43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Tripp

Practice is going to be a fucking bummer. I know we're going to get our asses beat into the ground, and maybe we need it, considering we're on a losing streak.

We have an away game this week. I dread every single one. Statistically, this is where I'm most likely to have a panic attack. Even the thought of it brings a wave of anxiety.

The guys keep giving me shit about everything on Sunday. Of course, there were pictures of Dexter ambushing our dinner, plus the whole fan fiasco. It's team shit, and we do the same thing to the other guys when things like this happen to them.

I had to come in early to meet with the team doctors, which caught wind of the "punch". I had to be cleared to practice which was truly laughable. Even though the guy barely touched me, the pictures and videos looked worse.

After I was medically cleared, I was lucky enough to be handed off to coach, our offensive coordinator, and members from the PR team.

The meeting was short as was the message: Don't interact with drunk fans. If something does happen, get a hold of someone who can do damage control for the team. Would you like to do a quick round of media training?

Plus, there was the message they conveyed without coming outright and saying it: Are you going to be a liability moving forward?

My head coach couldn't eye roll hard enough throughout the meeting .

"Okay, Tripp is a bad boy for talking to those idiots, his brain is safe and cleared to practice, and he will not do this again. If he wants to do the media training, he knows where to find you. Can we get him to practice? The thing we pay him for?" he asks while standing up.

The meeting is over, and I've never been more thankful for this man.

We walk out of the room together.

Coach gives me a small smile and claps my back, "Looks like you had a rough Sunday. For what it's worth, I probably would've done the same thing,"

His confession makes me feel a little better.

"But I also was nowhere near your caliber when it came to talent. You're a key piece of the team. I'm betting on you not to screw this up."

"Yes, coach." There really isn't anything else to say—it's almost like talking to a disappointed parent.

"I also know this is the first time something like this has happened. You're not known for causing problems. That's why I ended the meeting. There are probably ten other guys on the team who could use a talking to. I'll see you out there." Coach keeps walking out to the field where my team is practicing.

I'm in the locker-room, and I need a minute. I knew what I did was stupid but never really thought about it affecting my job. Or my health. Hell, that guy could've gotten a real punch in and I could be on the injury report.

I sit down in front of my locker. My name and number are on the top. I love this sport. I love that I'm thirty, almost thirty-one, and still playing at a high level. It's such a key part of me. Who I am. What I've accomplished.

There will be a time where there is no locker, no mom in a suite watching me play, no team meetings, no practice, no team dinners. I swallow the lump in my throat and press my lips together .

I breathe deeply through the anxiety surge. My chest expands in short bursts as I try to get the breathing under control. My fingers tingle as I put my head between my knees and try to catch my breath. I stay like this until the breathing calms the waves.

Today, I'm still playing football.

I practically jog into my apartment, knowing Willow is waiting for me.

I wrap her in a hug, not saying anything. I could give her space, but I don't want to. When she doesn't pull away, a piece of my anxiety falls away.

"How's your head? I saw something about you being medically cleared to play." She looks at me and touches a soft hand to the side of my head.

"I'm one hundred percent fine. I can barely feel where he tried to punch me. Mostly missed." My chest warms at the thought of her being worried about me.

We sit on the couch.

"Can I go first?" I rub my fingers together. She nods in agreement. "This all is new to me. Not just you and me, but the team, and people knowing who I am. I'm not used to situations like Sunday. That isn't an excuse because I know I have to fucking do better. I'm sorry. I want to be better. And above all, I want you to feel safe with me. I didn't make you feel safe and that's what I'm most sorry about."

Willow reaches over for my hand. She squeezes it.

"Thank you. And I do feel safe with you. I've never been able to let my guard down like I can when we're together. Sunday was a lot. And not just because of you." She takes in a slow, deep breath. "I'm sorry for not telling you Dexter called. For keeping it a secret when it didn't need to be. I truly thought it was not even worth mentioning. Thought it would be more stressful bringing it up. I didn't want to be too much."

"It was a surprise, but I hope you know I'll always keep your secrets. And, let me tell you when something is too much."

"I trust you. I know you can. Dexter is … a mess."

"Gathered that when he stood at the end of our table at dinner." I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

She rubs her thumbs over my knuckles. "He called to tell me he thought we should get back together. That he thought we'd end up together. I told him he was wrong. That I was happy with you. And you're unlike anyone I've ever been with."

My fucking heart. It's racing, warming my chest, and it feels like it could explode.

"With other guys, I always had to bargain pieces of myself. You don't ask me to do that. It's a cliché, but I feel like myself when I'm with you.

"Tell me all the cliché's."

"I think Dexter panicked when he started seeing photos of us together. We were never a good fit. I settled for him when we started dating and for every year after. One day, he'll realize that too."

"Look, I get it. He's jealous. Maybe having a bit of a what the fuck did I do? The thing I want you to know is you can tell me anything. I'll do my best to listen without judgment and just be here for you. I'm not jealous of Dexter."

"You're a good man, Tripp Owens."

"I don't know about that, but I definitely want to be better for you."

"I need you to hear me, really listen to this next part," she puts a hand on her chest. "I can handle you being impulsive for many things, but not when it comes to my safety, or yours, especially in public. "

"I know," I interrupt, and she quickly tilts her head. I don't think she liked that, so I cover my mouth to show her I'm ready to listen.

"You say that, but your actions need to match. Trust is important. I want to be able to trust you, with all I have, and vice versa." She stops.

I wait a few long seconds, making sure she's said everything she wanted to. "I know I let you down. I want to be a person you can trust, with no second guessing."

She leans in and kisses me. It's sweet and slow.

"And I do trust you. That night I called you, when I was having a panic attack, it was all about thinking about what comes after football. This isn't something I talk about, unless you're my therapist, but you're the first person I've told." I nervously crack my knuckles. "Football is all I've had for most of my life. I'd be a liar if I said I'm not concerned about that time coming to an end, but my brain has shifted. I think about having more time to do things with you. Taking trips. Going to dinner, hopefully without Dexter. Random coffee dates. Seeing movies during the week. You make the thought of life after this bearable."

She crawls into my lap and melts into me. I pull her against me and hold on.

"Tell me about this potential adventure," she almost whispers into my ear.

"How about a little road trip? To my hometown. They do this fall carnival every year, and it's next weekend. Lined up perfectly with the bye week. Take a break from the city and the press and mentions of Dexter and drunk fans."

"A fall carnival? That sounds so fun. What do you mean take a break from the press?"

"Can you keep one of my secrets?"

She nods excitedly .

"Besides the people in my hometown, there are only a handful who know where it is. The real one. I transferred to a different school when I was a junior in high school, to try and get more visibility for football scouts. But that isn't my hometown… it's just what everyone thinks it is."

Anticipation fills me when I think about taking her to my real hometown.

"How has this never come out?"

"Mostly because I don't think many people care. Also, my town knows how to keep a secret."

"That is… amazing. I'm in. A break sounds perfect. Plus, a whole weekend with you." She plants a trail of kisses from the top of my neck to my collarbone.