Page 91 of Sack

Chapter Twenty

Colt

The crowd was dwindling as day three, round seven of the draft got underway. He was losing hope. If he hadn’t been so nervous, he probably would’ve enjoyed his first trip to New York. They didn’t get much sightseeing done as most of their time had been spent inside the walls of Radio City Music Hall, but he had eaten some great food.

He fidgeted in his seat. Three days in the same suit, he was made to wear, was starting to suffocate. Or maybe it was the nerves.

Had he mentioned he was nervous?

He hadn’t expected to be picked in the first round—hoped but not expected—but he honestly hadn’t thought he’d be sitting here in the last round of day three. It was disheartening. Not to mention, embarrassing.

Over the loudspeaker, the announcement was made. San Francisco was up next for their final pick.

And a few minutes after that, his phone rang.

This was it. Leg bouncing, heart pounding, his finger trembled as it neared his phone. He looked at his dad, sitting next to him with a grin nearly splitting his face as he gave an encouraging nod.

He answered the call. “Hello?”

The voice was deep and echoed ominously over the line. “You didn’t think we wanted you, did you? Hahahahahahaha.”

I’m sorry, Jesse.

Colt jolted awake.

His lower back complained as he sat up, having fallen asleep at the kitchen table. Looking around to orient himself, the evidence of the previous night mocked him. The whiskey bottle, still uncapped, sitting in the center of the table. The upended chair across the kitchen that he’d thrown after Ivy had left and the broken remnants of the coffee maker he’d bought specifically for her, scattered on the floor next to it.

Standing, he scraped his hands along his face, trying to shake off the dream and the memories associated with it. He was sure his subconscious was trying to tell him something, but he was too off balance to think clearly.

He went to the fridge and grabbed the OJ to wash the bad taste from his mouth. He didn’t usually drink, so the shots he’d taken the night before had hit him hard. He glanced at the clock on the stove with one blurry eye as he downed the bottle’s contents. Apparently, hard enough to leave him comatose for the better part of five hours.

Pulling out his phone to see if he’d missed any calls from Ivy, he saw he missed one from Linc at eleven p.m. Shit, he needed to call him back. Linc was going through a tough time, making his problems seem negligible in comparison.

All of them but Ivy.

Except Ivy wasn’t really a problem.

Problems had solutions and he didn’t see one in sight for them.

She wanted more.

He didn’t have more to give.

He swallowed a handful of Advil with the last of the orange juice and headed upstairs to shower. If his dream told him anything, it was that he needed to get back to work.

Putting his pity party officially at an end.

Ivy

Ivy looked at herself in the mirror, frowning at the dark circles under her eyes. It was day four of no Colt. She’d allowed herself three days to grieve, holed up in her room, eating copious amounts of ice cream while watching every comedy movie she could find on TV as she ignored all of Colt’s texts. But now it was time to move on. She had an art class that day that she didn’t want to miss. And after, maybe she’d stop by The Parting Glass to visit Emerson.

Her friend was worried.

Emerson hadn’t come right out and said it, but Ivy could tell from her tone when she’d called the day before to let Emerson know she’d be MIA for Sunday night Football. She hadn’t offered an excuse for her absence but had reassured her that she was fine and hung up, promising they’d talk soon.

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