41. JT
Chapter forty-one
JT
There is a phone vibrating somewhere near my head, but I can’t be bothered to answer it. Jameo stopped calling a week ago, so I’m not even tempted to communicate with the outside world at this point. I bury my head under my pillow, simultaneously blocking out both the noise and the overly bright sunshine. I need gloom. I feel like I’m hungover, but I’m not. I haven’t allowed myself to drink even one sip of alcohol since I ended things with Lila. Alcohol would numb this pain, and I deserve to feel every memory like the hits to the heart they are.
My phone stops buzzing, and I consider pulling myself out of bed and getting dressed, but I just can’t be fucked. As if the person on the other end of the line can sense my decision to stay in bed all day, the phone starts vibrating again. I’m almost certain I’m not supposed to be playing anywhere today, though, upon further reflection, I don’t know what day it is, so it’s hard to say if I have somewhere to be.
Snaking my hand out from under the sheets of my bed, I blindly reach around until I find my phone and, with a flick of my hand, send it crashing to the ground. I grab the pillow that’s next to me—the one that has been filling in for Lila as I attempt to fall asleep each night—and drop it on top of the phone. I can still hear a faint buzzing sound, but it’s not loud enough to bother me anymore. I’ve been getting really good at shutting things out these past few weeks.
Sometime later, I can’t really say how long it has been since the phone forced me to recognize the existence of a world outside of my memories, I hear “JT Johnson!” bellowed from somewhere in the house. Huh. That’s unexpected.
Unfortunately, that small spark that I felt at the sound of the unknown voice is now gone, and I can feel myself sinking back down into the thick fog that has clouded my mind and my senses since I left Lila in Vegas. I sat through meeting after meeting with my parents, my body on autopilot, Sam on the phone, providing the collateral and signatory power they needed to extend or pay their loans. Sam hates that everything is mortgaged through the roof to get them the cash they need, but oh well. What do I need equity or cash for? I spend every drop of my willpower making sure I’m focused when I’m at the tournaments—making sure I win enough money to continue to pay the people who rely on me—I can’t be expected to interact with the world when I’m at home.
“Um, no,” I hear from somewhere much closer to me. “This is completely unacceptable. What is that smell?” The man must be in my room with me, but I cannot summon the energy to lift my head. It sounds like Sam, but he lives across the country. Unless, I’m at home, right? I blink open my left eye, but—
Holy fucking shit . Why is the sun trying to scorch my retinas? What did I ever do to that flaming ball of gas anyway? Ugh, where did my pillow go? I turn my head the other direction, trying, though not particularly hard, to escape the light and the voice that is now saying things to me. Things I’m likely supposed to be listening to.
“JT! Wake up. Listen to me!” I close my eyes, hoping the ghost of Sam will go away if I just ignore him. It’s colder now, so I guess he must’ve pulled the blanket off me. “JT! I’m going to dump water on you if you don’t sit up right now.” Facing my life right now seems worse than getting water dumped on me—plus it was likely a bluff—so I opt to do nothing.
“Ahh!” I scream minutes later, sitting up and blinking the water out of my eyes. “What the fuck…Sam? What are you doing here?” I focus on my assistant, my eyes slowly tracking from his bright white tennis shoes past his gray joggers and light pink tank top to his clean-shaven face and perfectly styled hair. He’s pacing back and forth in front of me.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? What am I doing here? What am I doing here?!” He stops, fully turning to look at me for the first time, and his jaw drops. “Oh, for the love…what happened to your hair?”
I run my hand over my chia pet hair, remembering a few days ago when I saw the curl Lila liked to wrap her finger around peeking out above my collar, and I realized it had to go. I drove to the nearest drugstore, bought some clippers, and gave myself a buzz cut.
“I cut it.”
“You…you cut your own hair?”
I nod, considering if it’s appropriate for me to lie back down at this point or not.
“Why in the name of Chad Michael Murray would you cut your hair? It’s literally the first rule of breakups. Do. Not. Cut. Your. Own. Hair.” He pulls out his phone and starts typing something, so I assume it means I’m okay to go back to sleep.
“Do not put your feet back on the bed, JT Johnson. I will take drastic measures.”
I drop my legs back down, the cold of the hardwood bringing some awareness back to me. Sam taps a few more buttons before he turns his attention back to me.
“I scheduled you a hair appointment this afternoon. It wasn’t how I thought we would be spending the afternoon, but priorities have changed based on that hack job. Thank God you at least had the sense to keep some length to it. If you’d gone for a full shave, there’s nothing I or anyone else could’ve done.”
“There is nothing that can be done. It’s too late,” I say, meaning so much more than just my hair.
“There is always something that can be done, JT.”
I run my hand down my face, silently urging myself to move. To do something other than just sit here. I know I can do it. I’ve done it every Thursday through Sunday since I shut the door behind me in Vegas. The face the world wants to see is here somewhere. I just have to find it.
Sam gives me another minute before striding into the bathroom and turning on the shower.
“Okay, this is so much worse than I was anticipating, but I’m not going to let that slow me down. First things first, you need a shower. You are seriously malodorous.” He wrinkles up his nose in disgust, and after realizing I don’t know the last time I showered—likely Sunday morning if only I knew when that was—I do as he directs, shedding my clothes without a thought on my way into the door.
Sam is clearly unfazed by my nudity, because he follows me into the bathroom, leaning his ass against the counter as I climb into the shower.
“Excellent. We can check step one off the list.”
I let the hot water pour down my body, not even trying to listen to what Sam’s saying. I’m sure he’ll just make me do it anyway.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Sam steps into my walk-in shower fully clothed and flips the water handle, causing freezing cold water to spray down on me.
“You are not okay. I do not give one flying fuck if you fire me for this, but I will not let you go on like this, do you understand me? We are going to feed you. We are going to get your hair fixed, and then you are going to see a therapist.”
“I’m not going to—”
“It’s non-fucking-negotiable, JT. I’ve been researching who in the area would be a good fit for years now, and I’ve got an appointment with the one who came with the best recommendations for people dealing with emotional trauma caused by their parents.”
“What? My parents haven’t caused me emotional trauma.”
“Really? Is that so?” Sam is standing in my shower, fully clothed, the freezing water hitting him just as much as me, and it’s a terrifying sight to see. He’s pissed, but I can’t figure out what I’ve done.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I…I know I’ve let you and the rest of the team down lately, but I’ll get it together. I am sorry. I’ll get it together.” I turn the water back to warm and squeeze some soap onto my palm as if in proof of my togetherness. “You don’t need to stay in here with me. Go change into a pair of my clothes, and then we can talk about what my afternoon looks like without the therapy visit.”
“No.” It’s all he says. Just no. And the straight line of his mouth is doing nothing to help me understand any better.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I’m not getting out, and you’re not getting out of going to therapy. I can assure you, based on the many years I’ve spent with my therapist, it’s going to suck, but then you’re going to get better. You’re going to feel better. You’re going to get stronger. And then you’re going to realize just how strong the version of you that took the terrifying first step into your therapist’s office really was. You can do this, but you cannot do it alone.”
“I’m fine, Sam.”
“Then why did you break up with Lila? Did you know she calls me on a regular basis now? We’re friends, but that’s beside the point. She calls me to check in on you. She’s worried about you after you left her alone in a hotel room after she told you she loves you.”
“I didn’t leave her alone. I told Jameson and Bryn to go over and be with her.”
“Semantics, JT. You love that woman, and you walked away from her. Telling yourself you have to throw your life away to pay your parents back for their sacrifices—the ones they made when you were a child and they were adults, for the record—that is the thought process of a man who is not okay.”
“Lila’s better off without me.”
“She’s devastated without you.”
“She’ll move on.”
“Yeah, I’m sure she will if you refuse to pull your head out. She’s in love with you, but she also knows her worth. If you don’t get your shit together, she won’t wait around forever. Is that what you want? For Lila to be happy with someone else? And do you really think some other guy will make her happy like you did? Do you want to curse her to a life of what-ifs and half-loves?”
“I…I don’t know.” My head is spinning. Was this a mistake? Am I so broken that I pushed Lila away to focus on something that, at the end of the day, is just a job rather than fighting for her—for us? Did I push away the one person who saw me and never asked me to be anyone but who I am?
“Do you love her, JT?” Sam asks, his tone finally softening.
“Of course I do.” I don’t even need to think about it. If anything, her absence over the last few weeks has made me realize just how much I love her.
“Then turn yourself into the man she needs you to be. And that’s not the one who feels so guilty about his parents’ decisions that he is willing to sacrifice anything to make them happy. It’s the one who puts in the work, every day, to be the guy she deserves. Loving someone doesn’t mean you have to be perfect, you just need to be willing to try, even when it’s hard—especially when it’s hard. You’re going to mess up. A lot. Therapy is going to help you figure out how you can still love yourself when you do so you can keep loving her.”
He turns and walks out of my shower, stopping on the bath rug to peel off his drenched clothes. “Oh, and I’m moving into your guest room and will be traveling with you until you prove to me that you remember your body needs food and water on a regular basis.”
“Thanks, Sam. I don’t deserve you.”
“You do, JT. And you have a lot of other people in your life you deserve as well. I just happened to be the one who was elected to stage the intervention. Kelsey had thoughts on the best way to get you to pull your head out of your ass. And can I just say that I am in love with that woman? She is terrifying and smart, and…I really hope we can get a brunch group or a book club or some kind of travel friendship lined out…I need more Kelsey Harper in my life.”
And with that, he walks his naked ass out of my bathroom.