My beard itches, so I scratch it. I’m thirsty, so I take another swig of my drink. It burns on the way down, so I wince.
Cause and effect. Action and reaction.
My life has become a cycle of forcing myself to take another breath, another step, another mindless activity until I can pass out for the night.
It’s been months, but dreams are still the only reprieve from my meaningless reality of barely existing.
“Hey, handsome. You looking for a little fun before game day?”
I cast a glance to my right where the blurry form of a woman seems to sway on the stool beside me. The dim lighting in the bar masks her features, but I already know what I won’t see.
No ocean blue eyes. No ebony curls.
“What kind of fun did you have in mind?”
She doesn’t seem to care my words are slurred. If anything, her eyes widen and she feels the need to place her arm on my shoulder before leaning in to whisper in my ear, her lips brushing against my skin as she speaks. “Any kind you want.”
Half my teammates are engaging in the same behavior right now, getting their rocks off before roll call and lights out for the night.
And, why shouldn’t they? They’re NFL players. Men with needs the plentiful jersey chasers have no problem meeting.
As long as everything is consensual, I don’t say anything about it.
It would be so easy to follow her back to her room. I’m drunk enough I could pretend she’s who I want. I’ve certainly done that before. I’m miserable enough to admit fucking her senseless would be a huge release of all the pent-up anger and frustration swirling inside me.
One more drink should do it…
A rough slap to my shoulder jerks me out of my deliberation.
“Fly along, little bumblebee,” a deep voice advises. “This, here, isn’t the flower for you.”
The woman frowns, but heeds the subtle warning in my team captain’s no-nonsense tone. She abandons her perch, slinking away to find another target.
I snort into my glass because, well…he called me a flower. I might be dead on the inside, but that’s still funny.
“You drinking because you don’t think she’ll show or because you’re scared she will?”
I shrug before draining the last of my tequila. “Not sure.”
He shakes his head and gestures for the bartender. “How drunk are you?”
“Not sure.”
“There anything you sure of?”
“Not really.” Yes, but it doesn’t matter. She made our bed, now we’re both forced to lie in it.
“Falls, you gotta quit pulling this shit. You aren’t getting paid millions of bucks to get drunk off your ass all the time and be a cranky-ass motherfucker to anyone who speaks to you.”
“Fuck off, Davis. Don’t you have a wife and kids to call and bid goodnight before curfew?” He’s one of the players on the team with a family at home. He’s also one of the few married guys who is one hundred percent faithful. I’ve never seen his gaze wander, no matter how many thirsty women surround us in public.
I feel the bumblebee’s eyes on me from across the room. If I snap my fingers, she’ll be at my beck and call.
“Don’t you have a wife to call and apologize to before you drink yourself into an early grave?” Davis retorts.
Goddamn my big mouth.
For whatever reason, this veteran safety for the Sacramento Gold Rushers has made it his season’s mission to take me under his wing and pass on everything he knows about how to survive the NFL before his likely retirement next year. Making sure I don’t kill myself in one of my drunken stupors falls under the purview of his responsibilities.
Which is why he knows my life story, while the rest of my teammates are still in the dark.
I rotate the wedding band I rarely wear around my finger. I feel naked without it on; I feel like a fraud when I wear it. “I don’t know if I have a wife anymore.”
He turns to the bartender, who’s waiting on his order. “He’s done for the night. Get me two tonic waters with a twist and brew a pot of coffee.”
The dude who had no qualms about liquoring me up turns to do his newest customer’s bidding without any argument.
Davis twists on his barstool until he faces me directly. “She send you divorce papers yet?”
“No.” And I’m honestly not sure why. After so many days, weeks, months of zero contact, living on opposite sides of the country from one another, I’m not sure what’s holding her back.
She’s the one who lied to push me away, after all. It’s not like I asked for us to separate, to see other people.
“You wearing that ring tonight, hoping it’ll make her magically appear at the game tomorrow?”
“No.” Maybe. What if she’ll only be my wife again if I act more like her husband?
I don’t know how to be that man anymore.
I don’t know if she wants me to.
“You’re never gonna know until you talk to her.” Davis slides my cell phone directly in front of me.
I didn’t even realize I’d said the words aloud.
“From what I’ve pieced together over the past few months of your drunken outbursts, it seems like you both made some mistakes. If you were having the season of your life, I’d say it’s over. Let sleeping dogs lie. But, you are living in the past, and it is killing your future. Eventually, QB, you gotta make the play or face a sack. Your choice.”
The well-meaning bastard makes it sound so easy.
None of this has been my choice.
And I’m not sure if that makes me mad as hell or sick to my stomach.
With Davis’ back turned, the bumblebee shoots me a wink.
Fuck it. I’m so far gone, I might as well embrace being the monster I’ve always been.