Page 94 of Tight End

It hurts like hell to hit rock bottom.

I guess this is the upward climb, and so far, it hasn’t been a fucking picnic.

Maybe I was wrong about why Davis sent Sam to me. Maybe he was part of the wake-up call from my perpetual living nightmare.

For the next twenty or so minutes, I’m lost in my tormented thoughts.

Still shredded on the inside.

I’ve said a lot of things to different people, but that closure still escapes me, both with my dad and Sam. Having a say doesn’t resolve shit, and without resolution, it’s a Band-Aid and bubble gum fix. It’ll never hold.

There’s nobody at the entrance of the parking garage. I pull inside the darkened space and wind my way up the levels until I find an empty spot. I jump down from the driver’s seat and slam the door shut. The sign for the elevator is the only light in the place.

I hunch forward and pull on my baseball cap, pulling the brim low.

My phone pings, and my heart lurches in response. A defeated sigh escapes my lips when I see it’s a text from Chase. He’s going meet me in the front lobby on the first floor.

I trudge toward the elevator, Sam’s words looping through my mind, each go around making me more and more pissed off.

Where the fuck does he get off saying that shit and then walking away, like my opinion didn’t matter at all?

I ball my hands into tight fists and walk across the lot toward the metal doors. Tires squeal along the concrete floor, jolting me from my angry inner diatribe. Flashing headlights make me squint. I jump back as a black car swings around the bend, nearly hitting me.

“What the fuck?” I yell, my hat flying off my head.

The smell of burning rubber grips my gut.

The car screeches to a sudden stop. I squint at the darkened windows. The back one opens part way.

I twist away a second too late, choking on a breath.

Maybe my last.

Bullets crack, shattering the silence around me.

I crumple to the ground as the car zooms away. A searing pain explodes down my left side as I try to pull in air, to yell for help. But nothing comes out. I try to claw at the ground with my right hand, to pull myself to the elevator.

My head feels like it’s a hundred pounds, vision blurringlike I’m peering through water. The garage gets darker. Sirens ring between my ears.

I have to get help. Have to?—

But I can’t move. Can’t breathe.

Numbness creeps into my limbs, erasing the pain and all my thoughts as I’m swallowed by blackness.

Chapter 33

Sam

Iraise my head off the pillow and turn my head toward the training room door when I hear the light knock.

“Come in,” I grunt.

Coach Taylor pops his head into the room. “How are you feeling?”

Sick. Devastated. Pissed off. Rejected.

Where the fuck you want me to start, Coach?

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