27. Charlie

My feet pound against the treadmill’s belt. One, two, three. Again and again. Like a metronome. A rhythm that doesn’t let me forget, doesn’t let me escape. It just fuels the guilt gnawing at my core.

I push myself harder, sweat pouring down my face and my muscles screaming for relief. I don’t stop, though. I just keep going.

Maybe, if I run fast enough, I can outrun my entire past. All the mistakes. All the missed opportunities.

Maybe I can forget. Forget about the glory and the cheering crowds that are a thing of the past. Forget about the brand deals. About the luxury yachts and rubbing elbows with the biggest people in the world.

That life is gone.

Just like Marissa is.

It’s been two weeks since I last saw her, and no one calls my phone except for Tim and my mom. When it comes to everyone else, I might as well be dead. Marissa hasn’t called, and I haven’t heard a peep from a team rep either.

Which makes sense. I don’t even have an agent, and the relationship that Marissa concocted to make me look good is now over.

Basically, I have nothing.

I punch the buttons on the treadmill, going even faster.

The truth is glaringly obvious. It’s time to throw in the towel.

I’m starting to think seriously about selling this house and moving back home. Using the money I get from the sale to downsize and then invest the rest. Maybe I can find a place close to Mom and get a job coaching somewhere close by.

It feels like such a shameful end to my career, but it’s not even what stings the most. What really hurts is Marissa’s rejection — and, more than that, the way that I hurt her.

I can still see the hurt in her eyes, hear the tremble in her voice. Remember how she pulled away when I tried to touch her, how cold and distant she’d become. That’s the worst part — knowing that I caused her pain, that I drove her away.

My fists clench at the thought. The treadmill whirs beneath me, its rhythm echoing my heart’s relentless pounding. But no matter how hard I run, the memories don’t fade; they only grow stronger.

Thinking about Marissa is like a punch to the gut, sharp and painful. I miss her warmth, her smile, her laugh. I miss everything about her.

I slow down the treadmill, my legs heavy and aching. My heart feels even heavier.

I’ve always been good at running — running on the track, running from my problems, running from commitment. But now it feels like there’s nowhere left to run.

Marissa was more than just my agent and the girl I was dating; she was my best friend, my confidant, my cheerleader. And I screwed it all up.

My head falls into my hands as I slump against the control panel of the treadmill. Regret washes over me like a tide that drowns all hope of redemption.

The phone rings from somewhere in the distance but I don’t bother answering it. It’s probably Tim anyway. Or Mom.

I push off from the treadmill and stumble towards the shower. Hot water slashes my skin but does nothing to wash away this shame which permeates deeper than skin.

Drying off after the shower, I pad into my bedroom, only to be greeted by the sound of my phone ringing again.

“All right, already,” I grumble, going up to it.

Seeing the number on the screen, I freeze. It’s an unknown caller, but it’s a San Antonio number.

I can’t get the phone off its charger and to my face quick enough. I’m half terrified that if I don’t answer right away, I’ll miss the call and never be able to get in touch with this person again. This person who might be…

“Hello?” I answer breathlessly. “This is Charlie.”

“Hi, Charlie. This is Evan, one of the reps you met with in San Antonio.”

My heart pounding, I sit on the edge of my bed. “Hi, Evan. Good to hear from you.” I’m trying to sound normal, but I can hear the quake in my voice.

“Listen, Charlie. I was really impressed with you. We all are. Things are looking promising over here, and I wanted to speak with your agent, Marissa, again. I called her office after she didn’t answer her cell, though, and they told me she doesn’t work there anymore. She still reps you, though, right?”

I suck in a sharp breath. Shit.

Here it is. The moment of truth.

If I tell Evan that Marissa doesn’t represent me, then he’s gonna want the whole story, which will be hard to hide. I’ll need to tell him that we ended our professional relationship, and no way will he buy that we’re still dating.

Plus, I don’t want to lie. That’s akin to running, and I’m tired of running.

I clear my throat. “No, Marissa doesn’t rep me.”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“Oh,” Evan says. “So you’re unrepped. Can I ask why?”

I work my jaw around. Screw it. Here goes nothing.

What do I have to lose anyway?

“Marissa’s boss, Isaac, didn’t like what was happening between me and Marissa, personally. It turned into this whole mess that ended with her leaving the agency.”

“Oh, really?”

I can tell there are more questions coming, so I decide to get ahead of them and just dive right in. “Here’s the thing, Evan. Marissa and I, our personal relationship started out as fake. We thought it would make me look good after my scandal with the bar fight. We wanted people to think I’d settled down, turned over a new leaf, we decided to act like we were in love. Turns out…”

My chest tightens, and my eyes burn. “Turns out I fell in love with her for real,” I add. “We started dating for real, but Isaac didn’t know about it. He thought the relationship was still just fake, just for show. When he found out it wasn’t, he got pissed, and… that was that. So, yeah. Now, I don’t have a girlfriend, and I don’t have an agent. You’ve caught me at a time when I’m about as alone and pathetic as a man can get.”

I sigh, my shoulders dropping as the weight of the secret is released. I’ve done it. I’ve put my cards out there and shown who I really am.

What comes next, who knows?

I do know that the old saying is at least partially right: the truth does kind of set you free. Whatever its consequences are, I’ll face them.

I couldn’t be the man Marissa needed me to be when she needed it, but I’m learning. Slowly but surely, I’m becoming him.

And that feels better than any Super Bowl trophy ever could.