Infinity(86)

Aiden had called earlier in the evening. I’d answered the phone, expecting our usual banter, and just assumed he was calling about our trip. But when I said hello, he referred to me as Colin, instead of any of the plethora of names we normally sling at each other. Quickly, I cut him off and explained that I was in the house, and would head to my office. I excused myself from my family, giving Charlie a kiss on the cheek as I walked out the front door. Panic flooded my gut. This was bad.

As soon as the front door was closed, I asked, “Amy, Collette, the baby?” My heart attempted to pound its way out of my chest.

“No, no. They’re all fine. In fact, Collette is so excited to see her cousins that she’s already packed her suitcase,” Aiden said with a chuckle at his three-year-old daughter’s antics. “No, this is unfortunately about the Hall of Fame. Have you turned on the TV?”

I wiped my feet on the doormat as I entered into my office, sinking into my desk chair. “You know I don’t watch TV, especially in the off-season. What are they saying?”

My first round ballot into the Football Hall of Fame stirred up every bit of the controversy surrounding my retirement that I’d assumed had been laid to rest. Phrases like “most selfish player to ever step foot on the field” and “narcissist” are being batted around by the football so-called experts. They make me cringe. My kids are old enough to hear this shit.

“Fuck, I’m dreading this trip,” I say in a hoarse voice to no one in particular. I keep looking out at Lake CharCol hoping for inspiration.

I find no words of wisdom. I strain my ears, hoping that the crickets rubbing their legs together in a mating call, the birds tweeting to each other, the bullfrogs croaking to their mates will have an answer, but all those bastards do is let me down. I’m met with nothing but their silence.

I turn around in my chair, still not missing the ball as I toss it in the air, and take in my office. I don’t think that there’s a more beautiful workspace. It’s rectangular shaped. The large, wooden desk is made from old ship wood, and faces a wall of windows that look toward the bend of the lake and the dense, virgin woods. The back of my desk also faces a wall of windows that look toward the modest four-bedroom house that Charlie and I designed with the help of an architect. To the right of my desk is a third wall of windows, and French doors that lead to a balcony built over the lake, complete with four Adirondack cedar chairs. I only have one wall without windows, and it’s to my left. I have built-ins that surround the door that leads into Jenny’s office, filled with mementos from my playing career.

I spend a lot of time in my office on Lake CharCol. Charlie might say that I’m escaping, but I’m really not. Since I hung up my jock strap, I’ve stayed busy with my many financial investments that Aiden made on my behalf. Hell! I’m twenty percent owner in an island, for God’s sake. The official headquarters for CharCol Inc. are in an office building in College Station. That’s where the majority of the souvenirs from my former life are housed. I think of that office space as my reception area. It’s where I meet with business executives pitching me to invest in their companies, young quarterbacks who need mentoring, and anyone else who isn’t family. No one but family is allowed here in Somerville, in what Charlie calls The Compound. She has a name for everything.

The press says that I’ve been in virtual seclusion for more than five years. They’ve even called me a hermit, and speculated that I have a mental disease like agoraphobia. They’ve said that I was driven to seclusion because I can no longer walk without a cane. What the media doesn’t report is that I leave the compound frequently. I’ve just made it a point to not draw attention to myself.

When I walked away from the bright stadium lights, I went completely radio silent. As Charlie says, I only see the world in black and white. There are no grey areas. That meant no more endorsement deals. No memorabilia singing events. No sideline appearances at football games. No guest commentary on ESPN. No red-carpet appearances at charity events. No waving at paparazzi while I take one of the kids running in the jogging stroller. I turned down every broadcast deal. I’ve done nothing to place myself in the spotlight. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

I went from the biggest name in the sporting world to nothing in twenty-four hours. Well, that’s not entirely true. I was once again the number-one trending story on Twitter and most Googled person for about two weeks, but then it’s like the world got distracted by a squirrel and everyone forgot who Colin Fucking McKinney is/was/is.