Speculation and rumors swirled about why I walked away from football. Theories included that I couldn’t take the pressure of trying to repeat a championship season for the third time, and had a mental breakdown. I did indeed have an addiction to prescription pain-pills and was afraid of getting busted. Charlie demanded that I quit playing football if I wanted to stay married. I was being blackmailed and was forced to retire. The hardest rumor was that Ainsley wasn’t healthy, and I was stepping down to focus on her medical care.
No one seemed to be able to comprehend that my decision was simply to leave the game while I was on top, and to finally be the husband and father that my family deserved to have. Then again, I turned down every interview request where I could have explained all of that to the public.
Why? Because it was no one’s business. The world had heard enough from me. Hell, I was sick of myself. I couldn’t turn on the TV or read a magazine without seeing me pimping a product. Yes, it was time to leave the bright spotlight.
Sure, I was aware of the horrible things being said about me. The media can always dig up the disgruntled ex-teammate who thought I was an asshole. Aiden and Mark kept hounding me to speak out, to grant an interview, explaining my reasons. Frankly, I was tired of justifying myself to anyone, and most of all the press. So I flat out refused, and spent my time focused on my wife, who struggled every damn day with her pregnancy.
Maybe I should have done one little interview.
I toss the ball up in my hand and catch it for the hundredth/thousandth/millionth time. My life is so good right now. I mean, my life is as close to perfect as it can be while not playing football, but do I want to expose my kids to the media? As far as I know there are no pictures of the twins at all, and Ainsley’s pics are from when she was a baby. I cringe at the thought of some asshole reporter asking me questions in front of my kids that would make them think less of me.
I stop tossing the ball, catching it one last time, and lean my head back against the leather desk chair, looking up at the shadowed grey ceiling. I can’t protect them forever, but I’d damn sure like to try.
I grab my phone and text Charlie.
Me: You in bed yet?
When she doesn’t respond immediately, I assume that she’s already asleep, and now I’ve probably disturbed her. Just when I look away from my phone, I hear the trill indicating that I have a text.
Charlie: A had a bad dream. She begged to sleep with us, but I got her back in her bed. I figured that we didn’t need another distraction to keep you up. Coming to bed soon?
Me: Let Pancho out. I’ll be there in a few.
I push off from behind my desk, finally letting the football rest, and grab my phone with my right hand. Slipping it into my shorts pocket and walking to the built-ins, I place the football back in its glass box. It’s the football that I threw for the game-winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. I made the pass with two seconds left in the game, and we were down by six. What a feeling… electricity surges through my body, and it makes my left hand vibrate. I might even smile at the memory. It was the last pass that I ever threw as a professional athlete.
Next to the glass case that stores my football is a framed picture of Charlie, right before she went to the hospital to deliver Ainsley. We found the pictures when we were cleaning out the McMansion before our move to Somerville. Charlie thinks that Brad took it, but she can’t remember. She’s in the hotel that she watched the victory parade from. I love the picture. In fact, it’s one of my most cherished items. It’s her in jeans and a rose-colored sweater. Her stomach is so pronounced that the picture almost looks doctored. She’s doing maybe a shimmy or some sort of dance move. Her arms are above her head, and her fingers are positioned as if she’s snapping. Charlie’s face is radiant. She’s glowing with happiness. Her huge, toothy smile matches her eyes. And to think that about twelve hours later we met our daughter.
Picking up the picture, I carry it to the closest windows so I can see it better in the moonlight. It makes me smile. I wasn’t there when Charlie went into labor, or for most of the drama leading up to Ainsley’s birth, but this picture makes me believe that Charlie was okay and happy. I feel more a part of that special time when I look at it. My lips curl into a smile as I set it back on the shelf next to my other treasured possessions.
I step through my door and into Jenny’s office—when she’s gracing me with her presence—and onto the front porch of CharCol Inc. It’s a gorgeous August night. I take a deep breath and smell the comforting scent of pine. An overwhelming feeling of blessings rolls through me. Because of football and wise business decisions, my family is able to have all of this. For the first time tonight, I feel like maybe I deserve it. I’m a man who worked my ass off since I was twelve years’ old, when I became serious about football, to give my family this beautiful piece of property to live on.