Page 5 of Sweet Redemption

You should never change your life based on guilt and heartbreak. Especially when that heartbreak isn’t caused by another person, it’s caused by your own body. Not having someone else to blame puts a whole other level of anger in your path.

I knew it then as clearly as I know it now, but lost isn’t an emotion I handle well, and I’ve been lost for a long time.

I guess that’s what happens when, after one bad play on the field, the dream you’ve been chasing your entire life is taken away and everything comes crashing down on you. An oversized defensive midfielder included. Stupid fucking slide tackle. Your world goes to hell. A very painful hell. And you make stupid, irrational decisions based in fear.

Something I’ve gotten unfortunately pretty good at doing.

Something it’s about time I change.

A calmness settles over me as an unfortunate realization dawns.

Maybe it doesn’t actually dawn. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve known it all along.

Working for the Revolution—for Dad—was a mistake, not a fix.

It’s barely a Band-Aid big enough to staunch the bleeding.

Hell, I might as well be bleeding out.

It’s a paycheck and health insurance and a 401K I don’t need.

Not that professional soccer paid well. Let’s be real, it didn’t. Women don’t earn anywhere near what men make per game. But I was lucky enough that money never mattered. I was doing something I loved. I also happen to be lucky enough to have a trust fund that could choke a horse and a really good investment portfolio. I don’t need to work. But I think I’d lose my mind if I didn’t.

What do people do when they up and quit a job without something else lined up?

Take themselves out to lunch?

Take up a hobby?

I don’t even know what options I’d have.

Reading? Does that count as a hobby?

I could tackle my TBR. That’s at least a mile long.

Gardening, maybe? Not sure that’s a good idea. I’ve killed a cactus.

The girls might let me hang out with them at the tea shop.

I could be a barista.

Or maybe an Etsy witch.

“Serena.” Dad’s clipped voice snaps me out of my spiraling rabbit hole, and I look at him. Really look. The deep lines around his eyes weren’t there this time last year. The gray that used to be strictly around his temples has worked its way through most of his hair. The exhaustion that’s impossible to hide. We’ve all been dealing with the past year as best we can. And I swear to God, I tried to be the daughter he needed. The one he wanted here at the Revolution by his side. But I’m just not sure I can do it anymore. I’m even less sure I ever could.

“Sorry, Daddy. This isn’t working for me.” I glance down at the paper I’ve left crumpled on his desk, swallowing and forcing back the fear and guilt. “I love you, and I’ll help you while you fill my position.” It takes all the strength I have to meet his gray eyes. “But I quit.”

His mouth opens, shocked, but he doesn’t argue.

Pretty sure he doesn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.

They’re kind of a hard sell since I’m not sure I believe them either.

With a new nervous energy pushing me forward, I walk around his desk and kiss his cheek. “I love you. I’m going to take tomorrow off. I’ll be back in next week to speak to HR and look at résumés.”

He blinks, refusing to accept it. “You can’t⁠—”

“I just did.” I hug him and let myself out of his office, pulling my phone from my pocket with strangely solid hands. Not even a hint of a shake. Go me.