I zip up my gym bag and sling it over my shoulder, rounding the wooden desk and locking the door to the office behind me on my way out. The sound of metal clanking against metal echoes off the walls as players pack up for the day and head home.
“Great session today, Bronx,” Coach says, coming up behind me and clapping a strong hand on my shoulder, looking proud. There’s only a few weeks left until the playoffs and everyone is working their asses off to win the championship.
“Thanks, Coach.”
Since freshman year, Coach has been the closest thing I’ve had to a father figure. I was his star pupil all four years of my college career, and when we found out I would never fully bounce back from my injuries and make it to the NFL like we both dreamed, he took me under his wing, offering me a trainer position right after I graduated. As an NCAA Division I team ranking in the top three for years, the pay is decent, but Coach is trying his best to work me up to assistant coach, where the starting pay will be almost six figures.
For now, to pay the bills while Olivia is in medical school, I work for the college as well as part-time at a high-end gym downtown as a personal trainer. Both of our schedules are pretty hectic at the moment, me with preparing the team for the championships while Olivia’s rounding out her fourth year of med school, but we always manage to fall asleep together every night and wake up to kiss the other goodbye in the morning.
Thinking about her, I add a little more pep to my step as I head out to my truck in the parking lot, jumping in and driving home. Arriving at our apartment complex, I frown, not seeing her car in the parking lot, meaning she got stuck at clinicals late. Again.
I park in my designated spot and step inside the main floor lobby, veering to the mailboxes. I slip the brass key into the lock, and find a few pieces of mail.
Junk. Advertisement. Junk. Junk. Bingo.
A smile spreads across my face. I know exactly what’s in this envelope from the DMV.
Elated, I tuck the mail under my arm and slip into the elevator to ride up to the fourth floor. I unlock the front door of our apartment and hang my keys on the hook, setting the mail on the counter on my way to the bedroom. I put away my gym bag and strip for a quick shower, throwing on a T-shirt and some sweats after.
Padding to the kitchen, I open up the refrigerator to pull out some butter and cheese, grabbing the loaf of Texas toast on the counter on my way to the stove. I pull out a pot and a pan and throw them on the stove, ready to make Olivia’s favorite meal—grilled cheese and tomato soup.
When I talked to her briefly on the phone earlier today, I could tell she was having a rough day. She’s currently in her pediatrics rotation and I can tell it’s taking a toll on her physically and emotionally. She’s been spending so much overtime at the hospital lately, getting home late at least three nights out of the week, that she deserves a night of spoiling.
As soon as I’m done dumping the tomato soup into the pot and adding extra spices to it to give it more flavor, I hear the front door open. I look over my shoulder to see Olivia walk in and set her keys and purse by the door.
“Hi, baby,” I greet her, flipping one of the grilled cheeses over in the pan before turning the heat down to give her my attention.
Her tired eyes look over at me, a fond smile gracing her lips. “Hi,” she says, her voice soft and a bit raspy. She walks over to the kitchen in her navy scrubs, and I turn away from the stove to kiss her. As she glances at the stovetop, an adorable pout forms on her face. “Bronx, you didn’t have to do this.”
“Yes I did,” I insist, brushing some of the tendrils of hair falling out of her bun and framing her face behind her ear. “We’ve hardly seen each other all week.”
Her eyes grow soft. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” she says, appreciation clear in her voice.
“Once or twice,” I tease, kissing her lips one more time before turning back to the stove, making sure nothing is burning.
She wraps her arms around my middle from behind, resting her cheek against my back.
“How was your day?” I ask gently, already sensing it wasn’t great.
She lets out a disheartening sigh, her arms tightening around my torso. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she says, voice muffled by my T-shirt.
I frown, placing my hand on top of both of hers resting on my stomach. “Why don’t you go change and get comfortable. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
She lets out a hum of acknowledgment, kissing my back before unwinding her arms from around my waist and heading to the bedroom.
By the time I’m finished plating the food and carrying it to the table, Olivia emerges from the bedroom in her pajamas. She gives me another look of appreciation and adoration before we both sit down and dig in.
Olivia picks up the sandwich, taking a bite, the cheese pulling from the center. She lets out a hum of appreciation, her eyes practically rolling to the back of her head as she savors the gooey, cheesy goodness. “Remind me again, have I told you how much I love you?” she says after she finishes chewing.
I chuckle, taking a large bite of my own sandwich, the perfectly toasted bread providing the slightest crunch. I chew and swallow before replying, “I love you, too, baby.”
“How was work?” she asks, adjusting in her chair to sit with her legs crisscrossed.
“Good,” I say genuinely, the generic reply not leaving a bitter taste in my mouth anymore.
I’ll admit, I was absolutely crushed when my NFL dreams went down the drain. All I ever pictured for myself was making it to the NFL and retiring after a long, successful career. It’s what I thought I wanted—needed—to feel validation, but I realize I was all wrong. Looking at the girl sitting across from me, I’m not sure that’s what I needed after all.
Picturing it now, I don’t know how sustainable an NFL career would have been for our relationship. I have no doubt in my mind that she would have been supportive, and we’d have made the part-time long distance work, but now getting to fall asleep next to her every night is something I can’t imagine giving up. Being miles away and not being able to hold her when she has a bad day, being away from her for certain holidays, I don’t think I could do it. I never factored in finding the love of my life when calculating my original, seemingly inflexible, plans.
