Page 2 of The Player's Obsession

The only person missing was my other half—the woman who said yes to marrying me.

Memories of her are as vivid as yesterday's sunrise. Her smile, that squeal of pure delight when a jewelry box came into view—it's all etched in my mind. I cherished our long weekends in Kennebunkport, the quiet respite at my parents' place during the holidays, surrounded by luxury that only the finest hotels could offer. The spas, the gourmet meals, and the allure of far-flung places were an escape from the relentless buzz of social media and the grind of football.

But now, the holiday spirit has fizzled out. I didn't even put up a tree. I'm rarely home, keeping the ghosts at bay with workouts at the gym, laps in the neighborhood pool, and banter with the boys. It beats brooding over a Christmas that lacked cheer, even in the warmth of family. Melanie's absence left a void. I long for someone to return to, a presence I've grown accustomed to and deeply miss.

At the country club, I keep to the shadows. I avoid the probing eyes of fans-turned-neighbors who might glimpse my morose state and inquire why I’m no longer with Melanie.

Our secret getaways used to be the perfect ruse, a hideaway so clever it often went unnoticed. And yet, there were times when a familiar face would appear, and together we'd watch the games unfold on massive screens, immersed in the camaraderie I now find elusive.

I used to attend parties at teammates' homes, and we would toss around investment ideas. At times we might loosely discuss the current women in our lives. Some of the guys have wives and kids. I thought I would have that soon, but I’m back to square one. I’ve been set up on dates since the breakup, but I never discovered a woman I found to be noteworthy. I thought it was too soon to date. Now, I’m not sure there is anyone for me.

I glance around the kitchen, grabbing the keys to my large SUV, phone, and wallet before I walk out the kitchen door. I grab my coat in the mud room and continue to walk through a wing that leads to the three-car garage.

I open the garage door and let the truck run as the heat blasts. I rub my hands together as I sit in the driver's seat. This isn’t the way I envisioned the New Year. I back out of my long driveway and make the drive to the training center for practice.

I park, and it's quiet out here. It’s unnerving. The only sound I hear is the crunching of the snow under my shoes. It’s the type of day where I’d probably stay inside as it’s endless gray skies, and I’d rather be home lounging around because it looks like snow is imminent.

I usually run into teammates before I make it inside the building. But not today. I assume the team is jazzed and here earlier than normal. We had a few days over Christmas to recover for the season's last weeks. We have one game before the playoffs, but it’s meaningless. We’re locked into the playoffs.

The frost of New England may bite, but the chill of Maine gnaws to the bone. As I step into the locker room, the familiar chill of another sort grips me when I swipe through my phone. There she is, the woman who haunts my idle moments—her social media ablaze with the glow of her pre-wedding escapades. Laced with blonde highlights, her amber hair seems to catch the Alpine sun. She's all about the après-ski life, cozied up by firelight in luxurious saunas and chateaus. Ironic, considering her aversion to the slopes.

It's maddening, this fixation I have on her when my energy should be channeled into seeking someone new.

The locker room pulsates with energy, a mélange of half-dressed athletes gearing up for the day. My gaze cuts through the room, landing on Nathan Cole. There he stands, cleat propped on the bench, arm akimbo—a living sculpture of athletic prowess. The whispers of his bachelor revelries reached me. I was conspicuously absent from the festivities. Yet, I find an invitation to his wedding in my locker—an event where I should be the groom.

A wedding that should have been a chapter in my story is now a page in someone else's book. It's not just that he claimed my fiancée—fate didn't grant me the luxury of a clean break. Now, I'm entwined in their narrative, unable to sever the ties.

He upended my world, yet I maintain the façade of indifference. I've withdrawn into myself, no longer the spirited soul of the offensive line. His arrival as a defenseman—a boon for the team—was my personal downfall, propelling us to the apex of the Eastern Conference yet leaving my private life in shambles.

Nathan's stature is as immense as our former camaraderie. Should a woman cleave such a bond? It seems she has. My loyalty to the team remains, but the friendship? It's benched. A Super Bowl victory might mandate forgiveness, the weight of the ring compelling a truce. But today is not that day.

I sidestep Travis, freshly minted in matrimonial bliss—quietly, unceremoniously. Why couldn't Nathan have followed suit?

"Hey, Oliver, how's it going?" Travis's voice breaks through my reverie.

"Great," I lie, my smile as forced as the enthusiasm in my voice. "Excitement's in the air with the playoffs looming."

He claps a hand on my shoulder, his easy grin a stark contrast to my strained one. "Stay sharp, man. We need your A-game," he says.

I can’t help but smile at the milestone of our achievement. We’re a young team, and it’s noteworthy that we’ve come this far. We’ve made a name for the team and won’t be taken lightly next year.

“You got that right.” He slaps my shoulder as I pause. “Get open for me, man. I’m in my zone,” he quips again. He’s a charismatic man, the type of man whose infectious voice and vigor can turn the tide of a grueling match.

The games that are in the scorching Florida sun, or the ones that are so cold I’m afraid my nuts will freeze off, are the ones you remember. Then we have the games where we knew in the first quarter that we were going to have our asses handed to us, but we have to play like we can still win. Those are the toughest for me.I hate losing.It’s a bitter pill I’ve never learned to swallow with grace. What athlete does?

Maybe that’s why the breakup earlier this year makes me so miserable. I’ve been groomed to know that football and life are about winning. Dad loves a winner. I have no clue about enjoying the journey along the way—those moments can’t be put in a column. There’s no way to quantify them. Life for me is a series of objectives and a relentless drive forward because, in my world, winners never rest, and they certainly never quit.

I’m envious of Travis. He has his professional and personal life figured out. I have no clue how to do that. I have no idea how to achieve it.

“The new year is coming. Let’s make it ours,” he exclaims as we high-five each other, and various members of the team chime in with it.

“Let’s go,” Nathan yells. Nathan looks like he just tumbled out of bed—the epitome of casual confidence, his disheveled look adding to his allure. He has a perfect beard, and his hair is a tad longer than I would like for myself. But hey, who am I to judge?

He's jubilant, riding the high of impending nuptials with the woman who was once mine.

On days like this, I'm acutely aware of the solitude that accompanies my success.

CHAPTER2

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