Page 133 of Love Me Steadfast
I think of that billboard and Nic’s upcoming show. The VIP pass waiting for me in my inbox.
Maybe it’s time I pay Nic Salazar a visit.
It starts rainingas I’m ascending Lookout Pass, which takes me over the crest of the Bitterroots and into Montana. I’ve never been to the college town where Creekside is located but according to my GPS, I’ll be there in less than an hour. Lookout Pass closes every winter because of the heavy snowfall, usually by mid October. By the time I get to the crest, the rain has turned to thick, wet snow that clogs my wipers.
My headache hasn’t worsened, but the steady pressure is feeding the malaise brewing inside me.
The first time I got diagnosed with Post Concussion Syndrome I shook it off, and thankfully, it was after our final game of the season, which gave me time to recover. By the third time it happened, I was in the middle of my senior year at Oregon, and the doctor warned me that if I didn’t rest and heal, my symptoms would worsen. The headaches, my inability to concentrate, my sensitivity to lights and noise.
That got my attention.
Because I could sacrifice a lot for the game I loved, but I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my cognitive capacity. Or my enjoyment of music.
Specifically, Charlotte’s music.
But the doctor also warned that my long-term neurological heath was at risk too. The year before that, Phillip Adams, a former NFL cornerback for Atlanta, shot and killed six people then himself. An autopsy revealed that he had Stage 2 CTE, Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, a degenerative neurological disorder that is tied to repetitive brain injuries like Post Concussive Syndrome. CTE causes impulsive behavior, memory loss, explosive aggression, depression and anxiety. It’s what killed Junior Seau and Frank Gifford. There’s no way to diagnose it or treat it. You just lose your memory, lose your ability to logic, lose your joy…until you crack.
Zach came with me to see the specialist, and I remember looking into his eyes and seeing my decision reflecting back at me. We both knew I had to walk away.
Because what if my mind was a ticking time bomb, and I only had ten good years left? Twenty? I knew in that moment that I wanted to spend what time I had left with Charlotte, if we still had a chance to start again.
I also knew securing a career that didn’t involve reading was going to be important because it almost always made my head hurt, and I needed good health care, and to be active. Becoming a firefighter was an obvious fit. And it felt right because it allowed me to give back to the community that took me in so long ago.
It also repaid a debt, of sorts. When an arsonist burned Dad’s vetclinic to the ground, Zach got blamed, and it’s one of the reasons he went on the run and I had to stay behind, sheltered by the McCabes. But our fire investigator friend Brian Ambrose discovered the link to what had really happened, which saved Zach. Savedus.
As I descend Lookout Pass, I know with certainty that both Brian and Zach would tell me to stand down right now. They’re right, but I can’t.
Maybe I am losing it. Maybe this fury, my need to end that motherfucker, is a sign that I walked away from football too late, and I’m on the brink of madness.
After all, there’s a good chance I won’t come out of this.
Which means I might never see Charlotte again. But how can I do nothing while Salazar walks free?
Because I know how the law works.
If none of the women Salazar hurt reported the assault, there’s no case. It’s his word against his victims, and four of them have been silenced.
Fresh tears sting my eyes. How did Charlotte cope? She and Emmie were sharing a room that night. Did Charlotte tell her what happened? Or did Salazar threaten her not to talk?
My knuckles pale as I squeeze the steering wheel, my eyes burning.
If I don’t stop Salazar, who will?
Chapter Forty-One
CHARLOTTE
“What do you mean,she’s not here?” I ask the receptionist, a mid-thirties man with a goatee. His nametag says “TUCKER.”
“Just that. She left this morning.”
I shake my head. This isn’t adding up. “And her care team just let her go?”
He raises an eyebrow. “The programming we run here is voluntary.”
Right…and yet. “Did she say where she was going?”
“No.” He gives me a kind smile, but it just makes me want to slap him.
