A moment later, I heard the noise of the helicopter rotors and then it slowly faded. Brandon was gone.
I raked my hands through my short, dark hair and then sat up and reached for my duffel bag, zipping it open and feeling for the hidden pocket near the bottom that was sewn shut. I tore the thread and pulled out the plastic bag wrapped with duct tape. My hands were shaking as I ripped it open, swearing softly as two pills fell soundlessly onto the carpet at my feet, one rolling under the coffee table. I got down on my hands and knees and searched for it. My utter pitifulness in that moment was blatantly clear, even to me. I let out a relieved breath as my fingers found the small tablet.
I brought the taped-up bag into the kitchen, glancing around at the dark cabinets, industrial-sized stainless steel appliances, and dark gray granite countertops. I hid the bag behind some cereal boxes in the large pantry—I wasn't sure who I was hiding it from, but it was habit at this point—then popped the two pills that had fallen on the floor into my mouth, leaning over the sink to drink straight from the tap.
I was going to stop taking the pills. A couple days and I'd do it. I had a month before I needed to get serious about training. A couple more days wouldn't matter. I'd gather my strength, and I'd do it then. When I was ready. But not today. Today I needed the pills. I needed the blessed numbness the pills brought.
Again standing in front of the window looking out over the forest, I wondered what sort of wildlife lived in it. Bears? Did I need to worry about bears? Wolves? No matter. I'd stay inside. Bears or wolves were far less frightening than paparazzi trying to get a photograph of the former quarterback slash currently jobless, hot fucking mess.
I'd call Ryan—
I jolted and flinched at my own thought. Even after almost three months, I still went to call him sometimes when I needed my best friend, a person who knew me, before I belonged to everyone. Before I was Holden Scott, public property. And then I'd remember he was gone, and it still shocked me. How long would that last? That now-and-again portion of a second when my unconscious mind believed he was still alive—just a phone call away? And did I really want it to go away? The very last portion of my brain that refused to believe he was really gone forever. My head throbbed again.
Turning away, filled with ugly self-pity, I flipped on the television and lay down on the leather sofa, hoping to the god of feng shui that good vibes were already flowing my way. I'd try to get some sleep. I needed sleep so fucking badly. I was just so damn tired. Maybe everything would look better after some rest.
**********
Sleep didn't come. Sometime after midnight, I stumbled from the house to get some fresh air. The canned laughter of some late-night show grated in the background, the manufactured sound of happiness causing my jaw to clench and my skin to ache. Everything felt wrong. My legs wouldn't quit their restless, incessant movement, as if ants crawled through my veins. I couldn't fucking breathe. Even my thoughts were off. It felt like something or someone was knocking incessantly at my brain, as if trying to get my attention, and it hurt. I had stripped down to my boxers earlier and although the late summer night breeze was only mildly chilly, it felt good against my bare skin. I stood at the railing of the massive wrap-around deck, staring into the dark woods, inhaling the cool, crisp air as if it might somehow cleanse me of all my failings.
I startled slightly when I caught movement between two trees, the vague outline of a human form wearing white. Straining my eyes, I stared at the spot where I swore I saw . . . something. But after a moment, I looked away, rubbing at my tired eyes. Jesus, I was seeing things. It'd happened before when I'd gone days with no sleep. And now it was happening again.
Or maybe it had been a wolf, an animal, some trick of the moonlight that made it appear human. I raised my arms, laughing into the quiet void of night. "Hey, bears! Wolves! Listen up, motherfuckers. Do you know who I am?" My words echoed in the wide-open darkness. "I'm Holden Scott, the most lusted-after man in the NFL." I dropped my arms. "Formerly of the NFL. Disgraced, but still lusted after. Look at me. I'm a fucking GOD! Women everywhere want me. They want to have my babies. They sneak into my hotel rooms and hide under the bed. It's the craziest shit." I laughed, but it held no humor and sounded more like a strange bark. "They—" I let out a shaky breath. "They—" I sucked in sharp, cool night air, feeling waves of misery as if they were tangible, knocking me down, dragging me under, scraping me along the bottom, filling my mouth with the gritty taste of despair.
"See, here's the thing—I've got a back-up plan. I could start pimping myself out. No more freebies. I'd make a damn fortune. I'm a god among men," I called out again. And then my legs gave out as I fell to my knees under the silent judgment of the moon. And I hung my head. It felt like my soul was sleeping, and I had no earthly idea what would wake it up again.
CHAPTER TWO
Holden
The next morning dawned clear and fresh, the faint glimmer of yellow sunshine on the horizon. I'd managed several hours of sleep and felt a certain newness, standing at the railing of the deck with a mug of coffee, watching the pale light of morning chase the night shadows away. If only I could hold on to this feeling long enough to grasp my own new beginning. If not here, then where? Not on the field, a football clasped in my hands, thousands of fans cheering my name; not between the thighs of some vacant-eyed beauty; not even among so-called friends in my own home—always having to wonder what they really wanted from me, inevitably finding out it was something other than friendship. If not here, maybe nowhere. Maybe nowhere at all.