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Peaceful if you counted the absolute agony I was going through by being in a confined space with her.
Luckily for me, that agony was something I could live with. I could work it out every single time I was at the gym, let my want of her come out through burning muscles and sweat-soaked skin.
It wasn’t like I thought of her every time I was at the facilities, but there was an extra buzz of energy that I couldn’t quite shake, something that pushed me harder than usual. And my teammates noticed.
Our quarterback walked past me as I pushed through one last rep on the bench, whistling under his breath. “You trying to prove something, Davies?”
I racked the weights, my chest heaving and my muscles shaking. He handed me a sweat towel, and I took it with a nod. “Never.”
He raised his eyebrows. “All right, then.”
“You don’t believe me?”
Trey Wilkins was a great QB, a good leader, even if he was young. He’d been with Denver for four years, sitting on the bench for twountil our previous starter ended up leaving for Green Bay. He was levelheaded under pressure, and when every single talking head said he’d be a one-and-done starter, he proved them all wrong.
We won thirteen games his first season under center, and he ran the offense with a steady hand and a knack for reading defenses.
More importantly, after Chris died, he stepped up when it counted. When I was busy breaking chairs in that conference room, he was the first one up and out of his seat, pulling me in for a hug.
It wasn’t one that I wanted. But, in hindsight, it was more than needed.
Anyone who could look the cold, hard rage of grief in the eyes without backing down, without backing away, was fearless.
After he was done with me, he spoke to any player who needed a listening ear. And it seemed like he was now deciding that I was the one who needed a listening ear.
“What?” I asked. Barked it. Yelled. Whatever.
He was undeterred and simply smiled down at me.
“How’s it going with Chris’s little girl?” he asked. When he took a seat on one of the benches next to mine, I pinned him with a hard stare. “What? Can’t I make conversation?”
“This is workout time, not therapy.”
He just laughed.
“It’s not fucking funny, Wilkins.”
Trey shrugged, yanking a hair tie off his wrist so he could pull back his shoulder-length braids. “You still didn’t answer the question. That’s a big transition.”
I grunted.
“You realize I’m just doing the thing you always do to people on this team, right?”
This time, I full-on glared. “Yeah, but I’m old, and everyone knows not to bother me.”
“Except me, apparently.”
“You know, I used to admire you for your cool head, and now I think you should take it elsewhere.”
“Going that good at home?”
He wasn’t going anywhere. That much was obvious. I could push back. I could get up and walk away. But there were just enough young players watching us from the corners of their eyes that I stayed right where I was.
“It’s ... fine,” I admitted. “We moved into Chris and Amie’s house because Mira wanted to stay there. Can’t blame her.”
Sympathy filled his dark eyes, and I didn’t want to see it. “How’s it going with the friend? My wife asked me about her the other day. She asked if Zoe wanted to go out with some of the girls.”
How was it going with the friend? That wasn’t a question I could answer honestly.
