Chapter Seven: It Still Hurts - Part Two

So now we've come to part two of this chapter and I have a couple things to say before it.

First, while part one was about Trev and what he's battled to get to this point in his life, this chapter is about what Pam's dealt with and I feel like I need to put a WARNING with it. There are certain instances that some might find disturbing and might act as a trigger for you. So please proceed at your own discretion. 

Second, like many chapters, this one was influenced by a particular song which I of course have included. 

Thanks so much for reading, and continuing on this journey with both Trev and Pamela! Hope you enjoy it!

****Pam****

A gusty winter wind almost knocked me off of my feet as I walked out of Riverview stadium, making me wonder how it was possible that I stood on my balcony without a coat just three nights before.  That was the challenge of packing for away games; trying to figure out the weather and making sure that you didn’t pack clothes that didn’t stifle you but at the same time kept you warm. I thanked my lucky stars that I had enough sense when I packed to remember that Riverview tended to be colder in late October, but the frigid air still caught me by surprise and I stopped dead in my tracks.

The smart thing to do would be to turn around and head back inside, but that wasn’t what Trev and I agreed to when we talked on the phone; a conversation that I originally tried to convince myself would never happen. He asked when we texted back and forth during his visit home if he could call me, but as the next day passed and most of the next, I told myself that he forgot or hadn’t even meant it when he asked. 

I tried to distract myself with preparing for my trip to Riverview and the upcoming game but no matter how many different ways I tried to pack my suitcase or review team stats and info for both teams, I still couldn’t keep my thoughts from drifting away from the tasks at hand and to the up in the air phone call.

By the time I arrived at Riverview and walked out of the airport to find a taxi I was beating myself up about getting my hopes up. He didn’t owe me a phone call, after all. We were friends, my text was meant to encourage him, which he said it did, and in an effort to say something nice in return he offered to call me at some point. It sounded reasonable and logical, and it made perfect sense in my mind. But there was still a spot deep inside my heart where my disappointment clung to that didn’t want to listen. I tried to ignore it and shove it even further down as I arrived at my hotel room and started to unpack my things, but a part of me still knew that I was fooling myself.

That was of course the moment that my phone rang and my disappointment instantly turned into a hopeful excitement that made my hands shake a little as I reached for my phone. Which I told myself was stupid since we’d talked countless times in the years we’d known each other. He instantly apologized for not calling sooner. He mentioned staying later in Appaloosa than he originally planned, since he didn’t get to see his twin brother much, and he wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. By the time he made it back into Bridgeport, it was almost midnight and he didn’t want to bother me so late. It wasn’t a long conversation, and most of it was small talk; the exception being my inquiry about how the overall trip to Appaloosa was, but it put my mind at ease about him not calling and it ended with us agreeing to meet after the game. 

   

 

But neither of us had known was how cold it would be, and as if proving my point, the cutting wind once again tried to penetrate the layers of my coat and finally persuaded me to seek a smarter option. I shivered as I whirled around and decidedly marched back towards the stadium doors, only to be halted by seeing Trev quickly striding towards me.

Chapter Three: Surprise, Surprise

I'm providing the song that helped inspire this chapter. If you like, you can listen to it while you read. :)

****Trev**** 

She was the first to recover enough to do something other than stay frozen in place; narrowing her eyes at me, like she always did, and glancing quickly over her shoulder to make sure no one was behind her before whirling back around. “What are you doing here?” She hissed through clenched teeth.

I knew the answer, but my brain was still stuck on the fact that it wasn’t her mom answering the door. And it was her voice that finally broke through.  

“Trev!” Her face lit up from her smile and I couldn’t help but marvel at the difference between their reactions from seeing me there. “I almost didn’t believe it when Nick told me you were coming!” She gushed, completely ignoring Pam as she gave me a hug and whisked me into the foyer.


“Come on in! Goodness Pamela! You could’ve invited him in and offered him some iced tea.” I’d somewhat gained my wits back and managed to flash Pam a smile as I walked past her. But she’d once again frozen in place from the shock of what was happening.

“Pamela! Close the door before we get infested with flies.”

It was like a switch was flipped inside her. Turning off the confusion and shock induced paralysis and turning back on the anger and narrowed eyes that she shot at me when she turned back around.

“I’m so glad you’re going to be staying here for the next couple of days! We’ve missed seeing you around here! I’ll take you up to your room so you can put your stuff there and then you must come right back down so you can have a glass of iced tea and we can start catching up.”

Nothing had changed about Mrs. H. In fact, she looked almost the same. Short, bobbed blonde hair and lively green eyes, both the same color as Pam’s. And she was still a gracious hostess who knew just what to say to make you feel right at home, even if she had a daughter standing five feet away shooting eye daggers at you.

“Nick had to run down at the stadium but should be home soon. Let’s get your bags and head upstairs.”

I normally would’ve done as she commanded, not being one to argue with Mrs. H. but I wasn’t sure if staying there was the smart thing to do. Not when it was clear that not everyone there thought of me as a welcomed guest. “Are you sure it’s okay I stay here, Mrs. H?”

She stopped walking toward the stairs and gave me a look that only a mother could.  “You’re not staying in a hotel, not when we have more than enough room for you to stay here. Plus, what kind of a hostess would I be to let you go stay somewhere else. You’ve done your obligated offer to stay elsewhere, and I don’t want to hear anymore about it. You’re staying here and it’s settled.” She scolded me and I held my hands up, showing her my surrender.

“Alright.” I chuckled. “You’ve convinced me.”

“Good. You look like you’re in need of a good home cooked meal, anyway. You’re way too skinny.” She’d told me the same thing every time I walked in that house. One time I’d even asked Coach if she was serious but we could never tell for sure.

“Wait! He’s staying here?!” Pam finally found her voice and there was no way to miss her surprise between the way it shrilled and her eyes almost popped out of her head.

“Yes, Pamela honey. Try to keep up with what’s going on.” Mrs. H. joked but Pam didn’t even try to smile.  “You coming, Trev?”

I nodded and smiled at her as I picked up my bags and followed her upstairs, feeling fireballs directed at by backside the whole way up.

Chapter One: Go the Distance

Tick. . .tick. . .tick. . .tick. . .

The sound of the constant ticking of the small clock thundered in my ears as it counted down the seconds, almost like a play clock. But I would pick standing on a field and rushing to get a play off in the last seconds of a game over having to stare at the closed red doors. Waiting for what felt like forever for them to open and to face what was behind them.

It was the dues I had to pay though to keep playing ball and to make things right.  I didn’t know if I could ever repay the fans who still supported and rooted for me, or the team that agreed to give me another chance, even though I’d fucked things up more times that I wanted to count. Or the organization who probably thought that the time and resources they invested in me was a wash. But I was determined to try to pay them back and to do whatever it took to get back on the field.

That stubborn determination was what kept my feet anchored to the shiny white and blue vinyl floor and from escaping the nerve racking sound of the effing clock. I wanted nothing more than to march across the room and rip the damn thing off the wall, smash it with my foot and fling it down the hallway. The relief would’ve been only for my benefit though. The organization would just go buy a new clock, or make me pay for a new one and it would eventually return, driving anyone who entered the waiting room insane. Plus, I didn’t think anyone standing there would approve of my tirade, or me destroying stadium property.

A new sound made my ears perk up and give up my visions of throttling the clock. My eyes shot up to the doors, hoping that the noise was someone opening them, but there was no such luck. They were still as closed as they had been for the past five minutes. Five minutes of having nothing to do but listen to the clock, random noises from those standing next me, and looking around a room that left no doubt that this was Bucks’ territory.

There wasn’t a square inch of the stadium that wasn’t covered in white, blue, or red, including the waiting room we were in, and I couldn’t help but wonder if whoever decorated the place was paid more money for how many times they used the team colors. Blue walls, red, white and blue chairs, splashes of all three colors in the pictures on the walls. Hell, even the people in the room color coordinated with the team colors, each of us picking a tie that went along with it. Something the higher ups had suggested as a “sign of unity and support.” Maybe it had been a suggestion from the decorator too. . .

I usually didn’t put too much thought into what I wore for press conferences. Most were held after games or practices and I’d wear whatever I wore to the stadium. But that evening I’d spent the better part of a half hour trying to decide what to wear, knowing that if I didn’t look my best, someone would report it. Even Coach seemed worried about how he looked, brushing his hand over a spot on his pants that didn’t have anything on it. Better safe than sorry I guessed, and returned to staring at the doors.

The ‘snake pit’ was the team’s not so affectionate name for the press room that lay on the other side and it was filled with reporters who were waiting to sink their teeth into a good story.  In this case though, I saw them more like vultures, circling what they figured was the destined for dead football star, wanting for their chance to peck their beak into the guy that they were certain was down for the count.

And as much as I wanted to blame them for doing what was their job, I couldn’t. If I had been in their shoes, I would’ve thought that my days of playing football were over. I was damaged goods. Was no longer the guy that anyone could rely on. To them, I was the cliché player that started off with great promise and high expectations but had ruined it with my off the court antics, specifically, my drinking.

That was who they would see when I walked through the doors and sat at the long table with my coaches and the general manager, the washed up player. But by some miracle, I still had one more shot. One more chance to get it right, to stay sober, to prove that I cared about the team and my career, to show them that the gamble the team was about to make was worth it, and most importantly, to prove to myself that I could be the type of man that my father would’ve been proud of.

That’s what I tried to repeat to myself each day for the last three months. During those moments when I first went into rehab and thought I might die from detox, or when the counselors asked the questions that made me want to hurl a chair across the room instead of answering.  When I had to face my family for the first time after being discharged, or as I waited to sit in on a press conference that I’d rather run away from, fighting the urge to make a beeline to a store and finding something to take the edge off.  

I wasn’t sure if it was something I did as I thought about the past months or if he just sensed that I needed it, but something made Coach pat my back just then. Like most great Coaches, he knew his players well and could read them like a book. Even me, though I hated to admit it. His reassuring pat calmed me down and it reminded me of something Dad used to do when he knew I was nervous. It was tempting in that moment to imagine that the strong, supportive hand I felt on my back was his and not Coach’s, but it was an illusion that could last only until I turned around and saw Coach’s six foot three frame and salt and pepper hair that I wished was blonde and stood just two inches higher.  

It was moments like that that I once tried to downplay or not acknowledge at all. Nine years of trying to dull the pain of losing Dad and him not being around. But I had learned that all that did was make things worse and make me want to do things that not only hurt those I cared about but also me. And as the disappointment of that moment set in, I fought against my instincts to push it down and ignore the hurt. Trying instead to acknowledge it and still give Coach an appreciative, small smile for the support he was showing me.

The whoosh of the door flying open made everyone’s heads snap forward and our eyes all rested on the PR person who was in charge of setting everything up. He gave us a thumbs up, signaling that they were ready to begin and all eyes focused on me with the silent question of was I ready to go in.  I thought about the team, fans, organization, and my family who believed in me and Dad who I hoped was there in spirit. Finally, after taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders, I gave them a slight nod and we entered the room that no one wanted to.