The Crush (41)

What was mine?

Was it records? Wins and losses, marked in a black and white column? Was it hoisting a trophy over my head and knowing that I’d done it all according to the blueprint I’d created?

I didn’t think so anymore.

In another week, I’d try again, just to see if something could be done in the next year and a half of my life. If Ned wouldn’t allow any offers, I’d have to pivot again. Create a new blueprint for how to move forward.

Coach and Don said their beleaguered goodbyes as I stood from the chair, and I rubbed the back of my neck as I walked through the front offices.

“Thanks, Mary,” I said as I passed her desk.

She gave me a sympathetic smile. “See you next week, Emmett.”

If SportsCenter wanted the scoop, they’d do well to be on Mary’s good side. She knew everything.

I grabbed my duffel bag from the weight room and nodded at the few guys in there working out. This time of the year, there were players at the facilities almost every single day. We weren’t required to report in yet beyond the mini camps throughout the week, but the anticipation of a new season had the air heavy with the collective motivation of another team.

Don and Coach were right. I was there more than anyone. And not because I cared more than the rest of the team, but because right now, it was the only place I could funnel all this pent-up frustration, all the energy I didn’t know what to do with.

Football took up so much of my headspace and had for years. Sometimes in college, I used to think about the construction of a team in the same way that you’d design a building.

When you calculated the load bearings for a truss system—in the most basic terms—everything was supposed to balance out in order to withstand any forces that might come against it. When you’re designing a truss for strength, the load has to be divided equally within each bay.

Equilibrium. There are formulas and calculations to determine how much force each bay can withstand because if you don’t figure that out correctly, the roof may collapse if the load is too great.

It wasn’t so simple on a football team. Each position was vital, which is why you couldn’t have a great quarterback and subpar players everywhere else and still expect to win games. But not every team understood how to find the right balance. How to accommodate the flashier positions without sacrificing the rest of the load bearing that had to be done.

I was in one of the flashy positions, and I’d done well in the system that had been built. And until this year—this off-season—I felt like I could carry any weight that system needed me to.

It was how my family built me too—you do your part and you work hard and respect those making the decisions. But as I walked through the halls, it felt like there were cracks in the framework, and I didn’t know how to patch them up anymore.

Working harder, longer, wasn’t doing it.

My body had never been stronger. And still, I wasn’t sure my mind was anywhere close to where I needed it if I wanted to do my job and do it well. Because each week, I thought about Adaline, wondered what she was doing, if she was taking care of herself in the same way she took care of others, if she lay in bed and played our night through her head like I did.

More often than I wanted to admit, under the spray of my shower or in the dark of my bedroom, I closed my eyes and imagined it was her hand. Imagined it was her mouth. Imagined all the things we hadn’t been able to explore with each other yet. And every single time, with my chest thundering, as I came down from the high, I felt an increasing emptiness.

Because it wasn’t her.

It was such a cheap simulation, a Band-Aid over a gaping wound that I couldn’t quite close.

That was why I was in the weight room first every single day.

If I worked my body to the point of exhaustion, maybe I’d fall asleep easily every night instead of thinking about all the things I wanted.

Waking up with her tangled hair everywhere so I could tease her about it.

End the day with my head in her lap on the couch, feel her hands over my arms and shoulders.

Watch her eat all the sugary crap that I would never touch, but I’d keep on hand, just because she loved it.

That was what I’d missed all those years ago. It wasn’t the flashy moments that built a relationship. Maybe if I’d looked at love—the construction of a relationship—like a truss system, I would’ve seen just how perfectly balanced she and I were. There was equilibrium when I was with Adaline. A counterpart that made me feel like I could hold any weight and carry any load.

From where I was standing, I still wasn’t entirely sure what I could do about it. If I pursued her in the way I wanted, I’d put her in the exact same position that Nick had her in for so many years. Carrying extra weight so that I could have the best of both worlds.

The best way I could take care of Adaline right now was to bear the brunt of missing her.

With a loaded sigh, I shoved the doors open and felt the blast of heat.

The air was so humid, so thick, that sweat beaded along my back as soon as I cleared the building.

I clicked the unlock button on my key fob, and as I slid into the driver’s seat, my phone buzzed. My sister Isabel.

Isabel: You have lost your mind.

Me: Be more specific.

Isabel: You bought me a BUILDING for my birthday. What is WRONG WITH YOU?

Me: You’re welcome. Add it to the gym empire you and Aiden have. He told me it’s a fixer-upper, so I wouldn’t get too excited.