Page 209 of Broken Saint

Without football. Without my girl.

And with friends who look at me with pity and anger in their eyes.

It’s been quite a few years since I’ve had to remember that they’re not just my friends. They’re hers, too. And right now, every single one of them wants to take her side. I can see it in their hard expressions.

I’ve run their friend out of town after they only just got her back. I’m not sure they’ll ever forgive me.

After an hour of trying every move in the book to get me to open up, Cassie finally dismisses me, having achieved very little.

I make my way to the gym, but with all the players on the Saints roster out training, it’s blissfully empty.

However, only ten minutes into my tame workout, I begin to question the blissful part of that thought.

It’s too quiet. Too empty. All it achieves is to allow me to dive deeper into my own head.

“There you fucking are,” Luca bellows across the parking lot after they’ve finished training for the day and finds me leaning against the hood of his car with my arms crossed across my chest.

“Well, I was going to call an Uber, but I thought you’d rip me a new one for running away.”

“And you’d be fucking right,” he barks back. “Now get the fuck in. Peyton has made you dinner.”

I cringe. The very last thing I want right now is to hang out with anyone.

Fuck knows why they keep trying. It’s not like I’m good company.

“I want to go home.”

“It’s not up for discussion. You don’t eat properly at home, and you drink too much. If you want to get back on the field anytime soon, you?—”

“Like that’s going to fucking happen.” I sneer, dropping into his passenger seat, a place I’ve spent entirely too much time in recently.

“Has anyone told you it won’t?” he asks, already aware of the answer.

I don’t respond. I don’t need to; he already knows everything I do.

“What’s she cooking?” I grumble.

“No idea, but it’s Peyton. It’ll be fucking awesome, no matter what it is,” he says, a smile pulling at his lips as he thinks about his wife.

My heart thumps against my ribs.

I remember that look. I had it on my own face not so long ago.

And for a moment, I thought I was going to get to keep it. I thought I was going to be able to lie to myself and experience what everyone else gets to.

But it was stupid. Naive and unfair.

I let myself get swept away by her all over again, and all I’ve managed to achieve is to hurt her worse than I already have.

Dinner is…awful.

Not the food. That is incredible, just like Luca said it would be. Not that I can really taste it.

Everything in my life right now is gray. There is no color, no light. Nothing is enjoyable; everything is dull and muted. And they force me to drink soda.

I refuse to let Luca take me home. He’s already spent enough time taxiing me around over the past few weeks, so I call an Uber and ignore all his complaints about it.

The driver is awestruck when I climb into the back of his car, but he quickly learns that I’m not in a mood to discuss my condition, my possible return to the field, or the Saints' successful season so far.