His bio starts off by stating that he was an All-American quarterback on his high school team, which was how he got recruited to Ohio State on a full athletic scholarship. His freshman year, the football team went through all of their wide-receivers due to injuries or suspensions, so they pulled him from the bench. He excelled in the position, breaking NCAA records for most receptions and touchdowns, helping the Buckeyes salvage the rest of their season with enough wins to get them into a bowl game. Okay, so none of that is surprising. Of course it’s no secret he’d have to be an extraordinary player to even make it to the pros, much less a starting position.
I keep reading and see that he was born and raised in a rural town just outside of Danville, Virginia, which isn’t that far from Charlotte. If his family still lives there then it’d be easy for them to make the drive on Sundays to watch his games.
It only takes one more sentence for me to feel like a gigantic bitch. Both of Jake’s parents died in a car crash three years ago. During the first season Jake signed with the Wildcats, his mom and dad were on their way back from his away game in Atlanta when they were hit head on in Greenville, South Carolina by a drunk driver. The impact killed them instantly.
Oh God. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been on him and his brothers to not just lose one parent but both at the same time. And then last night when we’d been yelling at each other I’d stupidly mentioned them, having no idea that he’d lost them. I’m a horrible person. As a psychiatrist, hell as an adult, I should know better than to hurl insults at people, especially so carelessly at someone I don’t know a damn thing about. And he’d called me to drive him home because he'd been drinking, but I’d refused.
I’m distracted the rest of the day, my guilt gnawing on my stomach like a burning ulcer. So I do the only thing I can think of to try and make up for my atrocious behavior. I decide to cook dinner for Jake. I’m not the best cook in the world, but my mother has taught me a few things over the years.
After I burn up everything edible in his kitchen, I get in my car and drive to Maria’s to pick up a premade, home cooked meal. Ten minutes later, mustard and dill crusted salmon with a side of horseradish mashed potatoes and vegetable medley are on the table ready to be eaten. I wait an hour for him to come home, but at eight o’clock I give up and re-box everything before putting it away in the refrigerator.
Trying not to, I can’t help but wonder where he is and what he’s up to. It’s not like I’d rat him out if he was with another woman, even if the thought does bother me for some stupid reason.
Chapter Five
Jake
I figured there was a fifty-fifty chance that Addison would be gone by the time I got home Monday night. I exhale a sigh of relief when I see her red convertible. At least my contract is safe for a little longer.
It’s after eleven o’clock when I finally walk through my front door. The house is dark and quiet, telling me Addison’s likely asleep in her room. I’m exhausted after having to deal with my trainer early this morning, while still hung over, before the four hours of a grueling practice and then my bright idea of driving two hours to Greenville, South Carolina and back.
I want to just throw my tired ass into bed and sack the fuck out, but I know that’s a longshot. My head’s pounding too hard for me to fall asleep. I need to clear my mind, to relieve some of the tension caused by the horrendous memories. The ones of the night our team bus had to take me to the morgue in Greenville to identify the grisly remains of my parents. My parents that I’d just seen alive and well a few hours before. Then there's the unbearable guilt, having to call each of my three brothers in the middle of the night and hear their sobs of anguish when I tell them both our mom and dad are gone.
There’s only one thing that's certain to make all the pain disappear. Alcohol doesn’t work, and usually makes it worse since it reminds me of the piece of shit drunk driver serving only a ten year prison sentence for taking their two lives. There’s no way I’d ever touch drugs since that’s the quickest way for me to get kicked out of the NFL. The only thing that has ever worked as a temporary distraction for the past three years is fucking. I need to lose myself in the lust, those few, brief minutes of pleasure I find between a woman’s legs make it impossible to think about anything else. I need to at least get myself off since I can't fuck anyone if I want to keep playing football. Giving myself a release is the best way to relax, so that I can finally get some sleep.
I throw my keys and phone on the kitchen island and open the fridge to grab a beer. A pyramid of white Styrofoam boxes are stacked up on the usually empty shelves. There’s no food because I can’t cook. In fact, I haven’t eaten a home cooked meal in three years. I’ve tried to make some of the meals I watched our mom cook us a million times, but I always end up throwing them in the trash. Speaking of which, my trash can is overflowing with what looks like empty containers and black remains of…something that I now notice has left a dingy stench in the air. Guess the bitch can't cook, either. What the hell is she good for?