Page 111 of Your Play to Call
“I almost saw it…” My voice fades because I can’t bring myself to be this pathetic. I don’t have it in me to tell her that I’d thought about trading football for a life with Willow. I don’t say it because it’s embarrassing and it’s also not a possibility.
“I find it hard to believe you told Willow this deeply personal thing and she told someone. Especially after you confronted her.”
“I know, but if not her, then who? It doesn’t make sense.”
“You act like you’re not a professional athlete who fights with the press on a regular basis. Who knows?” My mom throws her hands in the air before resting them on her lap.
“Even if she did, isn’t this sort of what you wanted? Pressure? You still have a decision to make but this time you’ll do it without anyone in your corner.”
Fuck. Is she on to something?
“Everything happened so fast. Coach called and she walked in right after. My body hurts from not doing anything. All the frustration and fear built on top of each other.” I try to get my words out, but my voice is shaky.
“You’ve always been impulsive.” My mom leans back in her seat, crossing her arms, and letting out a laugh. “All of this is up to you and you know I’ll support you forever. If I’m being honest, I’m sad about Willow. Watching you two together, was…” She stops because her voice cracks. “It was really something.” She can’t hide her tears.
She cries. I cry. We remember there’s lunch and move to the kitchen. We don’t bring Willow up again, or me playing or not playing. We talk about the things that barely matter.
I thought my mom would give me more direction. The woman seems to have an answer for everything.
But all I have is more questions than answers.
Chapter 61
Willow
It’s been two weeks–fourteendays–and not a word from Tripp. He hasn’t addressed the retirement rumor but has decided against having surgery this season. He’s doing rehab for his shoulder in the hope he’ll still be able to play this season (or at least that’s what the article said).
I’m torturing myself by keeping up on his progress. It hurts. I could stop but I won’t.
Tabloids are starting to speculate we’ve broken up. This is the longest we’ve gone without being seen in public. To be fair, I’ve not been anywhere besides my home, with Emilie.
We hashed out the Tripp fight the best I could without telling her his secret. Even now, I want to keep it. It may have been out of spite, but it was important to me. Emilie knew I wasn’t giving her everything, but she didn’t press me.
Since I technically wrapped the album already, I didn’t have a creative project to throw myself into. This led me to write an obscene number of songs during the last week.
I’ve been known to pour myself into writing when things are bad. I have no idea if they’re any good, or if they’re just cathartic for the time being. The only way to know is to keep going.
I’m in my home studio, getting ready to record some piano, while I figure out the bones of these new songs. Before I start a new project, I always clean up any rogue files so things don’t get lost. SometimesI have to go back and find something so minuscule and the least I can do is keep them in the right place.
There are only a few files, and they’re short, so I play them back. A few verse melodies I didn’t end up using, a half-written song I scrapped. The last one is the most interesting. It’s Tripp and me, talking; I must’ve accidentally recorded when we were hanging out in here.
The night comes back to me. It was the first cold night in October before we went to Golden Cove. With a cloudless sky, we’d be able to see the stars, which meant a perfect hot tub night. I remember it because I almost told him I loved him twice. Had to catch myself before the words spilled out before I was ready to hear them.
The file is almost done playing and there’s only a few seconds left. At this point, I’ve gone back upstairs to grab brownies out of the oven. Tripp talked about how he hadn’t had one in forever, so I pulled out one of my favorite recipes and made them from scratch.
On the recording, Tripp takes a deep breath and sighs. And then, when it’s just him in the studio, he says, “Willow, the only girl I’ve thought about marrying.” He laughs and then I hear his footsteps scurry up the stairs.
I cover my hand with my mouth. This is the sweetest, most tender thing I’ve ever heard someone say about me. Not only the words he said, but how he said them. How I almost spilled my guts to him after this, because of the way he was looking at me. Now, I know what he was thinking.
The way this hurts. I want to call him and tell him I found it. I heard it. And that if he can go back to how we were, I’d do it. I have the phone in my hand, but I can’t bring myself to call him. I know this isn’t about me. Part of it, maybe, but Tripp has things to figure out.
I’m feeling everything and now’s a perfect time to put a voice to the words I’ve written. I pull out my journal, sit at the piano, and startputting riffs together. A few tears fall and hit the keys, and I know my voice sounds horrific, but it’s the only thing I can do to make myself feel better.
A meeting with Erikand the label is what pulls me out of my music cave. Apparently, there’s something we need to discuss.
“An opportunity has come up, one that has your name all over it. There’s a unique type of tour about to be announced and they’re looking for someone big. The main artist wants two headliners. Each artist plays a short set of their own discography but then the main event is a collaboration set. Doing duets of each other’s music.”
Wow. That sounds different.
