3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Andre
The weekend was fun. It’s always good to hang out with the guys, and I’m so proud of everything they’ve accomplished.
Of course, being away from Rylee is never easy, but she did at least talk to me when I came home.
There have been times she threw fits the entire time I was gone and refused to talk to me for days after I got back.
Thank God for my mother… I don’t know of anyone else who would deal with a child acting like that.
Especially for something like this—a weekend away for fun.
This isn’t for work. Not like it used to be. So I don’t have as much of an excuse to leave my daughter behind. But I was serious when I told her she could come with me the next time. I don’t know what my next trip will be, but whatever it is, I’ll make it work.
I stare at the cow that’s sitting in my suitcase. Bacon J. Ham’s new best friend. He’s cute, super soft, and very pink. A cow that produces strawberry milk, obviously. I can only imagine the name she will come up with.
“All good in the bathroom,” Paul says as he steps out in his towel. The steam from the room follows him out, and I feel the heat hit my skin.
I grab my things and head in next to jump in the shower, which I make quick.
I’m exhausted and tired of being away from home.
Away from my daughter. I just want to settle in a place that’s mine again.
Nothing has felt like that in a long time.
Even my house in California didn’t feel right because I was never home enough to feel settled, not to mention the entire thing was furnished and decorated by Victoria, which she posted about constantly; being well known for her aesthetic and design taste as an influencer.
I didn’t care about countertops and wall art then.
As long as I had a closet for my sneakers, I would have let my wife design us a Barbie Dream House as long as it meant she and Rylee were happy.
But my life certainly didn’t turn out the way I’d planned.
It’s been almost two months. I’m learning how to live an entirely new life with a daughter who seems to want nothing to do with me anymore.
She’s always loved me. She’s always hated it when I was gone.
But at least when I was gone before, she had her mother to comfort her.
Now she just has mine. Her grandmother, with whom she isn’t all that well acquainted with considering they have only seen each other a handful of times before, mostly around the holidays, and even then my parents have always visited us, not the other way around.
I hate to admit it, but things were so much easier when Victoria was alive. She held us all together. The long trips and time away was manageable, because I always looked forward to coming home to see my girls. Being home was a gift.
These last few months haven’t been easy, and not just because of Rylee.
I took a leave from coaching the Cougars that is slowly turning permanent.
I can’t say that I care, even though I should.
But nothing feels right without Victoria.
Everything just… feels wrong. Even coaching.
So I did the only thing I could do for me and my daughter.
Rylee and I left our house behind. Sold it for well under asking because I couldn’t bear to look at it anymore.
That house was Victoria’s. She and I picked it out together, but it didn’t matter to me where we lived or how big our house was.
I was just happy to be starting our family, or as Victoria called it: our fairytale.
It didn’t feel right to stay there without her. There were too many memories. Not enough memories. So now Rylee and I are here in Ohio, living with my parents, because I can’t get my shit together enough to buy a house even though there’s nothing stopping me but myself.
Maybe after I get back from this trip, Rylee and I can look at houses together. We’ll make a day out of it. I bet she would like that. She loves being involved in things.
I throw on my shorts while still in the bathroom since I don’t mind getting dressed while I’m still wet.
Paul hates it, which is why we have this little routine down.
He showers first, so he can get dressed in the room after he dries off, and I throw on my clothes in here. By the time I’m out, he’s clothed.
We’ve done this enough over the years that we don’t get in each other’s way. We know how to make it work. It’s almost like we’ve been doing it our whole lives, but maybe that’s because we lived together for four years in college.
Paul is already lounging in bed when I get out of the bathroom, legs crossed at the ankles, his gaze focused on the TV. The room is dark, so the shadows light up his face. I shuffle over to my side of the bed and hop on top of the blanket, just like he is.
“Not tired?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Too early.”
“What are we watching?” I ask.
“Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift.”
Why am I not surprised by that? I shake my head, but don’t say anything. I scoot down so I’m in more of a laying position rather than leaning against the headboard.
People may think it’s weird that we share a bed, but most of the time, one queen is cheaper.
I’m not struggling financially, and neither is Paul, but he is more frugal than I am with certain things.
And hotel rooms are one of them. He won’t let me pay, either, or else we’d be in a suite.
So we just share a bed because who cares? All we do is sleep.
“I wonder how many more of these they’re going to make before they finally send Vin Diesel to space.”
Paul glares at me. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you don’t have guilty pleasures, Mr. They aren’t shoes; they’re an investment.” He scoffs.
“They are!” I shove him, and he laughs, his body leaning into my space enough that I can smell the hotel soap on him.
I roll my eyes as he settles. Arguing with him isn’t going to do any good.
There are worse things on television than my friend’s favorite movie.
So I relent and compromise. If he gets to pick the movie, I get to pick the food.
“We should order room service,” I say.
Paul glances at me and grins. “You read my mind.”
I call in to order, and even though Paul offers me his card, I tell them to charge it to the room since we left my card for incidentals. We get every appetizer they have and plan to share them all, and a bunch of water because after all this fried food, we’re going to need some hydration.
The food comes a short time later, and we spread it all out on the bed and keep watching the soap opera with pretty cars, and I start to feel a little better.
Maybe not completely, but enough that I can relax and enjoy sitting here, watching a movie and eating food that’s way too bad for me with my best friend.
An hour passes. Then another. The food is gone.
The TV is still going. I’m starting to get tired.
“I think I’m going to sleep,” I mutter. “Especially if we have to go see that show in the morning.”
Paul grins again, shifting wordlessly so he can slide his legs under the blankets. I do the same and fall asleep almost immediately to the sound of the tv and the heat of Paul’s body next to mine.
We wake up early. Go for breakfast. Get in line early for the show.
It’s good. Entertaining. Not worth the money or waiting eight years, but Paul was thrilled.
We grab lunch from a food truck in the park, have a beer, and walk around a little bit before we head back to the hotel to grab our bags and get on the road to head home.
“Back to the grind tomorrow, right?”
He groans. “Why’d you have to remind me? I thoroughly enjoyed sleeping in this weekend.”
“Sorry.” I laugh.
“Speaking of work… you figure out what you’re doing yet?”
Now I groan. “No. I can’t decide what I want to do. Or what the right thing is to do.”
“Then do whatever’s easier,” he says with a shrug. “Flip a coin or something.”
Choices should be simple. Paul always helps when it comes to simplifying things, but I don’t feel better.
I don’t even have to think about the answer; not with Paul. I can say whatever I feel and he won’t judge me. Not like my parents, or the league, or even my daughter. The words fall out of my mouth too easily, despite the fact that I haven’t said them out loud to anyone else, not even myself.
“Quitting would be easier.”
Paul doesn’t miss a beat. “Then quit. Take some time for yourself. You deserve that, at least right now. I will fully support you if walking away is what you need to do.”
Of course he would. Though I’m not sure if anyone else would.
Sure, my parents will say they support whatever I do, but that’s what parents are supposed to say.
But my parents, especially my dad, didn’t raise a quitter, and leaving my dream job definitely feels like a failure.
I was lucky to get the job in the first place, so leaving isn’t a small thing.
I might never get a job coaching like this again.
But leaving means spending more time with my daughter, who needs me.
Though, what I’d do back in Ohio is beyond me.
I haven’t had to think about getting a job or changing careers since before I left for college.
“What do you even do after coaching an NFL team? How do I manage being there for my kid all the time and still go to work?” I look at him, his expression deadpan and unbothered, and I realize how privileged I must sound.
That’s precisely what he does. Every day.
Though split custody isn’t easy to balance with teaching and coaching the basketball team and everything else he does, somehow he makes it work, and I can’t say it’s not inspiring as hell.
I don’t know how the fuck he does it and makes it look so easy.
His expression shifts, and he sighs, the sound almost remorseful.
“No one can be there for their kid all the time, Dre. You just have to do the best you can, and be there when it matters.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. But not being there all the time for Rylee doesn’t feel right; not with Victoria gone.
“Yeah.” It’s all I can manage to say so I don’t spiral into those thoughts again. The ones that keep attacking me no matter how much I try to ignore them.
“You have options. You could coach at any of the nearby schools.” He gives me a half-smile. “Maybe go into PT like Mack.”
I give him a light laugh. “Yeah, because he’s such a ray of sunshine.”
Paul chuckles. “Okay, maybe not, but you could come to Rockridge and coach for one of our teams. We’re always looking for people. I bet the school would be over the moon to have a former NFL coach on their roster,” he says with a smirk.
I know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to help, but it feels unsettling. I shouldn’t even be here in Ohio, debating what to do with my life. I run a hand through my hair, pursing my lips as he continues, not giving me a chance to respond.
“People will understand why you’re doing it. There will be a lot of talk, I’m sure, but leaving so you can take care of your kid after losing your wife? So you can heal your own heart? Who can say something bad about that?”
“You’d be surprised,” I mutter.
I’ve seen the things the media takes and spins.
It’s gross and fucking depressing. It’s also worrisome.
I don’t need Rylee’s face all over news articles because of my decisions.
It’s the one thing Victoria and I were adamant about—keeping Rylee out of the spotlight until she was old enough to handle the shit that comes with it.
Victoria and I willingly walked into it because we knew what we were getting into.
And still, neither of us were prepared for all the negative comments or rumors, or all around bullshit that comes with being known.
We just wanted Rylee to be a normal kid for as long as possible.
Now that seems like wishful thinking, and I hate it.
“Maybe you should consider a nanny,” Paul says nonchalantly.
I tense, the words making me feel like more of a failure.
It probably doesn’t make sense to most people; especially back home in California where nannies are like fashion accessories, but my wife and I didn’t want that kind of life for our baby girl.
We wanted to be there every step of the way, present and proud—the way it should be.
“No,” I say with a firm shake of my head. “Victoria never wanted that. She was raised by a nanny and hated it. I was raised by my parents and loved it. So… we agreed on no nanny.”
“Okay, fine. But you’re going to need more help, whether or not you like it or not. That’s all I’m saying.” He holds his hands up in truce.
“My mom helps.”
It’s silent for a moment, then Paul adds, “School will help, too. Give you some time to figure it out.”
Rylee is starting kindergarten this fall, and that’s been another issue. Do I want to enroll her in the district here if we aren’t going to stay? Why is everything so difficult?
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, but nothing in my tone convinces either of us that I think it’s a good idea.
Thankfully, Paul gets the hint because he doesn’t say anything else until we’re stopping for gas and food.