knife twisting in my chest. I sigh in defeat, doing my best to push the memory away, knowing it won’t do me any good. Instead, I rise, glancing down the hall towards Rylee’s bedroom.

I’d offered to buy my parents a bigger house out in California, near mine, but she and my father refused to give up their “forever home” in the-middle-of-nowhere, Ohio.

Despite the smaller, cramped quarters, I swear the hallway seems longer. Maybe it’s just me.

“I’m going to say bye to Rylee.”

My mother says nothing as I move by her, through the living room and down the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Everything in this house is all too familiar. Not a thing has changed since I grew up here.

I knock on Rylee’s bedroom door before opening it and stepping in. She’s lying on the bed, face down, hugging her cream-colored stuffed pig, Bacon J. Ham. No one knows what the J stands for; not even the pig—according to Rylee.

“Hey, pumpkin,” I say from the doorway. “I have to leave now.”

I glance at my watch, knowing I’m already going to be late. Maybe I should just stay. Cancel this weekend with the guys I haven’t seen since college. I reach out to run my fingers through Rylee’s soft brown hair, which she refuses to get cut because only Mommy was allowed to cut her hair.

No, I can’t cancel. I need this weekend.

I need to breathe and do something before I lose my mind, and I can’t have that.

I’m not used to being this still. Even in the off-season, I’m constantly running.

Coordinating practices, gym routines, doing interviews, and of course, strategizing how we’re going to be the champions again.

With a sigh, I move to the end of the bed, kneeling beside it. I put my hand on Rylee’s back, and she jerks out of my touch.

“I promise the next time I have to go somewhere, you can come with me,” I say softly. She doesn’t answer. “We can go somewhere fun before you start school this year.” Again, not a single peep. “I’ll bring Bacon J. Ham a new friend.”

Bribing her isn’t the way to go about things, I know that. But I’m out of ideas. I don’t know what else to do to make my kid not be mad at me.

Maybe stop leaving all the time.

I’m really fucking trying.

I kiss the back of her head.

“Love you, pumpkin. I’ll be home in a few days.”

I close the door behind me and hug my mother goodbye on my way to the door.

“Call me when you get there.”

“Make sure you tell Dad I said bye.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

My mother smiles at me, that same smile that feels real, but all I see behind it is the worry. She’s always so worried about me. Especially these days.

My head is screaming at me to turn around and go back inside to stay with my daughter. To not leave her side again, and make sure she knows that I’m not going anywhere… at least, not for a while. I will always be back.

The ache in my chest grows until I feel like I can’t breathe. I walk like a zombie to the SUV waiting at the bottom of the driveway. It’s only when I pull open the door and see Paul in the driver’s seat, that air fills my lungs again.

“Is there room in the back?”

He smirks. “Left room just for you.”

A smile crosses my face that I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

Paul is my best friend. The only person who really knows what I’m going through—who has ever known. Who needs a therapist when I have him?

He gets out of the car, opens the trunk, and helps me put my bags in, even though I am completely capable of doing it myself.

“You ready for this epic reunion road trip?” he asks.

I huff out a laugh. “I’m just ready to be there, drink too much, see everyone for a few minutes, then come home.”

“And see the circus,” Paul says humorously.

I can’t help but roll my eyes and shake my head.

“I told you it’s not the circus.”

We both get in and buckle our seatbelts.

“Yes, it is. It’s in the name. Circus So-lail or whatever.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Cirque De Soleil.”

Paul shrugs. “Whatever. We’re still going.”

I sigh in defeat. “Fine. As long as it doesn’t add an extra day.”

Paul starts the car up as I glance out the window at the idyllic street. It’s a far cry from back home. But I guess this is still home, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

“Rylee didn’t take it well?” he asks carefully.

My chest aches again. “No,” I rasp out.

Paul’s hand rests on my arm, and I glance over at him.

“She’ll be okay. And everything will be even better when you get your contract renewed.”

“And if I don’t? What if they don’t—?” I ask.

Paul smiles. “They will. They’d be stupid not to, considering all the work you put into those guys.”

I sigh, nodding, because the way he says it is like he’s so sure that things will just work out. Even though everything feels like it’s going in the opposite direction.

He pulls up to a red light, turning to look at me with a wide grin that is almost contagious.

“Now, turn that frown upside down, and let’s get this long ass ride out of the way.”

I huff a laugh and rest my head back.

“You want me to drive yet?” I ask as I hand Paul a tall can of Arnold Palmer. I’ve never been much of a fan of iced tea or lemonade, but Paul insists it's the greatest thing since beer was invented. I beg to differ.

“Nope. I’m still good.”

I pop the top on my energy drink, the one I’d kill any of my players for drinking, and guzzle half of it as I lean against the pillar and watch the numbers on the gas meter go up and up and up.

“Gas is way too expensive,” I comment, taking another sip.

“If only we could go back to college and only worry about our grades.”

“No shit.”

The pump turns off when the car is full. Paul hangs up the nozzle, and we get back into the car to finish our journey to New York.

“You see the group chat?” I ask.

“I skimmed it.. Mack’s going off about something.”

“Yeah, he’s there already. Doing all kinds of sightseeing like a lame tourist.”

Paul laughs as he starts the car, then puts on his seatbelt.

“Not everyone gets to travel around the country, like you, Andre.”

“I was working,” I say defensively.

“Uh-huh, sure. Don’t act like you never enjoyed the places you went after the game was over.” He winks at me just before veering onto the highway, moving into the middle lane and stepping on the gas to merge with traffic.

“Of course I did, but I had to set an example. If I said my guys can’t be out there drinking, then neither could I.”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“What? What’s so funny about that?” I ask defensively.

“Andre, we played football together for two fucking seasons,” he says.

“I don’t see what that has anything to do with my guys.”

He shakes his head. "You think all those football players weren’t out partying it up while you were asleep?” He barks a laugh. “They party harder than anyone else.”

“Whatever,” I say. “Those guys respected me. Enough to hide whatever hangovers they had and play harder to cover it up.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I’m sure they still do.” He pauses a moment, and when he speaks again, his tone is more serious. “And they will definitely respect you when you lead them to the championship this year.”

I can’t help but feel my lips turn up into a smile at that suggestion.

I’ve coached the Cougars for the last six years.

When I signed on, they were one of the worst teams in the league, and I knew I had my work cut out for me.

I guess I still do. Even though they’ve made a lot of progress over the last few years.

I think we have a real shot and I want to see them win more than ever.

It’s quiet for a moment, before I add, “None of them even know what happened.”

The silence is heavy before he speaks, his voice low and serious.

“Yeah, but it’s better that way, right? You’re dealing with enough as is, Andre. You don’t need the news about your wife being blasted all over the news. It’s only been a couple months, man. There’s nothing wrong with wanting your privacy.”

He’s right. I know he’s right. But I still feel like I’m abandoning my team.

I had long-term plans for them, and knew despite what everyone else said, they’d only get better.

They were already climbing the ranks, and we almost made it to the playoffs last season.

We’ve restructured and rebuilt, and right now their future is in someone else’s hands.

Even though it’s not my fault, and even though I know this is the right thing to do, I can’t help but feel like shit over it.

And not just work, but everything. Rylee, my parents, my future. Everything has changed. Nothing is how it was supposed to be.

I wasn’t supposed to be back in Marietta, living with my parents.

I should still be in my home in California with Rylee and Victoria.

But I couldn’t stay in that house after what happened…

after knowing what happened to her in it.

It was an accident. A freak fucking accident.

But the image… the memory of her pale, lifeless body—no.

I can’t go down that road. Not here. Not now.

”Distract me,” I say quickly.

It’s not a code word, but he knows what it means. He knows it means I’m all up in my head and need something to pull me back.

“Maddox put a frog in my bed two nights ago.”

“What the fuck?”

“Yep. I was in it, too. The little shit. Scared the hell out of me. I’m just lying there, trying to sleep, and I feel something slimy stick to my fucking leg! I almost shit my pants.”

I can’t help but laugh, already feeling lighter.

No matter what, I can always count on Paul to make me feel better.