Page 12 of Hold Us Close
And the worst part? I’m hurting her, hurting us. And I need help. From the last person on Earth I ever want to speak to again. The one I swore I was done with.
I open my eyes and stare down at my phone.
His number is still in there. I deleted him from my life but never could bring myself to erase him from my phone. Bet the team shrink would have some overly analytical thoughts on that. My heart pounds as I scroll to his name.Colonelis all it says. The violent throbbing in my temples causes my vision to blur as I stare at it.
A buzzing in my hand startles me and I almost drop the damn thing on the floor.
Coach, the screen tells me. My nerves rattle at the thought of what this might be about. Shit. Maybe I’m not just suspended—maybe I’m fired. I swallow hard and answer.
“Hey Coach,” I say, trying to speak over the fear that’s strangling me.
“O’Brien,” he answers. “We need to talk, son.” His voice is strained, weary. More guilt piles on top of the mountain that’s already smothering me.
“Yes, sir.”
“This a good time?”
No.“Yes, sir. I’m suspended—I got nothing but time, right?” I try to force out a laugh but it sounds more like I’m choking than anything else.
“Yeah, about that. Look, O’Brien, I did some checking. I know about your arrest a few years ago and I know you’ve been in altercations that I probably don’t even want to know the details of. I accepted you to this club because a friend gave you a high recommendation. The same friend who mentioned he was cutting you loose because you lost your temper on a teammate.”
He pauses to clear his throat. I press my fingers into my eyes with my free hand. This is not good.
“You’re the best damn striker I’ve come across in my entire career. And maybe because of that, I’ve been too lenient. The club’s been lenient. But you have more red cards than the entire team combined, and frankly, I’m seeing a pattern of behavior that has apparently been going on for some time.”
I open my mouth to defend myself, but there’s really nothing I can say. Everything he’s said is true.
“You there?”
“Yes, sir. I’m here.”
He lets out an audible breath and I sit up straighter, bracing myself for what he’s about to say. I can already hear him firing me in my head.
“So I’ve met with the staff and we’ve been making some hard decisions. I know you’ve got a situation with your girlfriend and I don’t need to know the details. Truth is, there’s a dozen guys lined up right behind you, ready to take your spot.”
“Coach, please. I know I’m not—”
“I’m just going to cut to the chase. They want to let you go, O’Brien. We have enough to deal with without our first team striker being a liability. You hit a teammate atpractice.I don’t even want to think about what might happen the next time a ref makes a call during a game you don’t agree with.”
I want to tell him that I would never do anything like that. But I’d be lying. Because when I lose my temper, I lose myself. I lose that voice in my head that reminds me I don’t want to be likehim.
For as long as I can remember, soccer has been the only thing that has helped me to channel my rage. It’s been the outlet for all the pent-up emotion and aggression, not that it’s even been enough. And now it’s slipping away. What will I be like without it?
“Is there anything I can do?” Working hard to keep my voice even, I try to focus on my breathing. Uncurling my clenched fists, I glance around the room. There’s a lot of breakable shit in here and I’ve done enough damage already. “Or has the decision already been made?”
Standing, I walk out into the living room, thankful Layla’s still asleep.
“It’s like this, O’Brien. You’re a hell of an athlete. We don’t want to lose you, but if you spend your career sidelined by back-to-back suspensions, you’re no good to us anyways. You get what I’m saying?”
You’re no good.
You’re worthless.
I can’t even hear my own voice over the Colonel’s. I think I mumble out yet another “Yes, sir,” but I can’t be sure.
“So here’s my proposition. Take some time off. We’ll extend the indefinite suspension to January. Get some help and a letter from a doctor saying you’ve attended an anger management program. How’s that sound?”
“Do I really have any other choice?”
