Page 26 of Just a Football Star

Wow, it all sounds really bad—because it is. Montel Williams level stuff. It sounded just as bad when I went to Brandt’s father, Jeff, about it, too.

I’ll probably dissect Brandt’s lies and stealing later. For now, his father has very neatly cut me into small pieces. And I don’t know where to go from here. All I know is I want out. If I hibernate, like a bear, maybe I’ll come out the other side, ready to figure out the rest of my life. Because I crave getting back into a routine, back to feeling needed, organized, and in control.

Thank goodness I got to go out to lunch with Lizzy yesterday, and that my parents are here helping me. I’m not sure I’d be making any rational decisions right now if they weren’t around.

“Where should I put the coasters? The living room box or one of the kitchen ones?” My momma’s large blue eyes survey me closely. There’s been a lot of that going on since they got here.

Again, it doesn’t feel like home anymore. It feels unsafe here. And I wonder if Brandt’s going to stop by—if he’ll try to reach out if he hears I’m back.

Does he even know I’d left?

I try to hold back a weary sigh, but I just can’t right now. “I don’t know, Momma. It doesn’t really matter. Probably whichever box has the most room.” That she’s stressing about something as unimportant as coasters has me feeling like any minute, she’ll burst at the seams and beg her twenty-five-year-old daughter not to move away.

I answer a phone call from my soon-to-be-former landlord and when I end the call, my momma’s emotions come to the surface.

“Oakley, I still can’t believe Brandt did this. I’m so sorry.” At my expression that I can only guess is colored with overwhelm, she holds up both hands. “It’s so unfair that one selfish person’s actions can have such an impact on you.” She slips a finger under her watery eyes and dabs at a tear. “We’re going to miss you. I guess we couldn’t expect you to stay ten miles from us the rest of your life.” She offers a hollow laugh, like that’s exactly what they’d been hoping.

“I’m surprised by all of it, too.” I slump into her, and she wraps an arm around me. “It’s maddening. But Longdale might be a nice change for a while?” I don’t miss how it sounds more like a question than a statement.

“That’s exactly right, Oakley. You never know what opportunities lie ahead. Maybe someday you’ll thank Brandt for being a total—” Uncharacteristically, she finishes the sentence with slanderous profanity that totally makes me laugh.

She used to own a salon, and she sometimes still does hair out of her home, so she has lots of experience chatting with women about their problems. She comes from the “talk it all out until it don’t hurt no more” club, so I try to be patient as we attack this from all angles as we continue to pack.

When I got the internship with the Cowboys, I was twenty-two, a bright-eyed exercise science and sports psychology graduate. I’d gotten my personal training certification right out of high school, and that, along with scholarships, put me through college. I did the internship, which became a full-time position, which, in turn, primed me for my vertical move to the Wolves. And things were going well…until I let Brandt’s charms take away my good judgement.

But that was a temporary insanity, and I’m back, baby. It’s nice being on my own and not having to worry about the confines of a relationship.

“You should see Longdale, momma,” I tell her, twisting my torso from side to side, sore from moving all my worldly possessions out of San Antonio. “It’s so quaint, with cute little stores and shops. There isn’t a single road that has more than two lanes in the whole county, I think.”

“Sounds safer that way.” She’s using a Sharpie to write on the outside of a box.

I figured she’d be comforted by that. Ever since my older brother’s car got hit by a drunk driver on I-10 two years ago, she’s been sick about any of us driving on major roads—or even driving at all. He spent a week in the ICU and I don’t know if any of us will ever really get over that experience. Thankfully, he’s doing well now.

“And from the photos online, Tate International looks gorgeous. But are you sure you want to work at a resort?” She doesn’t say the word “resort” with too much disdain, but I know she’s holding back. I sense she sees this as something like a cruise ship job.

“It’s only temporary until I can get hired on at another team.”

IfI can get hired on with another team. I take a wet rag to the insides of the cupboards. For hardly ever being home, these things are nasty and full of crumbs.

And then I remember that the crumbs are probably from Brandt’s cold cereal habit, something he indulged in any time of day. He was over so often and his need for cold cereal was so pervasive, that I finally started buying a couple of boxes every time I went grocery shopping. I see his habits now in a different light, like they were a representation of his need to consume anything and everything around him—his never being satisfied with what he had.

Brandt. When I was at Longdale, it was a little easier to not think of him. He was this fuzzy entity, a jerk wad, someone I never wanted to see again. Being here in my apartment again makes the last few days of our short relationship stand in sharp relief, an ugly, enormous painting taking up an entire wall.

“Honey, we’re gonna miss you.” Now momma’s eyes have filled with tears, and it reminds me that I haven’t cried very much since all of this went down. I mean, there have been the hot, angry tears, leaving me almost as soon as they start. But the soul wrenching crying? That hasn’t hit me yet. I’m starting to wonder if it ever will or maybe I’ll always be this numb.

I pull her into a hug and the feel of her embrace does make my eyes water a little. Oh, please don’t let me break down right now. I don’t want to worry my parents more than they already are. “It’s only for a few months. But you and Dad need to come visit me. I can set you up in a room at the resort.”

I’ll figure all of this out, right? It’ll be good. It’s what I used to tell the players all the time.You can do this. It’s not impossible. You’re only limited by your mind, by your perception of your reality, not your actual reality.

Right now, that sounds like a bag of hogwash. I’m now limited by a whole bucketload of things I can’t control.

What will my life look like now? Teaching a few vacationers some low-key classes? How long is it going to take for people with sports injuries to start coming around?

Unease sours my stomach and I force myself to breathe. This time in Colorado is about a reset. I can be back to kicking trash and taking names in a few months.

My dad arrives with the car he just gassed up, and we manage to get the essentials in the trunk and backseat. My parents have graciously loaded up an old trailer with all my other stuff and they’ll hold onto it in their garage until I have a more permanent position. My dad offers to help me drive across three states to my temporary home. “So you can take a nap on the drive when you want to, instead of behind the wheel,” he says.

I say yes, knowing he’s as skittish as my mom is about me driving since my brother’s accident. But a few hours into the drive, my anxiety has grown like a hot pan of popcorn on the stove, ready to buck the lid off.

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