Going For Two (Chicago Heartbreakers), page 2
“I’m not sure. I need to think about it,” I admitted. All I knew was that something was missing.
“We’ll make a bucket list, and we’ll make sure you check every last bit of it off.” Olivia laced our hands together as the two of us watched the dark water lap against the shore. “You deserve to be happy, Lottie. And happiness is more important than a good career, no matter what Mom and Dad thought.”
It was odd for the roles to be reversed, with Olivia telling me what it was that I needed and deserved. I had always played that role for her as I filled in for our parents. “Do you ever miss them?”
“Our parents?” Olivia looked at me as if I really was having a medical episode. “Our mother died five years ago, and our father has been absent from our lives since the divorce. Neither of them deserves to be missed. Those two fucked us up.”
“They didn’t fuck us up,” I argued. “We’ve made it just fine on our own.”
“Neither of us has ever had healthy long-term relationships and have never actually celebrated a holiday.” My sister looked at me as if she were daring me to prove her otherwise.
Maybe now that I didn’t have work to distract me, I realized that I just missed the idea of what my parents were supposed to be—a family.
A moment later, the lights in the stadium turned on and threw long shadows across the beach. I glanced over my shoulder and wondered who could possibly be there this late at night.
Chapter 2
Nolan
“The Chicago Bobcats could be poised to have another successful season. They have an extremely veteran staff on both sides of the football. Their defense is expected to lead the league this year again after coming off last year’s season where they allowed the least number of points,” the commentator, Daniel Rice, said.
“They’ll need that same performance this year, Scott, if they plan to have the kind of storied performance they are hoping for with keeping Nolan Hill at the helm of their offense,” the other commentator, Micky Rice, added.
“I still can’t believe that their GM would go and take a first overall pick in the draft with the star rookie quarterback, Caleb Willis, and not start to build their staff around a kid like that. With the experience they have on this team, they have more of a chance of pulling that kid along rather than putting their faith in Nolan Hill for another year. He started last season fresh off rehabilitation for his ACL tear from the previous season and he just never quite looked like the Nolan Hill we all know. Then he went on to throw the most interceptions in NFL history. Who decides to give someone like that one more chance?”
“Can you turn that shit off?” I growled.
One of the new athletic trainers rushed to grab the remote from where it lay on one of the training beds and turned the channel to the Chicago Cougars baseball game. Adam Steel, the star pitcher for the team, was in the middle of delivering a fastball that tallied him another strikeout. The reporter noted it as his tenth of the game.
I made a mental note to send him a message later tonight.
When the athletic trainer turned back around and saw the hard set of my jaw, he quickly diverted his eyes and scurried back to his station.
“Can we not scare the new people already? Our first game is in just over a week,” Derek Allen, one of my best friends and the best tight end to ever be in the NFL, asked me from the table next to mine.
I didn’t bother giving him a response.
“Derek’s right, Nolan,” Hawthorn Smith, my other best friend and starting kicker for the Bobcats, added from across the room, where he was submerged in one of the hot tubs. The guy barely did anything at practice compared to the rest of us, but he made sure to always take advantage of the hot tub every day. Who could blame him?
“There’s no reason for you to treat any of the staff like that, and to be honest, if you keep that up around the team, the camaraderie this year is bound to be low,” Hawthorn continued.
I pressed my lips together to avoid a snide remark from escaping. This wasn’t my friends’ faults. It was only mine.
“Don’t listen to that bullshit.” Derek lowered his voice so only I could hear him. “You are going to leave this league a hall of fame guarantee.”
“I can’t handle a repeat of last year, Derek.” I could barely get the words out. I hadn’t spoken those words out loud to anyone. Instead, the fear of going from the face of the NFL to the laughingstock played out in my head nearly every day.
“Have you been meeting with the sports psychologist?” Derek asked me.
I nodded, but didn’t tell him how I was beginning to realize that it was going to take more than visualization and mental exercises to fix the fucked-up landscape of my head. My injury from two seasons ago hadn’t just changed me physically. It had taken every piece of confidence I had ever had and obliterated it into dust.
Last season was a perfect example.
I had never played like that before—so unsure of my skills. I had been in the league for thirteen years. I had an endless amount of experience to rely on to remind myself that I was capable. But the moment I had stepped on the field last year after trying to rehab my injury, all that previous experience felt like it belonged to a different person. My legs felt unsteady beneath me. My brain was three beats behind the pace at which I needed to be playing at. I had been too busy worrying about the strength of my knee to focus on who was open or notice when one of my guys was being covered deep on their routes. I threw the most interceptions of my career.
I hadn’t felt like Nolan Hill, two-time Super Bowl champion and two-time MVP.
“We’re going to make this your best year yet. I refuse to let your old sack of bones leave without a third ring to put on your fingers.”
“I’m only eight years older than you, asshole.” I tossed the towel I was using to cover the ice pack on my knee at Derek.
Derek caught the towel effortlessly. “Round that up and that’s a decade, dearest Nolan.”
“Did you guys hear about the new physical therapist we hired?” Hawthorn asked from where he was still submerged in the hot tub, his eyes now closed.
“What happened to Roger?” I asked about our old physical therapist. I was sad to hear Roger was gone, but the two of us had nothing more than a surface level relationship.
Therapy was the worst part of my day. Not because I disliked it or thought it was a waste of my time. I knew that it wasn’t. Therapy reminded me of my failure. It reminded me that my body couldn’t withstand the demands of this game much longer. Therapy reminded me that soon, I would be nothing more than a name and a stat line. Roger hadn’t pushed me that hard with my recovery, and I could only hope that the new hire wouldn’t either because I wasn’t sure I could mentally take it.
“Sounds like him and his wife had to move back closer to his parents. Health scare with his dad,” Hawthorn told me. “From the sounds of it, it might have happened as recently as a few weeks ago.”
“I heard the new physical therapist is some kind of sports therapy guru,” Derek added. “I think some of the guys on the Lynx have gone to her before. She got Nash Rausch back on the ice in record time.”
Great.
“I’m sure she’ll be a great addition to the staff.” I slid my ice pack back into the freezer by the door before putting my sweats back on.
“Apparently she’s hot, too.”
I rolled my eyes at Derek’s enthusiasm.
“Keep it in your pants.” Hawthorn eyed him with the look of a father with three young daughters as he got out of the hot tub and toweled off.
Derek gave him an incredulous look. “I don’t shit where I eat.”
“And that is why you haven’t had a serious girlfriend,” I mumbled as I waited for my friends.
“I’m doing just fine, thank you very much.” Derek crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t have much room to talk. You haven’t dated anyone since Rachel.”
Hawthorn winced at the mention of my ex-fiancée.
“Eventually you’ll have slept through the entire city of Chicago and regret it.” Hawthorn clapped Derek on the back as the three of us exited the training room. “Alright boys, I have three beautiful girls waiting for me at home. I will see you two bright and early for practice.”
The sun was just starting to set as we walked out to the parking lot. The three of us had used today as a prep day for the week to come. Preseason games had come and gone. The pressure and intensity of those games was never very high, and it had been a decent start for me to get my headspace under control. But this Sunday we were opening against the Nashville Cowboys, who were runner-up in last year’s Super Bowl.
It wasn’t a match-up that would ease us into the season. I had to be at the top of my game.
“Want to grab a drink?” Derek asked me as we walked up to our cars.
“Not tonight. I have some things I need to do before tomorrow,” I told him. Derek nodded like he understood before he slid into his car and left me standing alone in the parking lot.
I waited until the taillights of his car disappeared before I turned and walked back into the facility. I hadn’t lied to Derek that I had things to do, but I wasn’t going to tell him that my plans were to rewatch my games from last year. I could hear him trying to talk me out of it, saying that the staff sports psychologist would advise against it.
He was probably right, and I was probably a glutton for punishment.
The building was nearly empty. I slipped into one of the empty film rooms and pulled up the file of videos the coaches had made me. I flipped the lights off and settled into one of the chairs in the back of the room.
The film was a mash-up of every play I was a part of last season.
The plays bled into each other as the hours ticked by.
Missed snaps.
Overthrown receivers.
Sacks.
It was hard to reconcile that the quarterback on the screen was me because I didn’t recognize him.
I wanted to leave this game, which had been all I’d known for most of my life, on my own terms. I wanted to be a three-time Super Bowl champion. Part of me knew that a win or a loss wouldn’t make the transition out of the league any easier, but it would give me the chance to write over the past two seasons of mishaps. It would solidify my legacy and all my hard work.
By the time the film was over, a tightness had settled in my chest. The sky had faded into an inky black. It was well past a reasonable time to still be in the facility, but I had one more stop I wanted to make tonight to complete this twisted idea of therapy I was trying to give myself.
There weren’t many cars on the roads this late at night as I drove toward the stadium. When I turned off the interstate onto Lake Shore Drive, I felt the tightness in my chest free—only a little—at the sight of the stadium butting right up to Lake Michigan. The lights were off and the parking lots around it were empty.
I found the switches for the stadium lights and threw them on before making my way out to the field. To some, seeing an NFL stadium completely empty and without life might give off an eerie feel. To me, it was peaceful.
I’d sacrificed so many parts of my life to achieve all I had in my career thus far, but there was a piece of me that felt like it still wasn’t enough. I hadn’t done enough.
My devotion to my craft had ended a relationship—even though that relationship was bound to crash and burn eventually. It had taken up most of my free time to enjoy much else in life besides chasing the ultimate dream I had laid out for myself from a young age.
This job was a privilege. For many people, this was more than just a sport. It was a national pastime. Families shared traditions with their favorite teams. They looked up to their favorite players as idols. Thanksgivings and Christmases were had with the games of the day playing in the background.
I didn’t take any of that lightly.
I was entering a quest this season to figure out how to fulfill my potential as a player without driving myself crazy with the standard I was asking of myself. However, I knew none of the success I wanted would be achievable if I didn’t consider the person I was as well.
I understood that holding myself to such a standard could be a miserable place to live because I could be setting myself up for failure. But I wouldn’t accept anything less than my best this season, and that started with getting myself in the best physical and mental shape possible to lead this team to a championship.
I couldn’t allow any outside distractions—like the talk shows—to get to me this year. I had a mission to accomplish and there would be very little that would stop me.
Chapter 3
Lottie
“Your office is right in here.” The owner of the Bobcats, Gary Martinez, pushed open a door in the training room and flipped the lights on.
I stared at the modern office with floor to ceiling windows for a wall and looked out onto the practice field. The cabinets along the back wall were black and the carpet had subtle hints of navy and red, the Bobcats’ colors. A TV hung on the wall directly across from my desk and I even had a window to look out into the training room.
“I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity.” I reached out to shake Gary’s hand.
“When I interviewed you for this job, I knew you were the perfect choice and not just a convenient quick fix for losing Roger.” A familiar zing of pride filled my chest. “I’m sure some of the early birds will start rolling in soon, so I’ll leave you to get settled in. Don’t hesitate to give me a ring if you need anything. I’m real excited to have you here, Lottie.”
Gary left me to a completely empty training room without a soul in sight.
This was peace.
The facility had every modality I could possibly need to help a player when they sustained an injury: infrared lights, cold and hot tubs, ultrasound, shockwave therapy, among others. I was in the middle of admiring the anti-gravity treadmill when the door opened and the first person of the day walked in. He wore a Bobcats quarter zip and had a backpack slung over one shoulder.
“You must be the new physical therapist,” he greeted.
“Charlotte Thompson.” I walked over to shake the man’s hand. I noticed his quarter zip had his name and title stitched on the left side—Ezekiel Williams, Head Athletic Trainer. “But you can call me Lottie. I’ll answer to either.”
“I’m Zeke. I run the athletic training side. Excited to work with you. I know we’ll be working closely together. I went ahead and created a file of the players I think you’ll be working with most of the time.” Zeke unlocked the smaller office next to mine that all the athletic training staff shared. He set his bag down on one of the desks and pulled out a thick folder.
“Thank you,” I told him as I took the folder and flipped it open.
A photo of Nolan Hill stared up at me with handwritten notes on his medical history next to it.
“You’ll mostly be working with Nolan. He’s two seasons off of a left knee reconstructive surgery on his ACL. He’s the coaching staff’s priority for us as last season he didn’t seem comfortable yet on his knee. We believe he hasn’t rehabbed that knee enough for him to feel full stability on the field. The coaches don’t want to worry about that problem this year.”
Deep brown eyes looked up at me from the folder. I took in his close-cropped, curly hair, clean face, and the small wrinkles by the corners of his eyes. He was handsome in the conventional sense and perfect to be considered as the face of a franchise.
“You may also work some with Derek Allen, one of our starting tight ends. He’s coming off of a strained hamstring from last year due to chronic tightness in his back. There are a few others on that list that have ongoing issues, which we thought you’d be the best to serve them while we help manage the normal aches and pains that come up during the season.”
“This is perfect.” I gave Zeke a smile. “This is more in depth than the files that Gary gave me last week. So, I’m extremely grateful.”
I turned to head back into my office but stopped short when I heard Zeke clear his throat.
“I also wanted to warn you about Nolan”—Zeke paused— “he’s grown exceptionally … hostile these past few seasons. So don’t be offended if he’s not all sunshine and rainbows.”
This wasn’t the first time I had heard someone describe Nolan Hill like this. There were whispers among the professional sports world that Nolan had grown angry after his injury, or even bitter, but I thought differently. I had watched countless games that showcased his mishaps and his reactions full of anger afterward—the helmet throwing, the yelling, the looks of disappointment. To me, Nolan Hill wasn’t angry or bitter … he was desperate.
“Thanks for the heads up.” I raised the folder of information up as one last acknowledgment before I went to tuck it away in my office. As soon as I was behind my office door, I flipped the folder back open and met the pair of intense brown eyes.
I believed Nolan was desperate because he was afraid of the end. Desperate I could work with. No matter how off-putting Nolan may try to come off, desperate meant he would do anything to succeed.
I had spent part of the last week poring over the routine that Roger had for Nolan while tweaking it to incorporate some exercises I felt would benefit him on the field. I pulled that plan out of my bag and laid it on my desk next to Zeke’s notes. Roger had mentioned that it was hard to get Nolan in the training room, but I figured if he wanted this bad enough, he’d show up.
A knock sounded on my door, pulling me from the rabbit hole I often went down when I think about one of my athletes’ regimens. I looked up to find the same intense brown eyes I had just been staring at. Those eyes were set in a tan face that still had some color from training camp and the preseason games that made him look almost rugged. The lines of his face were pronounced—sharp cheekbones and a jawline that would have women lining up around the block for a chance to see—there wasn’t an ounce of baby fat left on his face. His shoulders were broad and stretched nearly from one side of the door frame to the next. He wasn’t as muscular as his running backs or his defense. He was long and sinewy with a muscular build that he had honed over the years to be a machine on the football field. But it was those brown eyes I couldn’t stop looking at. They looked at me with a hardened gaze—as if he were annoyed that I was standing in front of him. The Nolan standing in front of me wasn’t the guy in the picture on my desk that looked at the camera with eagerness.
