Abel awoke with a groan. After a win he usually celebrated with a night of drinks. His team usually won, so he usually drank. And that usually led to situations like this one. He had a few days off before he had to be back to practice, so he’d be in fighting shape again in no time, but ugh. His head felt like it was full of broken glass, and his as dry as sandpaper.

There was a woman in the bed next to him, lying facedown, snoring gently. She was blonde. He had no memory of her and no idea of what she would look like when she turned over. She’d be beautiful, of course. The women who lined the parking lots and the corridors of the stadium halls and the front rows in every stadium were always hot and they always knew it, which is why they were there.

Life was weird. Life was so damned weird, where professional hot chicks in every city threw themselves at him just because he made millions throwing a ball.

He got up and looked out the window. The formidable city skyline of Chicago spread out across the horizon. Abel was in a penthouse room that would cost more in a month than most people would make in a year. It was on the twenty seventh floor, built and angled to make its occupants feel like royalty. He couldn’t lie, it usually worked. Abel had managed to stay pretty down to earth, however. He often looked at his teammates who had let their success go to their heads. But he was forgiving. When you treat people like gods, you don’t really get to be annoyed when they start acting like it and believing the hype.

Abel looked back at the woman in the bed. She had turned on her side. The sheets draped over her body showed that her shape was as exquisite as he had guessed it would be. She was so beautiful it made him wish he knew how to paint.

She was also interchangeable with every other woman he’d had who had just wanted to take him to bed so they could check that box off of their bucket list.

This was supposed to be one of the major perks of being a professional athlete. Women came with wealth and fame. And it was a perk, any hot-blooded man would have known it and welcomed it. But it was so easy that it was almost like going grocery shopping. Actually, if he was honest, it was easier than grocery shopping. This was like having the groceries come to you.

For a few years, his life had been the stuff of feverish boyhood dreams. But he had to admit that he was restless. He missed the chase. He missed not knowing how or when he would meet the next woman. Now all he had to do was walk out of the locker room and make a selection.

“Last night was amazing.” The voice came from the bed.

Some of them wanted to have your baby. They’d go to the most insane lengths to break a condom or talk you into not using one. Then they could, if they managed to conceive and carry the baby to term, be entitled to a share of a pro athlete’s wage. But some of them weren’t in it for the money. They just wanted to spend the night with a star. To have a story to tell. Hell, some of them did it just to have something brag about. Abel wouldn’t have been surprised if this woman had slept with every guy on his team at one point or another. He was also surprised to realize that he didn’t much care. He’d gotten drunk, lie usual, and he’d made the usual choice in the aftermath.

“Yeah, it was good,” he said with less enthusiasm than he had intended.

“Good? Baby, you were the best I’ve ever had. I think you’ve ruined me for everyone else.”

“Uh huh.”

How could he have gotten sick of freewheeling sex with unattached, gorgeous, willing women? It hadn’t ever taken him much effort to seduce a girl, even back in high school, but there had been times where it had taken some effort. Abel was a competitor, and having women lined up to throw themselves into his bed at the drop of a hat was the opposite of competition.

When had he gotten so restless? He’d felt rumblings of this before, but never this strongly. He just felt weary of it all, down to his bones. There was often an anxiety in his chest that he could not deal with by pacing the room, working out, or drinking. It was maddening to have that kind of agitation and not have a way to deal with it.

“You’re a real man of action,” she said with a giggle, sitting up in bed. “Feeling like taking another trip to the end zone?” She whipped her head around and tossed her hair like she was in a music video. “I’m all yours, big guy,” she said, nibbling on the end of one long red fingernail.

“You want room service?” he said.

“Sure. But what I really want is you. Over here. In this bed.”

“I’ll give them a call,” he said. “I don’t think I’m ready for bed. If I get back in, I’m just going to fall asleep again. I’ve got to drink less.”

Abel called room service and ordered their most expensive breakfast.

“Just one?” she said.

“Just one,” he said. “I think I’m going to get out of here. Time for me to move on. I’ve got some family stuff to deal with.”

“But you told me you had the room until tomorrow.”

He was starting to get annoyed. The fact that anyone felt entitled to his time had always galled him. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation, especially not someone who was still a stranger to him.

“I don’t have another game for a couple of weeks. There’s no reason for me to stay.”

“None?”

“Nope.” When he said it out loud, he realized it was true. Before he realized he was in motion, he was stuffing things into a suitcase. Besides, he had things to do back home. Sasha had a way of creating a whirlwind when she was excited about something, and his parents were going to need his help. Not to mention the fact that he loved his sister more than anything and couldn’t wait to see her get married. He had a memory of Sasha making him officiate over a wedding between two of her dolls, and smiled.

“No reason at all?” She was trying to keep her voice flirtatious, but he could tell he annoyed her.

“Give me a break. You got what you wanted out of me. You don’t get to act all put out because we’re not profoundly in love and I’m not already down on one knee.”

“But where are you going?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I care about you. I’m really not in the habit of doing this.”

“Uh huh. Well, since you’re so curious and invested in me, I’m going back to my shitty little hometown where nothing exciting ever happens and the whole place needs a coat of paint. Just driving over the city limit line makes you feel like you’ve got narcolepsy. You get drowsy just be hearing the name of the town, so I’ll spare you the fatigue.”

“Narco what?”

A memory popped into his head. Lacey. Now that woman would have known what narcolepsy meant. Lace was the smartest person he had ever met. She had been like a walking version of the Internet. From time to time he looked up the conservatory in Manhattan where she had gone to study, but there hadn’t been any word of he. He knew it was only a matter of time before she burst onto the music scene in a big way.

Lacey was also the only one who had ever made him chase her.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. But trust me, the place sucks.”

“And…just so I’ve got it straight…you’re choosing to go there and do whatever instead of staying here and doing me?”

“Yep. But you can stay and eat the breakfast. And you’re right, I do have the room until tomorrow. Feel free to hang out and do whatever until then.” He zipped up his suitcase and looked around the room. “I think I got everything,” he said to himself.

“You asshole!” She got out of bed, holding the sheets around her torso. “I’m not just someone you can use!”

“Neither am I. Oh wait. Yes I am. And so are you. Let’s not kid each other here, but it was fun.”

She put her face in her hands and started to cry, but he could tell she was faking.

“Cry me a river,” he said. “Let me guess, an hour from now you were going to be telling me that you were in love with me. Trying to set up our next date? Please. You think you gave me anything last night I haven’t had a million times?”

“You know what?” she said, looking up. Her cheeks and eyes were conspicuously dry. “I lied. You’re not the best I’ve ever had. There are like three guys on your team who were better.”

“Well, we both know that’s not true,” said Abel with a smile. “I know exactly how good I am in bed.” This, at least, was true. It was the one area of Abel’s life, aside from the football field, where he had total confidence.

She tried to stay icy, but she relented and smiled back at him. “Yeah. You were pretty good. Are you sure you couldn’t stay for just a little longer?”

“As sure as I’ve ever been of anything. My little sister needs me back in nowhereville. What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t go?” With that, he turned, picked up his suitcase, and walked out of the room.

In the hall, workers nodded at him, wished him well, asked if he’d had a great night. The usual. Everyone in the entire world had to act as if they were overcome with concern for his well being. It wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t real.

Abel scowled in the elevator. The last thing he wanted to do was go home, particularly because Sasha was going to be yapping about her wedding nonstop and he was going to have to make nice with whatever yuppie she’d wrapped around her finger.

Outside the hotel, he greeted his driver and asked him to drive him to the runway where his private jet was parked. The driver wanted to chat about the game. Abel humored him, but his mind was elsewhere. Not that he needed to focus. It was a conversation he’d had a billion times, and he’d repeat it endlessly throughout his career. People defined him by his ability to throw a ball, or by how much money he had.

Still, it was so easy to give people their special moment. He knew that this driver would be telling his wife, or kids, or siblings, about the day he had driven Abel. And hopefully, he’d tell them that Abel had been generous and kind, totally grounded, not at all a diva with a chip on his shoulder.

Lacey had been different. Not only had she not defined him by his abilities, he had never felt as if she had defined him at all. It was more like she had found him to be an interesting novelty, and had asked him questions about himself as if she truly wanted answers. She had asked him questions about himself that he couldn’t even answer. Lacey had introduced him to a level of self-awareness and self-scrutiny that he never would have found without her. She had shown him that even self-absorbed people were usually operating at a superficial level. They put even less time into thinking about themselves, truly thinking, than most people.

The thought cheered him up. Whatever else home was, that’s where Lacey had been. There would be memories, good ones.

After high school, he had tried to keep in touch with her. When he heard from Sasha that Lacey had been disowned by her parents, he had immediately called her cell phone. She hadn’t answered. He had tried again and again. Lacey could be stubborn, but so could he. There was no way she was going to outlast him forever, and he had been right. Eventually she picked up and they tried to be friends, but Lacey grew more distant and—cold wasn’t the right word, but she seemed preoccupied to the point where he felt like the conversations were completely one-sided—less interested in maintaining their relationship.

Abel hadn’t understood. He had spent so much time examining himself, his actions, his words, trying to figure out how he had screwed it up, but he’d been a perfect gentleman with her. He had tried harder with Lacey, and loved her more, than anyone he had ever known. The fact that it hadn’t been enough had eaten him alive.

Finally, he had asked her if she just wanted to stop talking and end whatever their relationship was, or ever would be, forever. He had thought that this would force her into a reflective mode, and in her desperation over the thought of losing him she would open up again. It had infuriated him and broken his heart when she had just mumbled, “Whatever,” and had hung up the phone.

The next time they talked had been the last time. Lacey had told him that the night of graduation had been one of the best nights of her life, and it always would be, no matter what else happened. But she only had room for so many relationships with people at once, and right then, she felt like if she didn’t devote herself to Sasha, it would feel like she was betraying her. Anyway, he was living in another state and it wasn’t practical or useful for them to stay in touch.

He had also known that she had ditched Sasha in a similar way, so her explanation hadn’t made sense.

That’s what he was thinking about when he stepped onto his jet. Nobody wanted to be told that they weren’t practical, or that you couldn’t see them anymore just because they didn’t see the point, but still…women acted like he was an emperor, king, prince, and galactic overlord all in one. They always had. Lacey hadn’t pretended.

The plane left the ground, pointed in her direction. After ten minutes, the one stewardess on the plane came back and asked him if he needed anything.

Now there was a loaded question. Abel felt like he needed so many things, but they were vague, formless, and he couldn’t put them into words.

Lacey was the only woman who had ever truly made him feel something besides physical pleasure.

But what? What had she made him feel? This was part of the draw for him. He was pulled to her and couldn’t explain exactly why.

That night. Graduation night. Just thinking about it aroused him, all these years later. He could still see her pink dress. He could still smell her perfume. He could still remember the way she rolled her eyes when other girls flirted with him, right in front of their own boyfriends.

“It’s just a ball,” she had said. “You throw it just fine, maybe better than anyone, but it’s just a ball. Just a game.”

That had made Abel laugh until he had almost been sick. She was right. Even though he knew he was headed for college, and fame, and money, he couldn’t argue with her. Signing someone to a one hundred-million-dollar football deal doesn’t change the fact that those one hundred billion dollars paid a man to put on a helmet and throw an oblong ball through the air.

She kept him grounded. That had always been part of it.

He wouldn’t have traded the money, but he might have sacrificed some power in his throwing arm if he could have played the piano for one minute like her.

When he had arrived to pick her up for the graduation party her front door had been open, just a crack. He had been about to knock when he heard the music coming from the back of the house.

Lacey had told him once that all art—music, writing, painting, sculpture, all of it—was a person’s attempt to express something inexpressible. It was why she would never let him hear her play. She didn’t want him guessing at what she was trying to express. What kind of high school kid said things like that? The depth of her insight had been eerie.

Abel had felt like he was intruding on something private, but he hadn’t been able to help it. He had eased the door open and tiptoed inside, moving down the hall to the studio at the back of the house where she was seated at the piano bench.

His first thought had been that she must be the saddest person he had ever known—the song was slow, elegant, and beautiful, but full of slight discordances that sounded like accidents until the next measure began. It was clear that he was listening to mastery, and masters only made mistakes that were intentional. The way she played had to reflect how she was feeling, and it was enviable to see someone who had mastered his or her feelings.

Lacey had sat up with perfect posture and he had been desperate to see the look on her face. The look on anyone’s face at the moment of producing something with so much beauty in it that it made his chest hurt.

Abel had stepped on a creaky spot in the wooden floor and she had stopped playing immediately. “How long have you been there?” she had said without turning around, but she hadn’t sounded angry.

“Not long enough,” he said, his heart in his throat.

She had turned around and smiled, blinking her eyes, slightly dazed, as if she had just come up for air after a long time underwater. Abel had been shocked to see tears on her cheek. When he had asked her if she was okay, she had nodded and said she was just happy. Happiest when she played, and now he was lucky enough to take her out for the night. “It’s when I learn who I am,” she had said, gesturing at the piano.

Abel had raved about her playing that night until she blushed. Then he had kept raving about it until she told him he had to stop, that it was getting tedious, even though she grinned and blushed when he said it. That blush was one of his most precious memories. It was the only time her façade broke. Humans were the only animals that blushed, and Lacey’s blush had been the sweetest thing.

“You’ll be the best that place has ever seen.” He had been referring to the observatory where she had been accepted.

“Maybe,” she had said. “But it’s only because I have something to say. I just don’t know what it’s going to be. I’ll find it in that piano one day.”

When the plane landed, Abel was fast asleep, dreaming of standing next to Lacey at a grand piano, turning pages for her each time she nodded her head.