Page 91 of Stepping Up to the Plate

Iarrived in Chicago yesterday afternoon and have done my best impression of an ostrich during my stay. I have remained completely off the grid with my head buried in the metaphorical sand. I shut my phone off to get on the plane and never turned it back on. George let Carina know I got here and had a driver waiting for me when I landed.

He hasn’t asked a lot of questions, but I know he knows about the photos. He has been letting me hide out in his guest room and giving me space to process my emotions. While the silence is nice, it also means I have had plenty of time to ruminate on my situation.

My gut tells me that Brady wouldn’t cheat on me. My heart, though, is broken that he let us end up in a situation where I could doubt him. My mind is telling me not to be the fool twice. I've ignored the signs before and shouldn’t risk doing it again.

I’m completely torn. On the one hand, I love him and desperately want the life we could have together. On the other hand, I don’t know if I can ever get over the fear that he will need more than I can give him. Even if he doesn’t go outside our relationship, there is no guarantee he wouldn’t resent me or leave to find someone who can meet all his needs. The worst part isheis the person I turn to when I have doubts or insecurities. I’m floundering without that support and I hate that.

Deciding I can’t completely cut myself off from the world anymore, I turn on my phone. I initially avoid my texts, and for the first time since I first learned of Brady’s indiscretion, I log into social media. My account is flooded with messages. Most of them are followers asking if I am okay, what is going on, or sharing their solidarity. A small subset – mostly men, surprise, surprise – comment that I should have expected some infidelity when being with a professional athlete. My history aside, this is such a bad take and my audience is quick to point that out.

Since I’ve been radio silent, I hop up off the couch and go to George’s balcony., I take a picture of the view and post it on my story with Taylor Swift’sDancing with Our Hands Tiedplaying over it. The song isn’t a perfect analogy, but it mostly encapsulates my thoughts on the predicament. My love had been frozen when I met Brady but he painted me golden. He showed me what loveshouldbe.

I spend the afternoon soaking up the sun on the balcony and listening to podcasts I missed while I hid. After I’m caught up, I decide to channel the emotions I’m experiencing. I grab my computer and open a blank blog post. While people might expect an exposé on everything that went down with Brady and I, I take a different approach.

The post I write is about being your own inner peace. It is about how easy it can be to lean on others and lose yourself in them. I realize I did that with Brady. I write that while a support system is important, at the end of the day you have to be comfortable being alone and finding strength from within.

The past several days have made me realize how ill-equipped I am to do that. I was in Nashville for all of a few months before I allowed Brady’s strong and protective nature to suck me in. If it wasn’t him, it was Tiffany and Carina. I overcorrected my isolation in my marriage to surround myself with others who lifted me up. It was amazing, but I can see now how I used it as a crutch to not deal with all my emotions. I need to take more ownership of my mental well-being. I vow to do exactly that, and it may be the biggest ‘try’ of all.

* * *

Two days later, George announces he is over my hermit routine. He knocks on my bedroom door at nine a.m. and sits against the headboard as I rouse.

“Good morning, Honeybun,” he coos.

“Morning, Georgie,” I yawn.

“How are we doing?” he asks.

I blow out a raspberry and genuinely take stock before I answer. “We’re doing okay. I’m still confused and have countless unanswered questions, but I realize much of my hurt was that I escaped into my relationship instead of dealing with my trauma. And then it felt like that relationship was pulled out from under me.”

“So, we’ve decided he isn’t a cheating bastard?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “With the grueling schedule you guys are on during the season and how most of his free moments were spent with me, I don’t think he had time to cheat. Plus, he didn’t exhibit any other red flags. He was always open with his phone, leaving it face up and giving me the passcode to search things for him. He never disappeared to take calls, and he was reachable virtually any time he wasn’t on the field.”

“Hmm,” Georgie hums in response. “I still find his story a little too convincing.”

“You don’t believe him because his story makes too much sense?” I question.

“Yeah, it’s fishy.”

“Or maybe it’s that you don’t like him and want to think the worst?”

“It could be that,” he surmises. “If you believe him, does that mean you forgive him and plan to take him back?”

That is the question of the hour. In all my thinking and reexamining of the situation, I realize how weak his response was. Not only did he purposefully not tell me information, he never apologized for what occurred. He focused on trying to convince me he hadn’t been unfaithful; he never apologized for the position he put me in.

Helping that woman may have been the right thing to do, but it has repercussions on my life. It affected my sense of self and played into my insecurities. He should have spent less time covering his ass and more time dealing with the repercussions of his actions.

“I’m not sure yet. I think I need a little time to be by myself. Everything with Brady developed so quickly I didn’t have much time to root my strength in myself. Then when I realized he could be gone, everything fell apart. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“Are you going to talk to him while he is here?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “He texted me about it, but I haven’t responded yet. I haven’t replied to anyone except to offer proof of life to Tiff and Care.”

“I’ll let you get to it, then. There is a ticket with your name on it at will call for tonight and tomorrow if you decide to come to the game. No pressure,” he says ruffling my hair as he takes his leave.

Knowing I need to talk to more than only Georgie, I grab my phone and scroll through my unread messages.

Wednesday, 2:31 PM

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