Page 51 of Roughing the Player
Chapter 13
Brock
IN THE MORNINGWHEN I WAKE UP, SHE’S GONE. Her absence is unexpected since I usually head out before her. But maybe there was something at the office she needed to do.
At the Outlaws’ compound, my focus is not on practice, but on the things we did last night. But I pay enough attention to the drills that nobody notices. Rather than join the team for dinner, I rush home to her. I want more time with Ellie. More time with the woman who’s rapidly becoming an indispensable part of my life.
I walk in the door, expecting to see her, but she’s not there. Could something have happened? She’d been upset over whatever happened on Thursday. So maybe it’s more of the same? I dial her number to find out if everything’s okay, but she doesn’t pick up.
Tuesday’s my day off and I’m to go house hunting. Before heading off, I call Ellie again with the same outcome. I’m worried enough to give Marty a call. If anybody would know that something happened to her, it would be him. Using the excuse I’m checking in, I casually inquire about Ellie, but Marty’s response tells me nothing’s wrong with her. So why isn’t she returning my calls?
Briefly, I entertain the idea of dropping by the sports agency. After all, it wouldn’t be an unusual thing for an athlete client to do. But I don’t have the time. Not with the number of houses her realtor has lined up for me. As it turns out, she’s a real gem. She’s found exactly what I’m looking for. Big houses with big yards where Butch can run free. They’re gorgeous, really, any one of them would do. Problem is, none of them has the thing I want most—Eleanor. After I bid goodbye to the realtor, I head back to the condo, hoping against hope that Ellie will be there, but she’s not.
Being a glutton for punishment, I call her again. But like the last fifteen times, she doesn’t pick up.
Much as I don’t want to, I have to face the facts. What we did Sunday night meant nothing to her. Or maybe it’d been too much.
After all those years of longing for her, I’d ridden her all night long. Done my level best to satisfy myself, without asking once if she wanted it as well. She hadn’t complained, but I should have paid more attention to her needs.
I really fucked up this time.
Over the next three days, rather than head home after practice, I remain at the compound with the excuse of watching game tapes. Anything to avoid walking into an empty apartment. But when the game tapes roll, I don’t absorb anything in them. I’m too busy lashing myself over what I did. Or rather, didn’t do.
I’d promised I’d make it good for her and then I’d become a ravening beast. Taking, not giving. Pleasuring myself, not her. No wonder she doesn’t want more of the same. After the way I behaved, she probably regrets what we’d done, much as she had thirteen years ago. More than likely she thinks she made a huge mistake. So she’s taking the easy way out and not coming back to the condo at all.
Saturday finally arrives, and with it, travel day since it’s an out-of-town game. We win against a particularly difficult team, but it doesn’t bring the elation the first win did.
“What’s wrong with you, man?” Trevor, my seat flight buddy, asks. “You should be ecstatic. We won.”
Out of all the players on the team, he’s the one I’ve gotten closest to. Maybe because I depend on a great center to hand me the ball. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Yeah? Well, you look like you lost your best friend.”
I shrug. “Nah, just tired, I guess.”
“Man, that pass to Johnson was a thing of beauty.”
“Thanks.”
“At this rate, we’re sure to make the playoffs.”
“We’ve got a long ways to go, Trevor.”
“Yeah, but you’re the real thing.” He side glances me. “We were worried about you, you know.”
That gets my attention. “Really?”
“Yeah. Some of the players believed you weren’t serious about the game.”
“Even after I took San Diego to the playoffs?”
“Yeah, even then. But it’s turned out all right.”
“Yeah. It has,” I say, without much enthusiasm.
Other players come by to shake my hand, smack me on the shoulder, and deliver the same message, “Great game.” For once, I feel welcomed. This is what I wanted. A team that made me feel at home. So why am I not more elated?
A little after seven, our flight lands in Chicago. We climb on the team bus that will take us back to the stadium. Most of the players have someone waiting for them. But there’s no one there for me. No one missed me while I was gone.
I drop the duffel bag on the passenger seat of the Porsche Cayenne SUV, crank on the ignition. When a wave of sadness rolls over me, I drop my forehead on the steering wheel. I’m so fucking tired of being alone.
I got to see Ellie. Get things straightened out. Whether she wants to or not, we’re going to sit down and talk. I can’t call ahead, and she won’t pick up the phone. The only way to do this is to drop in unannounced.
