I get off the phone with Shapiro and walk around the deck of my yacht. CalledLost at Sea, she’s stark white with teak trim. She’s over a hundred feet long with five staterooms and space for four crew members, the captain, a chef, a maid, and an engineer. She cost thirteen million several years ago. I don’t regret one penny spent. My head clears at sea. I leave the pressure of football. Life.
It’s the one place I can forget everything.
Will this trip do that? Doubtful.
The cold wind whips at my hair as I stride into the 360-degree-vision sky lounge and take in the pilot seat, the L-shaped couch, the forty-two-inch TV, the stereo system, the teak tables, the wet bar with a subzero ice chest. Gorgeous.
My shoulders slump. There’s no anticipation here. No excitement.
Where is she?my heart demands.
Have I fucked up with her?
I am fucked up.
My lashes fall.
I’m flawed.
I’m not fit to be a parent.
I look like my father; I am my father.
I don’t deserve love. Or a family.
I don’t deserve any comfort.
I shouldn’t have been born.
All words my mother said yesterday when I saw her. My eyes fill with water, and I blink it back. Fuck that.
The captain, Bruce, gives me a salute. I nod and tell him that I’ve already checked in with the others. Rooms are clean, the galley is stocked for a couple of weeks, and the engine is primed for sea.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
“Good.” Fucking terrible. There’s a wall of stones on my chest, and I can’t push them off.
I can’t sleep. Or eat. I’m standing still, and the world goes on without me.
Francesca is my love, the only one I want.
I kick that down. I opened myself up. I trusted, and she let me down.
I cringe as I recall her walking out of the lab. I hadn’t been able to meet her eyes. Mistrust, mixed with shock and anger, rode me. Then, I went to see my mother. Uninvited. I read her a letter I’d written about the hurt and damage of my childhood, about how much I care about her in spite of it.
Bruce speaks, bringing me back. “Sailing is a majestic thing, yeah? Two more days, and we’ll hit the water.”
I lick my lips. “That’s what I wanted to check on. I thought there was another nor’easter coming in?”
He frowns. “We’re headed south. Our first stop is Fort Lauderdale for supplies and fuel. The storm shouldn’t impact us.”
Anxiousness rises. Can I really leave her in New York? “Should we take another look at the radar?”
“I checked it an hour ago, spoke to Channel Three, and called the weather station. We’re good, sir.”
“Check again.”
He starts. “If we wait, it might be several days before—”