“Okay, fiiiinnnneee. I see your point.”
“Do you really?”
“No. But I want a present on my birthday, so I’ll lie to you.”
I groan and turn my back to lean against the counter. “Lily, what am I going to do? Also, I think I’m going to throw up.” I eye the apple Nathan left out for me, and my stomach says, Absolutely not.
“Easy—you were drunk. You don’t have to admit any feelings to him, and everything can go right back to normal if that’s actually what you want.”
“That is what I want.”
Again she chuckles. I’ll still get her a birthday present, but it’s going to be a crappy one. “Okay, sure. Well, tell him it was the alcohol’s fault, and then keep going with your boring, platonic, non-heated friendship.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“Deal with it.”
I sigh and squeeze my eyes tight. “I need to hang up and call him.”
“Okay. Good luck. Love you, B. And my guest bedroom is open if you need to come hide.”
I’m just about to walk into a meeting with our offensive line coaches when my phone rings. I’ve been waiting on this call all morning—ever since I showed up at the practice facility today and was ambushed by dozens of reporters (mainly of the gossip column variety) wanting me to comment on the video of my best friend declaring her feelings for me.
My gym bag fell off my shoulder and hit the ground with a thud. I didn’t bother checking social media this morning before practice, so I hadn’t seen the video and article yet. I didn’t comment on any of the reporters’ questions, but I’m sure my face said it all.
I hurried inside, practically sprinted to the locker room where I ripped out my phone and immediately found a video of a very drunk Bree brandishing a Tide-To-Go pen and telling some reporter I was secretly pining for her. I almost threw up at that part. But then…THEN she said she wished she could wipe all other women from my life, leaving only herself, and a fire ignited under my hot-air-balloon heart and lifted me right off the ground. My manager called me shortly after and asked if I wanted to make an official comment. I told him we needed to wait until I had a chance to talk to Bree.
So all morning my mind has been racing. Wondering. Hoping. Could this be it? Could this be the moment everything changes for us? Because I’m ready.
I look down at my phone and then up at my teammates who are filing into the conference room. “You guys go ahead. I’ll just be a minute.”
They nod, and then I’m alone in the hallway. I take one steadying breath before answering. “Bree, hey.” Did that sound normal?
“Hi! Nathan. Yep, it’s me! Hey.” Well, my response was definitely more normal than hers. It means she’s seen the video.
There’s no way on God’s green earth I’m going to be the first one to bring it up, so I fish a little. “What’s up? How are you feeling this morning?”
She groans. “Well, I was wondering if you knew of any places I could purchase a new head? I think this one is officially broken.”
I laugh and lightly touch the toe of my shoe against the wall. “Sorry, I think you’re out of luck.”
She laughs too, but it sounds nervous and stilted. And then there’s silence. I know what’s happening now. She’s also fishing. Waiting. Neither of us wants to be the first to bring up Tequila-gate. Maybe we sh
ould just wait and try to have this conversation in person?
One of my coaches peeks his head out into the hallway. “Donelson, we’re getting ready to start. You coming?”
“Yes, sorry. One minute.” He doesn’t look happy about that.
The NFL is very different from college. They don’t babysit us here, but they sure as hell fine us for being late, bench us, or trade us off the team when there are too many strikes. Nothing less than complete competence is expected when you play at the pro level, and that pressure is always pushing in on me, some moments more than others. Like now, I really need to talk to Bree, but I also need to go into that meeting. During the regular season, you forfeit your rights to a normal life. Everyone and everything other than football has to be put on the back burner. But I don’t want to put Bree on a back burner. I want to give her 100% of my attention so she feels valued. I also need to give my career 100% of my focus or I’ll fall behind. I just need to find a way to bring my capacity up to 200%.
I used to feel like I could balance it all so well. Lately…there’s just this feeling I can’t describe that follows me everywhere I go. It’s like everything is swirling around me at all times. There’s no way to make it settle down.
I don’t know…I’ll be fine. It’s probably just playoff jitters.
I look toward the conference room, knowing I need to get in there before I’m officially late. “Listen, Bree—”
“I DIDN’T MEAN ANY OF IT,” she shouts in a rush.