I missed him. Fuck. I couldn’t believe that I did, but sometimes the truth comes as a massive shockwave.

I didn’t know what to make of it. We had gone through all of that relationship crap before, and it ended with a train wreck of sadness and confusion.

It wasn’t that we just broke up and went our separate ways. It wasn’t like a scene out of a Hollywood blockbuster. I wished that were the case.

The reality was that relationships take years to end, and it’s not pretty when they do. When you’re in love, and you both decide that it’s time to move on, it is devastating. It took me three years to get to this “normal” spot in my life.

I wanted him, but I knew it would do me in, so I didn’t take the chance of kissing him in front of my parent’s house. Instead, I drove home to my mansion and stripped off all my clothes.

I stood on the diving board, butt-naked and free, and I dove right into the heated pool. I let out some of my air and sank like a stone to the bottom. I glanced upward at the top of the pool, where the light reflected. There was so much to be done to fix my life that it felt hopeless.

I swam up to the surface and dried myself off. I poured another drink of Jameson and sat down in my fancy hot tub. These were the rituals of excess I had fallen prey to. In the end, they gave me no relief from myself. They only served to isolate me further.

I texted my ex-omega. “I miss you. A lot.” It wasn’t the smartest move on my part, and he didn’t respond either.

I sat in my bed, scrolling through my phone. I still had all of the pictures from that time saved into a folder called “Love.” We weren’t just a couple back then. We traveled the world together. We did everything together.

Although I didn’t know it at the time, I felt free back then. Over time, I slowly lost myself. Both of us knew that my football career was going to take off. Once we signed up for different colleges, the nail in the coffin had been hammered in. That’s when things got really bad.

I became the worst version of myself. I fell into everything that gave me a sense of relief. Of course, there was drinking, but that was only one symptom of fame.

It was the many parties that did me in. Of course, some people were into the heavy drug thing. I was never that type of guy. For me, I wanted to be in the center of it all. I wanted my picture to be in the hall of fame.

Kristoff hated that world. I didn’t blame him for it because, at the end of the day, I hated them too. Eventually, we broke up, and I was flung into that lifestyle. Once Kristoff was gone, it felt like any other job. But he was gone, and there was nothing I could do about that.

I texted Kristoff back in the morning. I really wished I hadn’t texted him that I missed him, and I’m sure he thought of me as totally insane. “Hey, sorry about last night. I didn’t mean it.” I hit the green send button and stuffed the phone into my pocket.

I sat on my second story deck, observing the California horizon. It was beautiful up in the hills, but I sometimes felt like a lone emperor.

Kristoff hated texting. That was something about him that I forgot. He called me minutes after my text. To my surprise, he asked, “Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

I choked on my words. “Er, nothing. I mean, I might have something going on, but I’m sure I can take the night off if that’s what you’re asking me to do,” I said. I sounded so stupid, but he made me flustered. I didn’t know how to go about this yet.

“Okay, Mr. Popular,” he said. “I just thought that we should go over your game plan with Holloway. If this is rushing things, it’s no problem. I’ll back off.”

“No, you’re fine,” I lied. The truth was that I wanted to do anything but go over the Holloway situation. I knew that Kristoff wasn’t going to let me off that easy. He was a man who always wanted to make things right.

“You haven’t seen my new place,” I added. “You should bring a swimsuit. I just got my new pool installed in the back. You can see all of Los Angeles from here.”

“Mr. Bigshot,” he cooed.

“Sorry. I’m not trying to brag. I’m really not,” I said.

‘I’m just messing with you,” Kristoff said. He paused to take a breath. I imagined his sweet tongue curling over his lips, as he thought of what to say. “I’m just not used to that lifestyle.”

“It’s vapid,” I said. “Why do you think I’m quitting?”

“I don’t know, Addison.” Kristoff’s voice changed. I heard him stop and sigh. “You never know with you, do you?” he asked.

My guilt was a massive deadweight in my belly, cold and much too large for my liking. “I don’t have any secret intentions, if that’s what you’re implying,” I said.

“Then, what are your intentions?” he asked. “Because I don’t want to help you if you’re just going to leave me hanging again.”

I was afraid that he’d bring that up. “I didn’t leave you hanging,” I protested.

“Really? You didn’t go home with the star player that night?” Kristoff asked.

I chose my words carefully because I knew what he was getting at. That night, I didn’t sleep with anyone, but the situation didn’t look too innocent.

“We’re seriously going there, Kristoff? Already, after just one night, we’re fighting about this again?” I asked him.

“You went home with him, Addison. Don’t play with me like that,” he said.

“I’ve told you a million times what happened. He told me that he’d take me home because I was obviously too wasted to be there. When I realized his intentions, I got out of the car and walked home,” I said.

Kristoff laughed angrily, but it was as close to the truth as I was willing to go. The truth was that I needed a safe ride home. I trusted the quarterback at the time because he was the guy I looked up to. I watched him play every single game, starting in high school.

But once we drove a block away, he pulled his BMW off to the side. He rolled up the windows. I asked him what he was doing, but he merely muttered, “Whatever I want.”

These advances were common practice in the sports industry. I told a few players, but I was given the same lecture, over and over again. It’s not your place to throw around accusations. Suck it up and play the damn game.

I couldn’t believe it. I had to stay silent. Most of all, it made me feel weak. I was supposed to be an alpha. A leader, but that beta-quarterback got to me. I jumped out of the car and ran as fast as I could.

I was forced to play a whole season with that son of a bitch. I vowed to be better than him, to push him out of the league. I won. End of fucking story.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about the past,” Kristoff said. “Don’t worry about the text last night. We had been drinking.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. I felt disheartened and alone, but it was my choice to play the game. I could have quit and denounced the player at any time. I just… couldn’t.

“Tonight sounds good,” I said. “I’ll text you my address, okay?”

“Okay,” Kristoff said. “Bye, Addison.”

“Bye.”

I sunk back into those negative thoughts again. I wondered who I could trust, but the answer was pretty fucking clear. Nobody.