Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“How do you know that?” I demand angrily. “You don’t know me at all.”
“Not for lack of trying,” he retorts.
I take in a breath and let it out. “I could do the same to any one of you. You really want that on the team?”
“No, you couldn’t,” Stone says. “No one that torn up would ever repeat whatever that mistake was. No one who would throw away a career without a backward glance would ever repeat that mistake. So if you’re worried about being worthy of our trust, that’s an argument you can’t win. No one sitting here or in that locker room would believe it about you.”
I glance over at Gage, and he shrugs. “I tried to tell you the same thing, and let me assure you, I’ve not told these guys about our conversation. They’re coming to their own conclusions.”
“Listen,” Baden says, and my attention goes to him. “I know a little something about how traumatizing it is to lose this career, so I know you’re not taking things lightly. I get the distinct impression you’re giving it up because you feel like that’s the only way to make things right.”
I blink at him. When you boil it all down, that’s exactly how I feel.
“You already paid for your sins, Coen. You paid for it by losing out on this season. Don’t continue to bleed for it when the bill has already been paid in full. You’ve done enough.”
“But you don’t know what I’ve done,” I insist.
“Again,” Stone drawls, stepping into the conversation, “we don’t give a shit. All we care about is a team member who we see beating himself up day in and day out. A friend so wracked by remorse and guilt, he’s not able to function. We see a man who made a mistake, accepted responsibility for it, and has atoned a hundred times over by all the ways in which he’s lost out already. So, dude… man the fuck up, and let it go.”
His last words are heated. Just a few months ago, anyone who took that tone with me would’ve received a mouth full of knuckles.
Surprisingly, it’s like a pin has popped my balloon, and I deflate. I’m exhausted from it all, but I still have my doubts. “Just let it go?” I ask for clarification.
“In the great words of Elsa, yes, man, let it go.”
My forehead wrinkles. “Who’s Elsa?”
“Never mind,” Gage says. “But this thing you did can’t be what holds you back anymore. It’s clear that it’s not a valid reason. If you still have guilt over surviving, that’s one thing, and you can get help for that. We’ll help you. But as far as trust goes, I trust you implicitly. I want you on this team. I don’t think the Titans will be as good as they possibly can be without you at the helm.”
I want to believe him.
Fuck, for the first time… I want it.
I glance at Stone, and he nods.
Baden does the same.
They’ve given me an open door, and I have to consider seriously if I’ve got the guts to walk through it.
Apparently, there’s no reason why I can’t. They’ve effectively removed the weight from my shoulders. The three teammates most important to me have insisted my penance is complete.
Searching deep inside, it doesn’t take much effort to find the tiny kernel of fire I’d label as excitement. A flame that fans brighter and makes me realize I haven’t lost my love of the game.
I’ve only forgotten about it.
And suddenly, it all just seems so fucking clear to me.
“I’m coming back,” I say, my body jolting at the sudden proclamation. I’ve released the words, and I’m sticking to them.
“I’ll fucking drink to that,” Gage booms as he hoists his glass. Baden and Stone follow, wide grins splitting their faces as they raise their own drinks in toast.
I tap mine against theirs, and I’ve sealed the deal.
CHAPTER 25
Tillie
Jamie Nowak slips the blue folder under his arm and pushes open the door to his office, allowing me to precede him out to the sidewalk. Ironically, his office sits only two doors down from Teddy’s. The two men who helped me purchase my current home will now help me find a new one.
Hopefully.
Ann Marie and I drank way too much wine last night as we searched Zillow. We got silly, looking at unreasonably expensive homes and large parcels of mountain acreage where I dreamed of building an artist community.
But we also found some good options, and I emailed all the links to Jamie. When I went to sleep last night, I felt good about my decision to move.
Or rather, I felt good about my decision to let Coen have his slice of peaceful paradise while I move on and search for a new one.
Am I being a martyr?
I don’t think so. I truly care about Coen, and after I learned about the demons he’s fighting stemming from the crash and his own mistakes, I can’t continue to fight him.