53. Colton

53

COLTON

T he door knocking echoes through the house, but I don’t feel any of the things I probably should knowing that my best friend, my captain, is on the other side of it.

Just like he has done every single day this week, he’s picking me up to head to the training facility.

I can’t play. Obviously. But I have been cleared for some light exercise to help with my recovery.

No one has told me categorically that I can’t go back to playing, but equally, no one has told me that I will be able to either yet.

Luc thinks that being at the facility with the team is a good thing. That it will help take my mind off everything and give me something positive to focus on. I understand his point, but I’m finding my daily visits to the place that used to offer me such peace and sanctuary anything but positive.

And last weekend’s home game was even worse.

The crowd knew I was there. Whichever asshole was in charge of the jumbotron ensured there was a nice long shot on me where I was trying to hide in the box.

The round of applause that went up sent chills through every inch of me. But it didn’t give me the warm fuzzies I’m sure it should have. Yeah, the support and love felt good, but it didn’t even come close to melting the ice that has wrapped itself around my heart.

It was already bad, but the day Luc turned up to tell me that she’d left, everything just got colder, darker, and even more impenetrable.

I’ve lived here for years without her. She might have always been on my mind and in my heart, but I never really thought I was missing something.

But having her back again, even if just for a short period, has reminded me of everything I fought so hard to forget when we called time on our relationship after she graduated. Fuck. Can I even call it a relationship?

To this day, I have no idea what was actually different about her. Sure, she’s beautiful, intelligent, has a body to fucking die for, both back then and now with her curves, but it was deeper than that. From that very first day, it was like my soul spoke to hers. It was fucking terrifying.

Right in front of me was everything I told myself I’d never allow myself to have.

I swear, I could see my future playing out before my very eyes. And that couldn’t happen, because I knew it was too good to be true.

My future had already been mapped out. Football and pain.

I’d accepted that long before I moved to Florida for college, and I still know it now.

It doesn’t matter how much I want it. Want her.

“Colton,” Luca bellows impatiently.

“I’m coming,” I call back, wincing from the volume as I tie my sneakers.

The last thing I want to do is go and exercise—the jerk knows it, too. But he’s also fully aware that if he doesn’t drag me out of this house and force me to continue living my life, I’m going to drown.

He’s done everything he can to help. Forced me to watch him pour bottle after bottle of alcohol down the drain. But it hasn’t helped.

I just ordered more.

Everything is easier to deal with when it’s fuzzy.

Right now, it seems like the best option.

Ella has left, and I’m no use to my team.

I’m no use to anyone.

What’s the fucking point in any of it?

Heavy footsteps thump my way, and I’m almost done with my laces when he stops in the doorway.

“Everything okay, man?” he asks, his concerned stare burning into the side of my face.

“Yeah,” I grunt, refusing to look at him as I reach for the hoodie lying on my bed. “Fucking peachy.”

“Colt,” he sighs.

“Don’t, okay.”

Every single time he’s turned up here, he’s pointed out the obvious. The obvious that I’m trying to ignore.

I could just go to her.

She’s gone back to Texas. She’s not on the fucking moon.

But as much as I want to…As much as I want to turn up at her door and grovel for her forgiveness…I know I can’t.

It might feel like she’s ripped my heart clean out of my chest and taken it with her, but it’s for the best.

“I’m not saying anything,” Luca says, although when I glance up, I find a knowing smirk playing on his lips that says otherwise.

“We going or what?” I grunt, forcing my way past him and out to my building site of a living room.

I might have had good intentions of making the most of my time here and doing some work, but as yet, nothing has happened. But even living in this mess is favorable to returning to my apartment.

All I’m going to see when I step inside that place is her. All I’m going to smell is her sweet scent. And there’s no fucking way I’m ever going to be able to sleep in that bed again, or look at the bathtub.

I shake my head and rub the back of my neck, massaging the tight muscles there.

“Yeah, we’re going to be late for your appointment.”

“My appointment?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

“Yep, with the shrink.”

My heart drops.

“Fuck.”

Cassie has been like a dog with a bone. Part of discharging myself from the hospital came with the promise that I’d work closely with the Saints medical team, and apparently, that promise included spending more time than necessary with our team therapist as she delves into the dark depths of my fucked-up mind.

Luca chuckles, pissing me off even more as he follows me toward the front door.

I swipe my keys and cell from the side before ripping the door open and stepping out into the warm Seattle sun.

But it’s nowhere near strong enough to thaw me. Nowhere fucking close.

“ G ood morning,” Cassie sings as I reluctantly slip into her room.

The temptation to ignore our appointment time and head straight for the gym was strong, but I knew from previous experience that she’d find me. She always fucking does.

“How are you feeling today?” she asks hopefully.

“Wonderful. Best day of my life,” I deadpan.

There is no point trying to bullshit her. She always knows the truth. That’s something else I’ve tried and failed at.

“Colton,” she chastises, watching me closely as I move across the room and lower myself into her interrogation chair.

“What do you want me to say, Cass?”

“That you’ve thought about everything we talked about in our last session. That you’ve found a way to get your thoughts, fears, and insecurities out. That you’ve considered what you might want to say to El?—”

“Don’t,” I snap, not wanting to hear her name said out loud.

“Colton,” she sighs again as if that’ll help with anything.

“I don’t want to write her a fucking letter,” I spit. “We’re done. It’s over. She left.”

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said the exact same, or very similar words to her recently. But no matter how many times I repeat them, the pain in my chest never lessens.

“So you’ve said.” She pauses, letting her words settle in my head. “How has training been?”

“Fine.”

“Are you feeling stronger?”

“I guess.”

“And your drinking?”

I shrug, unwilling to go there.

Guilt knots up my insides as I give her such bullshit, surface-level answers.

She continues, just like she has every session since my hospital stay, and like always, I hold back.

I never used to.

But I fear that I’m now even too broken to open up to her.

And that is fucking terrifying because…where does that leave me?

Without football. Without my girl.

And with friends who look at me with pity and anger in their eyes.

It’s been quite a few years since I’ve had to remember that they’re not just my friends. They’re hers, too. And right now, every single one of them wants to take her side. I can see it in their hard expressions.

I’ve run their friend out of town after they only just got her back. I’m not sure they’ll ever forgive me.

After an hour of trying every move in the book to get me to open up, Cassie finally dismisses me, having achieved very little.

I make my way to the gym, but with all the players on the Saints roster out training, it’s blissfully empty.

However, only ten minutes into my tame workout, I begin to question the blissful part of that thought.

It’s too quiet. Too empty. All it achieves is to allow me to dive deeper into my own head.

“ T here you fucking are,” Luca bellows across the parking lot after they’ve finished training for the day and finds me leaning against the hood of his car with my arms crossed across my chest.

“Well, I was going to call an Uber, but I thought you’d rip me a new one for running away.”

“And you’d be fucking right,” he barks back. “Now get the fuck in. Peyton has made you dinner.”

I cringe. The very last thing I want right now is to hang out with anyone.

Fuck knows why they keep trying. It’s not like I’m good company.

“I want to go home.”

“It’s not up for discussion. You don’t eat properly at home, and you drink too much. If you want to get back on the field anytime soon, you?—”

“Like that’s going to fucking happen.” I sneer, dropping into his passenger seat, a place I’ve spent entirely too much time in recently.

“Has anyone told you it won’t?” he asks, already aware of the answer.

I don’t respond. I don’t need to; he already knows everything I do.

“What’s she cooking?” I grumble.

“No idea, but it’s Peyton. It’ll be fucking awesome, no matter what it is,” he says, a smile pulling at his lips as he thinks about his wife.

My heart thumps against my ribs.

I remember that look. I had it on my own face not so long ago.

And for a moment, I thought I was going to get to keep it. I thought I was going to be able to lie to myself and experience what everyone else gets to.

But it was stupid. Naive and unfair.

I let myself get swept away by her all over again, and all I’ve managed to achieve is to hurt her worse than I already have.

D inner is…awful.

Not the food. That is incredible, just like Luca said it would be. Not that I can really taste it.

Everything in my life right now is gray. There is no color, no light. Nothing is enjoyable; everything is dull and muted. And they force me to drink soda.

I refuse to let Luca take me home. He’s already spent enough time taxiing me around over the past few weeks, so I call an Uber and ignore all his complaints about it.

The driver is awestruck when I climb into the back of his car, but he quickly learns that I’m not in a mood to discuss my condition, my possible return to the field, or the Saints' successful season so far.

I should feel bad for him. He looks like someone has just kicked his puppy, but I can’t find it in myself to care.

So instead, I sit in the back like a petulant toddler and refuse to indulge in his love of the game.

Once I’m inside my disaster of a home again, I swing the front door closed behind me and twist the lock. But I don’t turn the lights on. I’m happier in the dark.

Here I can hide. I can attempt to forget that real life exists.

With a bottle of whiskey in hand, I make my way to my bedroom. A notebook sitting on my dresser taunts me. It’s full of lists of things I need for this place. Plans and shitty drawings that have never come to fruition.

Dropping onto the bed, I flick through the pages as I sip straight from the bottle.

Eventually, I get to a blank page, and with the alcohol racing through my system, Cassie’s words from earlier slam into me. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve got a pen in my hand and I’m scrawling across the page.

Dear Ella,

I’m sorry…