Page 199 of Broken Saint

COLTON

Istare up at the old, tarnished ceiling above me and sigh.

I’d hoped that coming here would be relaxing, but I feel anything but relaxed right now.

It took all the effort I possessed to convince the doctors at the hospital that this was a good idea. But thankfully, with the support of the Seattle Saints medical team, they begrudgingly allowed me to leave. Not that they could really stop me.

I know it’s a risk, but I couldn’t stay there for another night. I couldn’t lie in the fucking bed and have eyes watching me every second of the day.

I needed peace. I needed quiet.

I needed my home.

A heavy sigh passes my lips as the scent of the unlived-in house filters through my nose.

I bought this place not long after my penthouse. I love my apartment. It’s everything I wanted for a place right in the heart of Seattle. It’s modern and sleek. The perfect bachelor pad.

It’s worked well for me over the years.

But I knew it wouldn’t be enough. I knew I’d need an escape.

This place should have been the perfect distraction. I mean, it has been, to a point. I naively thought that I would be able tospend the off-season here, throwing myself into a project to stop myself from going stir-crazy while we weren’t training.

I underestimated all the other things that would be required of me.

The sponsorships, the endorsements, the charity work that I’ve enjoyed way more than I expected to. The media appearances, the interviews, and of course, the much-needed vacations.

I’ve made a start, but I’m not even close to turning this place into the home it’s worthy of. And something tells me that progress isn’t going to be made anytime soon, either.

Sure, I could call some contractors in and pay them to do it. But that’s not my vision.

I wanted to do this myself. I wanted to accomplish something that no one would expect. It’s just not going to plan.

I guess that just about sums up my entire life.

I let out a groan, slamming my curled fist down on the mattress beside me in frustration.

At least I have a bed here. A bed, a fridge, an oven, and a bathtub. What else do I need right now, anyway?

Ella…

I slam that thought down as soon as it floats through my head.

I’m doing the right thing.

She doesn’t deserve this. She already hated being a part of my life, knowing that it would throw her into the public eye. But at least she’d have been with the man she knew. Now, I’m broken.

Every day since that game, a little more of me has been stripped away, leaving nothing behind but a broken shell.

I’m empty.

I’m the person I always tried to protect her from.

I’m her. Our mother.

Self-hatred pours through my veins as the image of Mom at her worst when I was a kid fills my head.

I remember the confusion, the hurt, the pain as viscerally as if it happened only a few hours ago.