Page 143 of Toxic Wishes

I took two steps back. “A mistake,” I say softly.

“You deserve to have someone by your side day in and day out. Not some asshole ex that wants to use you and not someone like me who’s gone half the year. You have your whole life ahead of you. You have dreams. I’ll be retiring soon and busy starting a business or milking all my sore muscles. You don’t want that. And I don’t want any more kids, and who knows if I’ll ever get married. At least not to a girl that’s tied to my brother.”

I stand there, not moving. I think I blink, but I’m so in shock that I feel numb.

“You can be there for Bodie all you want. I don’t want to have another woman walk out of his life. I won’t do that to him. But you and me. It was never going to last. We live two very different lives. And I don’t want to be tied down while on the road. It never works. It’s why all the married guys on the team move their family to the city where their home team is.”

“Oh, okay, I see,” I say softly.

He looked down again.

“I’m sorry, Abigail.” Colt stepped forward with his arms out as if he were going to console me, but there was no way I would let him do that. As it was, I was already on the verge of breaking down. I just needed to get the hell out of here. So I put my hand on his chest and shoved him away.

“Don’t. I’ll be fine.” The all-too-familiar feeling of leaving, of surviving entirely alone, engulfed me, filling my veins and turning me cold. Venomous. Toxic.

I lifted my chin high, even though I could feel the tears dripping down my face.

“I wish I never met you.”

Because then I wouldn’t have to know what living without you is like.

“Goodbye, Colt.”

45

Abigail

“When you're happy, you enjoy the music but when you're sad, you understand the lyrics.” ? Frank Ocean

Throughout the week, I had to put ice patches over my eyes on the nights I cried myself to sleep. These last few days were brutal, hitting me hard. I kept replaying what Colt and I shared these past couple of months over and over to see what I’d missed. Then, when I saw an article on the sports news about the video, I took it as a sign.

Colt told the world we were friends, and he was helping his brother out. He explained it was all misconstrued and that his son accidentally uploaded it. It was not intended for the public, but we are friends, and he looks at me as his little sister since I know Josh Killian, his brother. He failed to mention Blake. It was like I was being repeatedly punched in the stomach every time as I so much as thought of what Colt said about me.

I was going to take the video down, but on nights I needed to remember that what we had wasn’t all fake, I logged on and only read the positive comments to keep me going.

It was apparent I was only a fling to him, a sign that I missed because of my growing feelings. Luckily, one benefit of working and starting school full-time is that I didn’t get much time to wallow in my feelings. I was too busy looking for apartments and preparing for the school year.

I filled Mel in on what had happened yesterday since I had some free time, and she’s looking at plane tickets as we speak, but I told her I’m fine. She was worried I wasn’t eating, which I wasn’t, but I lied and told her I was still eating like normal. I just had to force it, which was true, but I couldn't even bring myself to eat regular meals, let alone think about stomaching anything.

I never felt this way, not even when Blake died. That seemed more manageable because I knew he was not out here in the world having sex with whomever he wanted—living life to the fullest. With Colt, it felt more like a death than the actual death of Blake. They both were sudden, but Colt’s departure cut deeper for some reason.

I had a couple of apartments lined up, so after a long day, I decided to do something I never did, sit down and watch TV. I wasn’t a big television watcher, and most of the time, I preferred to read or, these days, work on Blake's album Toxic Wishes. But it was my first Friday off in a while, so I would at least try and relax. For about ten minutes, I watched a reality show before the girls on the screen started to annoy me, then I flipped through the channels, and usually, I’d blow right by ESPN, except the familiar face on the screen caused me to freeze. Colt’s big blue eyes were fixed on the female reporter. I swallowed the lump in my throat as he spoke. A beautiful blonde who resembled Naomi asked him about a new player who had been transferred to the Cardinals for the upcoming season. Colt scratched his chin,

“Everyone has welcomed him with open arms. It’s been fun getting to know him and getting back in the groove at camp. The team is stronger than ever, and I’m excited for the season to start.”

She continued to ask him questions with a twinkle in her eye. She seemed to be flirting. My stomach sank.

“Tell us, Colt Killian, do you think this will be the season the Cardinals make it to the Super Bowl again?”

He smiled. And I knew that smile. It was his charming smile. And right before he answered, I turned the channel. I couldn’t take it if I couldn’t handle a reporter flirting with him, how would I have dealt with all the rest of the women throwing themselves at him? Beautiful women like her, day in and day out. I shut the TV off and decided to do another thing I rarely did, drink. I never drank because of the calories, but I figured if I’m not eating, then I can at least drink my calories away. But when I reached for my wallet to see how much cash I had from my tips last night, I noticed my driver's license was missing. I searched through my whole wallet, then my purse. I couldn’t find it anywhere. So I searched the apartment, my bag—even the house.

Colt opened the house for rent a couple of days after he left, but it’s been slow since school was about to start. Cliff has been staying in Blake's room since we cleared it out, and I honestly think he liked staying in his room. The twin bed was not nearly as comfortable as any other, but I think being in there made Cliff feel like Blake was right next to him. He’s been a completely different person since we came across the song Blake wrote,’ talking about his dad and son.

I got his smile, I got his stubborn ways, but what I didn’t get was his selfish heart.

When I grow up to be a man with a son, you can bet on me being there for him to toss the ball across the yard, to dry his tears across his dirty cheeks. You can count on me to be the one who makes him feel safe as I tuck him in goodnight and hear him say grace. And you can bet your bottom dollar that my son will remember this lullaby and take it wherever he goes.

Goodnight, son, goodnight, my son. You'll see my face when you wake. Now get some rest and dream the biggest dreams for the take.