Here & Now (26 page)

What’s happening now is going to get a whole lot worse and I think maybe now that he’s admitted the truth, we need space. I know I do because as much as I normally love to look at him, I’m afraid to now. I don’t want the image I have so clearly of him in my mind to be tainted by the one that’s visible to me here.

“Great. You ask for the truth, but when you get it you can’t even look me in the fucking eye. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic, Caddy. Was it your intention to ruin something fucking perfect?”

Moving my body off the bed as he shouts the words, I follow his movements to the letter. Grabbing my pants off the floor and sliding into them quickly after first putting my underwear on, doing them up before repeating the same motion with my shirt, I don’t say another word until I’m completely dressed and sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, staring at the remnants of what he was right about. Our perfect moment.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more like you and be a total saint. I’m doing what needs to be done and I don’t need another fucking lecture about it.”

I’ve taken this long enough. He can be pissed off all he wants, in a way I kind of understand it with as out of left field as this is, but there is no way I’m going to let him sit there, berate me and make me feel like loving him and wanting the best for him is wrong. He can think I’m Saint Cadence all he wants, but he’s about to find out that this saint isn’t going to take another second of his filthy mouth and hurtful words.

My hand comes up first and as it connects with his face, I bend down the second his hand comes up, shaken by the sting of what I’ve done. Wasting no time, not wanting to even look him in the eye with how much anger is flooding through me, I make sure my next words are heard loud and clear.

“I can hear every word you’re saying, you insecure jerk. You want to be upset with me because I care about you, fine! Go ahead. Pout and act like a petulant child, but I don’t have to sit here and listen to it. I’m leaving.”

I make it all the way to the door before the stupid implant, the thing I wish more than anything I’d never gotten, tips me off to him calling out. Stopping the second I hear my name, I stand in place, waiting for him to finish, determined not to turn around and face him. He earned my back to him now, just like he earned me walking out the door.

Space. I need it, and for the first time since we started dating, the only way I’m going to get it is when I’m as far from him as I can get. What should have been a time where the two of us are growing even closer, has been twisted until the only way we’re both going to get through this with our hearts intact is if we’re apart.

“Don’t leave.”

“Then give me a reason to stay.”

When he goes silent again, seconds turning into minutes with no response, I wrap my hand around the door, twist it until it opens and walk through it, making sure once I’m out to slam it behind me, getting my point across loud and clear.

This isn’t about love or even about doing the right thing by him. It’s about survival. If I stay and go back into that room, nothing is going to change. For whatever reason, the Dillon that took those drugs, the one that chose to harm himself in order to please a team that in a few years won’t give a crap about him, needs a wakeup call. What he sees as not being a big deal, is a very big deal and it’s one that I can’t fix for him.

It’s something that he’s going to need to do for himself because after everything I’ve been through already today and even the weeks leading up to it, I’m not strong enough to fight against. I can’t help change what he can’t even acknowledge and if I buy into the belief that I can, Dillon won’t be the only one broken and in need of repair.

I will be too.

Dillon

When everything in my life turns to shit and burns in a pile of fiery ash around me, there’s always one place I can count on. One thing that will see me through and just like every other time it’s happened in the past, I’ve found it again.

Being on the field, it’s saved me from the haunting voice of my father, the drug addled brain of my mother and every pounding I ever took, both from the fights Bruce put together and the ones I had with Kayden and others during high school.

It’s going to be the one place now that makes me forget all about what happened with Cadence yesterday. With my head in the zone, wrapped in plays I’m going to need to see through in order to win this game, there won’t be time to think about her and the sad and broken look in her eyes before she walked out of my room and essentially out of my life when I finally talked her into letting me take her home.

Our fight. The hateful, angry shit I said to her that she threw back in my face before walking away, leaving me completely alone and getting exactly what I deserve. The fight that even now, as I’m lacing up to head out to the field is still playing through my head scene by scene like a horror movie I can’t turn off.

When did I become this person? When did I stop doing the right thing and choosing to go down that selfish road? When did I become a bully again? A person that can’t even look at himself in the mirror because instead of going after people the way I did in high school, I went against the one person in the world I was so determined never to hurt?

The answer is so obvious, but it’s one that turns my stomach.

It happened the day I decided to put football above myself and my relationship with the girl that I one day hope to marry. The only girl who didn’t think I was a complete asshole the second she laid eyes on me. The girl that turned a key into the lock around my heart and opened the door to make me feel again.

The girl that is my whole world. Everything to me. My Cadence.

Fuck. If they had an award for biggest asshole, I’d be winning by a landslide. No one else would even come close to taking the crown from me. Only someone with my level of idiocy could ruin the best thing that ever happened to them.

I’m sorry isn’t enough this time. Getting on my hands and knees and begging at her feet isn’t going to be either. She wasn’t the one that took something fucking beautiful and turned it rotten. I did that all on my own and just remembering the shit I said to her now, is enough to make me want to find the nearest ice bath and drown my head in it until I can’t breathe anymore.

It wasn’t the amphetamines that ruined us. It was me.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the last person you want to talk to right now, but Coach told me to come find you.”

Ryder. The person I want to grab ahold of right now and shove my fist straight through, but also the person that just like Cadence, isn’t to blame for any of this. He had only done what he thought was right at the time. With me shoving him and his concern away at every turn, he’d gone to the only person he could think of that could break through to me.

It’s not his fault that I’m so hard headed and weak minded that not even one of the smartest people in the world could get through to me.

“It’s fine. Thanks for telling me.”

“I know it’s probably a waste of time, but I noticed Cadence isn’t out where she normally is for games. Do you want to talk about it?”

“What are you, my shrink now?”

“If that’s what you need me to be. Look, Dill. I know what I did was a dick move, but I didn’t have any other options. If telling her is the reason she’s not here right now, I’m sorry.”

How do I even begin to tell him that the reason my girlfriend isn’t out there is because I’m a total douchebag that doesn’t even deserve her? I can’t do it, the words just won’t form even though I can think them easily. What I can do though is make sure he knows that as pissed as I am that he went behind my back, he didn’t cause this.

“It’s not on you. Like I told you before, this is on me. It’s my shit. I caused it. I’m just not sure this is something I can fix.”

“Cadence, she loves you. That counts for something.”

It should, but when I made a choice to take the drugs and hide it from her, I’m pretty sure all the love in the world can’t fix it. There’s only so much betrayal a person can take.

I might not have cheated on her physically, but by taking the pills, I sure as hell found a way to cheat in another way. Knowing that in my fucked up state this morning, I took another two makes it even worse.

I’m no better than Rebecca. I chose the pills and the way they made me feel over what was real. The one tangible thing in my life that no matter how badly I treated her both in the past and now, would have stood by my side regardless.

I had an affair with a bottle of pills, I’m still doing it and I can never take it back, no matter how sorry I am or how much groveling I’m prepared to do when this is over and I see her again.

“Not anymore it doesn’t.”

“That’s not you talking, that’s the shit you’re on.”

“No, Ry, it’s not the pills this time. It’s reality. You said it yourself, she’s not here. I’m the reason she’s not here and honestly, it’s like a year ago all over again. She’s better off not being here. She deserves a hell of a lot better than a broken down junkie.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“What is?”

“You’re not a fucking junkie. You made a choice to take something to help you play better. It’s something guys do in the NFL all the time, and even though it’s illegal, no one knows about it or they turn a blind eye to it. You know I’m right so don’t even try to deny it.”

“Fine, even if you’re right about that, you see what I’m dealing with man. My mom.”

“She’s a fucking junkie, but that doesn’t mean you have to be. You’re not her, same as you’re not Bruce. The sooner you realize this the better off you’ll be.”

“You act like you’re speaking from experience.”

“Someday, I’ll bring you by to meet my parents and then we can swap horror stories. Until then, get off the shit you’re taking; no matter how amazing you think it makes you play, because it turns you into a dickhead. Then go out there, win the damn game and get your girl back.”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Another story for another day. Let’s just say, I’ve seen more than enough shit to last me a lifetime and for once, I don’t want to see it repeated with someone I happen to think might be one of the decent ones. Stow your shit at the door and leave the stupid mistakes to the assholes.”

“Didn’t you call me an asshole the other day?”

“Yeah, but you’re one of the assholes I can actually stand.” He admits with a laugh and its one that despite how torn up and alone I feel inside, I return. “Now, you ready to go do this shit?”

I’d be a hell of a lot more ready if I had my girl in the stands, but since that looks like it’s not gonna happen, this is the way things are going to have to be. It’s time to put my game face on. Win the game and then do what Ryder said.

Find a way to win my girl back.

Cadence

I don’t belong here.

A month ago; maybe even a week or two ago, it didn’t feel like this. I felt that wherever Dillon was is where I belonged, but now, after what happened yesterday and the silence between us since, I get the feeling this is the last place I should be.

But it is the place I need to be.

Coming here, hiding away high up in the stands where I’m sure no one from the team is going to see me, it’s the way I need to do this. He can’t know I’m here. Football to Dillon is the one stable thing he has besides me and my mom and after what happened a few hours ago, I’m sure it feels like he’s lost that, so this is where he needs to put his focus.

It’s the reason he took the performance enhancers to begin with. As much as I hate that he did it and loathe even more that he hid it from me, if he didn’t have it, I’m pretty sure the Dillon I’ve come to know over the last year wouldn’t even exist at all.

Bringing it up yesterday, all I wanted was to get through to him. Make him see that he could still go out there and play the way he always has without being on something. That I believed in his talent, his drive and his will to do this and just wanted the right thing for him. I want him healthy and clean and okay. The boy I gave my heart to, not what the pills take and twist until there’s nothing but a shell left.

That’s not how it went. Do I hate him for the things he said? The way he accused me of ruining something that in his mind was perfect? No. I could never hate him. I’m hurt, but I’ve heard a lot worse than what he said to me before, so he didn’t break me. I just saw him with his guards back up and knew there would be no getting through so I did the right thing and took myself out of the situation.

All of this makes my heart hurt. Creates a pain so big in my chest that when I tried to sleep in order to block it out, I physically had a hard time breathing. The tears, they haven’t stopped since I got out of his car without even a look back, kiss or goodbye and made my way inside. They’ve just gotten progressively worse. The only break in them had been the car ride here with my mom. Somehow, having her see me break over this, I couldn’t let it happen.

Looking down at the field I can see the game starting, the players lining up in their assigned formations and the ball, that from up here looks minuscule, being thrown from number thirteens hands to another player and my heart seizes again.

Thirteen is Dillon’s number.

If I thought being farther up in the stands, surrounded by more of a crowd would keep me from feeling anything, answering to the pull that my heart has whenever he’s near, I was wrong. If anything, being this far back just makes it that much stronger.

The ache to be near him, to let him know I’m here and that what happened yesterday isn’t the end of us is so strong that it’s taking all of my willpower to stay in my seat right now. I can’t move. I can’t go to him because despite the fact that this isn’t enough to break us apart and I won’t ever leave him, until he realizes what he’s doing is wrong, I need to keep my distance.

I can’t make this better for him. Only he can.

Trying to follow this game is pointless. I don’t understand who any of the players are even though I’ve heard Dillon talk about what positions they play and how a touchdown is scored. I can’t make sense from one second to the next other than the fact that it’s all really quick.

What should take minutes to accomplish happens in seconds as players from both teams move up and down the field, and they’re all so quick it begins to run together. The only way I can tell who belongs where is by the different colored jerseys they wear. Everything else, I’m just stumped.

Finally spying Dillon as he makes his way down the field, time seems to go from being in a permanent fast forward state to slow motion. I see him move backwards, his steps quick, almost graceful, the precise way you see ballerinas move when they’re in the middle of their routine and then the picture shifts.

He stops and I can sort of make out his head moving around, almost as if he’s looking for someone or something and in the second it takes me to blink, he’s gone from being on his feet to face down on the ground, the only visible sign that it’s even him anymore the glaring number of his jersey floating its way up to me.

Something’s wrong.

The referees are running toward him now, followed by the man I know as his coach and a few of the trainers quick on his heels, the ref’s hands signaling what I know for certain is a timeout. A freeze to the game and one that right now as I slip my way out of where I’ve been hiding and run down the steps, matches my heart.

Nothing is moving quickly anymore and as I finally hit the field, pushing my way past players and anyone else who sees fit to get in my way, it’s like the timeout really has stopped time and I want nothing more than for it to flip back on again so I can move faster. Be with him. Let him know that he’s not alone.

I have no idea what this is, how it happened but I want to hit someone. Find a player that may have tried taking him down even though I know there isn’t one and make him pay for doing this to him.

The closer I get, when I finally see an end to my running in sight, I feel arms, big ones and they’re so strong, it feels as if I’m still trying to run head first into a brick wall.

“Let them do their job, Caddy.”

“What happened?” I shout though with the level of sound, both from the people in the stands and the announcers over the PA system, I’m sure probably sounds more like a whisper. “Why isn’t he moving?”

I don’t even have to look at Ryder to get answers. I already have them. This didn’t happen because his knee gave out on him or because of the heat being buried under his helmet with the blaring of the sun. It’s the drugs. Whatever it is he’s been taking for weeks, it’s finally caught up to him and the minute I do finally lift my eyes high enough to catch Ryder’s face, the pained expression confirms it.

“Did he take something today?”

“Yeah, he did. Not as much as before, according to what he told me on the way out here, but he still did it.”