51. Colton

51

COLTON

I stare up at the old, tarnished ceiling above me and sigh.

I’d hoped that coming here would be relaxing, but I feel anything but relaxed right now.

It took all the effort I possessed to convince the doctors at the hospital that this was a good idea. But thankfully, with the support of the Seattle Saints medical team, they begrudgingly allowed me to leave. Not that they could really stop me.

I know it’s a risk, but I couldn’t stay there for another night. I couldn’t lie in the fucking bed and have eyes watching me every second of the day.

I needed peace. I needed quiet.

I needed my home.

A heavy sigh passes my lips as the scent of the unlived-in house filters through my nose.

I bought this place not long after my penthouse. I love my apartment. It’s everything I wanted for a place right in the heart of Seattle. It’s modern and sleek. The perfect bachelor pad.

It’s worked well for me over the years.

But I knew it wouldn’t be enough. I knew I’d need an escape.

This place should have been the perfect distraction. I mean, it has been, to a point. I naively thought that I would be able to spend the off-season here, throwing myself into a project to stop myself from going stir-crazy while we weren’t training.

I underestimated all the other things that would be required of me.

The sponsorships, the endorsements, the charity work that I’ve enjoyed way more than I expected to. The media appearances, the interviews, and of course, the much-needed vacations.

I’ve made a start, but I’m not even close to turning this place into the home it’s worthy of. And something tells me that progress isn’t going to be made anytime soon, either.

Sure, I could call some contractors in and pay them to do it. But that’s not my vision.

I wanted to do this myself. I wanted to accomplish something that no one would expect. It’s just not going to plan.

I guess that just about sums up my entire life.

I let out a groan, slamming my curled fist down on the mattress beside me in frustration.

At least I have a bed here. A bed, a fridge, an oven, and a bathtub. What else do I need right now, anyway?

Ella…

I slam that thought down as soon as it floats through my head.

I’m doing the right thing.

She doesn’t deserve this. She already hated being a part of my life, knowing that it would throw her into the public eye. But at least she’d have been with the man she knew. Now, I’m broken.

Every day since that game, a little more of me has been stripped away, leaving nothing behind but a broken shell.

I’m empty.

I’m the person I always tried to protect her from.

I’m her. Our mother.

Self-hatred pours through my veins as the image of Mom at her worst when I was a kid fills my head.

I remember the confusion, the hurt, the pain as viscerally as if it happened only a few hours ago.

She blamed me. I was the one who did that to her. It was always me.

West was her golden child while I was the devil.

Fuck knows why. I never figured it out. But when she had one of her episodes, I was always the one at the end of it.

I took it. Every single bit of abuse she threw at me. Because I knew that if she were directing it at me, West was safe.

The single most important thing to me back then was protecting him.

He was such a happy kid. His eyes sparkled in a way mine never did, and when he smiled, it lit them up even more.

I loved him something fierce from the moment I first laid eyes on him, and my need to protect him only grew as the years went on.

I never wanted him to experience what I did. But there was only so much I could hide.

Ella should have chosen him. It would have hurt. Fuck, it would have hurt. But I’d have understood it.

He’s always been better than me. He excelled at school, both in the classroom and on the field. He had a solid set of friends instead of the selfish, fame-hungry ones I always found myself around—until I started at Maddison Kings, that is. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s a better running back than I’ve ever been. His only issue is that he hasn’t found his team yet.

He was traded after his first year in the league. He was devastated when he was told he was being released from his contract—rightly so—but it wasn’t because of his performance. He kicked ass every single game. But he didn’t gel with the rest of the offense. Things are more settled with the Chiefs, but I still think he could do better. He does, too. It’s frustrating as fuck watching him not reach his potential. I know he gets shit from Dad for it, but it’s not always that fucking easy.

I lucked out when I got drafted with Luca, and then even more so when Kane joined us. Unbeknownst to us, the Saints scouts had been watching the three of us together for a long time before we knew they were interested. And it’s paid off.

Together, we are untouchable. A force to be fucking reckoned with.

Or at least, we were.

Pain slices through my chest at the thought of never getting to line up with my best friends again and perform like it’s the last game we’ll ever play.

Refusing to get lost in that thought, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and press my feet to the unforgiving hardwood floor.

It’s definitely one of the best features of this house. Or at least it will be once it’s had some serious TLC.

On unsteady legs, I descend the stairs and shuffle out toward the living area. There’s an old ratty couch in the middle of the room with a very out-of-place-looking wide-screen TV for the couple of times I’ve hidden myself here to watch tapes.

Honestly, the entire place is a fucking disaster, the kitchen half-finished. I don’t know why I ever thought buying a place in this poor of a state was a good idea. Even if I had a normal nine-to-five job, I wouldn’t have anywhere near the skills I’d need to bring it back to life in the way it deserves.

It was the pipe dream of a man who thought he had the world at his fingertips. A man I barely even recognize right now.

When I get to the kitchen, I should reach for a cold bottle of water. But I don’t. Something else lures me in.

The sound of the cap opening sends a dark surge of desire through me, and any hope I had of stopping myself vanishes.

Lifting the bottle to my lips. I let the first mouthful of vodka run down my throat.

It burns in an unfamiliar way. It’s been years since I touched a drop.

Exercise and sex were only so good at keeping my condition at bay. While I was drinking, it was always too easy to slip into episodes.

But without it and a solid routine, I could maintain a stable life without meds.

It’s what I needed. What the NFL required of me.

But now…Do I even have anything left worth trying for?

I drink almost half the bottle without noticing before I lower my ass to the couch.

I don’t bother reaching for the TV remote. I already know I’m not going to watch it. It’ll just end up being unwanted noise that irritates my overactive brain.

It’s too much. Everything is just too fucking much.

I’ve barely gotten comfortable when there’s a knock at the door.

“Fuck off,” I mutter under my breath.

I’d hoped that discharging myself and coming here would give me peace. Sure, I agreed to continue with my PT sessions and regular checkups to ensure everything is okay, but I thought…fuck. It doesn’t matter what I fucking thought. All I know is that it isn’t any better here. Everything is still beyond fucked up.

And she isn’t here…

When I don’t move fast enough, whoever is at the door gets bored and pushes it open.

“Colt?” a familiar voice bellows.

I wince, both at the volume and the concern within it.

After stashing the bottle behind a cushion—for all the good it’ll do—I respond unenthusiastically.

The door slams closed and heavy footsteps move my way.

Each pound against the wooden floor rocks through me.

I know he’s going to rip me a new one.

I know exactly what I’ve done and how pissed everyone is going to be. But I stand by my decisions.

I’m doing what’s right for Ella.

Luca looks larger than life as he steps into the doorway. But more than that, he’s angry. Really fucking angry.

I swallow anxiously, waiting for him to unleash on me.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he bellows loudly enough to dislodge the thick layer of dust covering every surface around us.

“Luc,” I start, although really, I’ve no idea what I’m going to say.

He can see exactly what I’m doing. He’s not stupid. He knows. And he’s fucking livid.

“No,” he barks, storming closer. “Don’t even think about spilling some bullshit about doing this for her,” he says, throwing his hand out behind him as if she’s waiting on the other side of the door. “You’re being a selfish fucking cunt, and you know it.”

I hold his stare, hard and unwavering.

“Do I?” I sneer. “What I know is that I’d be ruining her fucking life if I kept her here.”

“How do you know that?”

“Look at me,” I say, throwing my arms out from my sides. “I’m fucking broken, Luca. I always have been.”

“Oh, come off it. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“No. What I know is that I’ve been fighting my entire fucking life. Desperate not to fall into the inevitable darkness. Fighting to have a normal life. But just when I think I’m going to do it, that maybe, just maybe that I’m not destined to succumb to the fucked-up DNA running through my veins, everything goes fucking bang.”

“This isn’t the end, Colt. It’s just a blip.”

“A blip?” I balk. “I almost died on the field in front of you. In front of her. In front of fucking everyone.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t. And instead of fighting, you’re sitting here letting yourself fall into an episode while drowning yourself in alcohol.”

My breath catches, shocked that he knows.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Colt. I know you better than that. You should be fighting. I’m here to fight with you. We all are. Ella would be too if you’d give her the chance.”

“She’s better off elsewhere.”

He shakes his head, the anger ebbing away in favor of pity.

Unable to look at it, I lower my gaze to the battered floor beneath my feet.

When he speaks again, his voice is softer, although still angry. “She loves you, Colt. She’s always fucking loved you.”

His words cut right to my core. I swear, it would hurt less if he just pushed a knife straight through my already fucked-up heart.

I want to refute his words, but he doesn’t let me.

“And you love her too. I know you do. You’ve loved her since the day you first met her, just like I have Peyton, and Kane has Letty. You’re just too much of a fucking pussy to trust her with your heart.”

“This isn’t about me or my heart. This is about her. I’ll break her heart, Luc.” His eyes open impossibly wide at my words. “I’ll fucking break her. I can’t do that to her. Not again.”

“Break her heart? Are you for fucking real, bro? You’ve been doing that for fucking years. The fact she’s even here and giving you a second chance is a fucking miracle. She wants this. She wants you. She doesn’t give a shit about whether you’re playing football or what dark ghosts linger in your closet. She loves you.”

“But what if it’s not enough?”

A bitter laugh tumbles from his throat, the pity in his eyes only getting more potent.

My stomach knots and my hands tremble as I try to contain the emotion that wants to erupt from me.

“And what if it is?”