5. Charlie

CHAPTER 5

CHARLIE

S itting on my front steps, I lace up my running shoes, frustration building in my chest. It's been days since I left a message with Abernathy Athletes, and still no response.

Not that I should be surprised, of course. The whole industry is avoiding me like the plague.

Shaking my head, I set off at a light jog. A bit of frost still sparkles on the lawns, and car doors close up and down the street as people head off to work. Everyone's life has purpose.

Well… almost everyone's.

As I jog down the street towards the park, I notice people staring at me. In the past, I would have stopped to take pictures and sign autographs for fans, but now I just want to disappear. Unlike the past, now they're watching me because of how fast my career is crashing and burning.

My pace quickens, fueled by both embarrassment and annoyance.

"Is that Charlie Elwood?" a woman pushing a stroller asks her friend as I sprint past them. I clench my fists, willing myself not to react.

"Charlie, can I get a picture?" a daring fan asks, but I ignore them, focusing on my breathing and the pounding of my feet against the pavement.

The park comes into view, and I push myself even harder. I need to escape the relentless attention and judgment. As I enter its green sanctuary, I weave through trees and trails, desperately trying to outrun my thoughts.

Let's just say Abernathy do call me back. What can I say to them that I haven't already said to everyone else? How can I convince them that I'm not messing around? That I've learned my lesson after getting booted from the Thunderhawks?

Anxiety gnaws at my insides, threatening to suffocate me. Sucking in deep breaths, I try to steady my racing heart.

"Come on, Charlie," I mutter in between breaths. "You've got this. You've faced worse before."

But it all feels different now — heavier, more desperate. My past victories seem a lifetime away, replaced by the weight of my recent failures. As I round a bend in the path, a familiar mantra pops into my head: one foot in front of the other. One step at a time.

Maybe, somehow, I'll make my way out of this mess.

Following the trail that curves through the park, I exit the greenery and sprint the rest of the way home. Sweat drips down my face as I jog up the steps to my front door.

My heart still races from the run, but it's not just from exertion — it's also from the pressure of knowing I need to find a way to turn my career around. I fumble with my keys and step inside, shutting out the world for a moment.

The silence doesn't last long, though. From inside my shorts pocket, my phone starts ringing.

I pull it out and see it's my mom calling. Even though I consider not answering, I know I can't follow through, so I hit the green button.

"Hey, Mom." I lean against the wall and wipe sweat from my brow. "What's up?"

"Nothing much. Just checking in on you." Her tone is gentle, but I can hear the concern behind her words.

"Everything's fine," I lie. "Just got back from a run."

"Good, good. It's good that you're keeping up with your training. But how are you really doing, Charlie?"

Of course she's refusing to accept my dismissal. And that's why I love her — she doesn't let me off the hook so easily.

"Really, I'm just… trying to figure things out." Walking into the living room, I sink onto the couch. "I need to get back out there if I'm gonna save my career."

"Maybe you should come home for a while. You know, get away from all this."

The idea of going back to Milwaukee sounds tempting, but I can't afford to lose any more time.

"Thanks, Mom, but I can't drop the ball now." I pause, considering my next words carefully. "I appreciate your support, though."

"Of course, honey. I'll always be here for you." There's a brief silence before she continues. "You know, after your father left, I never thought we'd make it through, but we did. We stuck together and made a life for ourselves."

"Mom." I sigh, feeling the sting of old wounds. "You don't have to bring him up."

"I just wanted to remind you that we've been through tough times before, and we'll get through this too," she says softly.

Her words do little to ease my anxiety, but the sentiment is comforting.

"Thanks, Mom." I manage a small smile.

Inside, though, it's more complicated. I'm feeling both grateful for her support and frustrated by the memories of my father's abandonment. It's hard not to feel like history is repeating itself; once again, I'm fighting an uphill battle to prove my worth.

Her voice takes on a brighter tone. "You know what? There's this lovely young lady who just moved into our neighborhood. I think you should meet her."

"Mom, not this again," I groan. She's constantly trying to set me up, and I've managed to dodge her attempts every time.

"Come on, Charlie. She's smart, funny, and kind-hearted. What do you have to lose?"

I'm sure this girl is nice, but I can't help remembering the sour marriage between my mom and my dad. The thought of settling down with someone scares me. I'd rather date for fun, never committing to anything serious.

"Thanks, but I'm really not interested right now, Mom," I say, hoping she'll drop it. "Besides, I need to focus on getting my career back on track."

My phone buzzes in my hand, signaling another incoming call. Glancing at the caller ID, I see it's Abernathy Athletes. A surge of hope courses through me, and I hurry to end the conversation with my mom.

"Hey, Mom, I gotta go. I just got another call. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"All right, honey, just remember I'm here for you," she replies warmly. "Bye."

With a racing heart, I switch over to the other line. "Hello, Isaac?" I say, trying to sound composed.

"Good morning, Charlie," Isaac replies, his voice crisp and professional. "We've reviewed your case, and we've assigned one of our assistant agents to work with you. Her name is Marissa White."

"Assistant agent?" The disappointment is impossible to keep out of my voice. I'd hoped for someone higher up the ladder, someone who could pull strings and make things happen.

"Marissa is more than capable of handling your case, Charlie," Isaac says firmly as if sensing my doubts. "Beggars can't be choosers, as they say."

"Right," I mutter, chastened. "I understand."

"Good," Isaac continues. "She'll be in touch to set up a meeting. Have a nice day, Mr. Elwood."

"Thank you," I say, swallowing my disappointment as best I can. I hang up and immediately reach for my laptop, eager to learn more about this Marissa White.

The first image that pops up when I search her name takes my breath away. She's stunning — wavy brown hair cascading over her shoulders, hazel eyes that seem to see straight into my soul. For a moment, I forget all about my career woes and indulge in the fantasy of being with someone like her.

And it's not like I haven't been with beautiful women before. During my time in the NFL, I've had my fair share. There's something different about this one, though, even if I don't understand exactly what I'm responding to.

"Focus, Charlie," I chide myself, shaking off the lustful thoughts. This is business, after all.

There's little online about Marissa, which is disappointing. Has Isaac paired me up with a total newbie?

Being relegated to such a low-level agent stings like a beast, but it's not like I get to complain. I need to take what I can get.

Besides, maybe she's exactly what I need. Maybe she'll prove to have more sway than she appears.

A knock on my door interrupts my thoughts, and I quickly minimize the tab with Marissa's picture before answering. Tim stands in the doorway, a look of concern on his face.

"Hey, man," I greet him, trying to sound casual despite the racing of my heart. "What's up?"

"I'm on my way to practice. Thought I'd check on you." He takes a seat on the couch, instantly making himself at home. "So, any news from Abernathy?"

"Actually, yeah," I reply, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. I pull up Marissa's photo again and turn the laptop so he can see her. "This is Marissa White. She's an assistant agent there, and she's going to work with me."

Tim raises an eyebrow as he examines her picture. "She's pretty." He gives me a knowing smirk.

"Tim, come on, it's not like that." I roll my eyes, even though a part of me appreciates his teasing because it means he also recognizes how gorgeous Marissa is. "I'm meeting her to discuss my career, not to flirt."

"Be careful," he cautions, his tone suddenly serious. "You already have a reputation, and you can't afford to make things worse for yourself."

"I know, I know." I sigh, running a hand through my hair. But even as I agree with him, my thoughts betray me, wandering back to Marissa's full lips and wondering what they might taste like.

"Promise me you'll behave around her," Tim insists, holding my gaze until I nod in assent.

"Of course, man. My career is on the line here. I won't do anything stupid." The words feel hollow, though, as if I'm only saying them to placate him.

"Good." He pats me on the shoulder before standing up to leave. "I'll see you later, then. And remember, be professional."

"Thanks, Tim." I force a smile as he leaves, but my mind is already drifting back to Marissa — her intelligent eyes, her confident stance in the photo, and those lips that I can't seem to shake off.

"Get a grip, Charlie," I mutter, closing the laptop with a snap.

I finally have a real opportunity, and I need to bring my A-game. For the sake of my career, I have to stay focused on what truly matters — focused on that and nothing else.