Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
COLT
I don’t go to the gym. I mean, I’m not welcome at my own gym anymore.
I don’t hit up my bros to go out. Something tells me getting drunk won’t help me.
I don’t even go for a run, which is my usual way of dealing with existential dread.
Instead, after a few hours of staring at the walls in my apartment, I go to my Mom’s.
Mom’s watching some home renovation show rerun in the living room. She looks up when I walk in.
“There you look…”she tilts her head, squinting, “stressed. Like someone just told you carbs were outlawed. And I know how much you love spaghetti.”
I try to smile. “I’m probably overthinking everything. It’s just been a long day, at the end of a long week.”
She studies me like she always does. She’s always been able to see right through me.
“You want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “Nah. Not right now.”
She makes an unconvinced noise, but lets it go as I slip down the hallway to the room I stay in when I stay at her place.
I fall onto my bed and grab the burner Instagram account I made recently. Basically it’s just clips of my old football highlights. And a couple of workouts—sprints and lifts—I’ve done in the past year. Mostly it’s just stuff I post for nostalgia. For fun. For ego.
For the version of myself I thought was gone.
I scroll…
Until I pause.
I notice a message request.
Hudson River Hawks
Semi-Pro Football, NY/NJ Division
My chest tightens.
I open it.
Hey man, saw your highlight reel. You still playing?
If you’re in the city, come to a workout. Could use someone like you.
Playing?
Me?
My eyes widen. I was thinking about coaching someday.
Not this.
I ping him back saying I have considered coaching, and he responds immediately, with an address. Even says he’s there right now.
The response ignites something something electric inside me. My body feels like it’s got new life suddenly.
“Ma, I’m gonna head out.”
“Where are you going?”
“Eh, it’s probably nothing,” I respond, vaguely.
I grab my jacket, an old workout bag that still has my cleats in it, and head out before I can overthink it.
The facility is tucked under a bridge on the west side. It’s got a turf field, metal bleachers, the whole thing lit with buzzing floodlights.
The head coach sees me walk in and his eyebrows shoot up.
“Evans? From the reels?”
“That’s me,” I say.
He nods. “Good. You warm? Good. Let’s get to it.”
“Little warmup would be good.”
“Let’s go, then. Hop to it.”
After a brief warmup, I’m running routes again.
I’m catching passes, dodging tackles, and feeling my cleats grip the turf as if no time has passed at all.
My lungs burn, my ribs ache, my heart feels like it’s breaking out of my chest.
God, it’s perfect.
After an hour, the coach blows his whistle and walks over with the look of a man seeing a ghost.
“So. You only want to coach?” he asks.
I shrug, out of breath.
“I mean…that’s what I figured.”
He points at me like I’m an obvious solution.
“Evans, you could play. Hell… you should play. If you want a spot, we’ll take you.”
I blink at him.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. When can you start?”
I rub the back of my neck.
“When do you need me?”
“Tuesday. Practice at eight.”
I grin, then laugh.
“Uh, yeah. I can do that.”
“What do you do for work these days, anyway?”
“I’m recently on the market, as it were.”
I head back to my Mom’s, practically floating inside.
Mom glances up, her eyes softening.
“Well. Someone looks happy.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I got some good news.”
“You want to tell me?”
I shake my head.
“Not yet.”
Because there’s someone else I want to tell first.
I collapse onto my bed and I’m about to send her a message, but first I open Instagram for some reason, and look up Elena’s profile.
And there she is.
Poolside, but not at Cabo.
She’s at Harper’s luxury apartment indoor pool, with the skylights overhead and the city glowing behind the glass.
Elena’s in a bikini that looks like it was personally designed to ruin me.
Her wet hair, and curves are on display, and she’s radiant, laughing at something Harper said.
I mean I assume Harper is the other one in the photo with her. Who else?
She looks unreal, confident, and hot as hell.
The caption reads:
“Pool day… needed it ”
My chest tightens.
Maybe I’m reading too much into things…but that’s a single person’s post.
A free person’s post.
A woman enjoying her life without thinking about some guy she was hooking up with in the past.
Casual, I remind myself, feeling something crop up in my throat.
We were always casual.
She owes me nothing. She should be posting hot thirst traps.
And on my side, I owe her nothing.
Still, something jealous and raw twinges in my gut.
If we’re doing casual, fine, let’s do it.
I flip my phone in my hand, smirking to myself.
It’s 10:30 p.m.
An hour when smart decisions go to sleep and dangerous ones wake up.
I open our messages, and my thumb hovers. A devious idea creeps into me. One she won’t be expecting.
I want to make her pulse race the way mine is now.
I type something, bold, teasing and absolutely not casual.
And before I can second-guess it, I hit send with my own heart pounding.
I stare at the glowing screen, but I’m already imagining her reaction.