Page 7 of Gridlocked on the Gridiron

“I don’t know, Moretti. What did you gain from having your best friend sleep with my tight end for a few months just to win a college rivalry game?”

She stepped back like she’d been slapped. What was he talking about? Who was he talking about? Isa? She remembered her dating a Crestview player their junior year—before Isa realized she liked girls more—but Lucia didn’t know what he was talking about.

His jaw set tightly. “See, you can’t even deny it. Clark told me all about it after the game anyway.” He shook his head once, angrily, stepping past her on his way out of the room. The arm that brushed hers was strong, and it was quite an effort not to step to the side to stabilize herself.

Almost dejectedly, he called over his shoulder, “See you after practice.”

Unsurprisingly, Colton had found an excuse to get out of meeting with her after practice that afternoon, but that was fine. She’d gotten to go home early and wallow in the misery that was her new life.

Home. What a funny word for the two-bedroom house she’d found. Her eyes scanned the unpacked boxes, grimacing at the air mattress pushed into the corner of one of the bedrooms. A fitted sheet was wrapped around it haphazardly, a sure sign the mattress was beginning to deflate.

She ignored the boxes and shuffled to the kitchen, clutching at the denial that surfaced at the thought that she officially lived in South Carolina, a state she’d never even been interested in visiting. And without a single friendly face, Lucia was utterly alone.

She pulled a box of mini ice cream cones from her freezer, sliding down its cool surface until her butt hit the floor. The plastic was loud as she opened it, a reprimand for opening a treat she’d promised to save for later.

In the booming silence of this new place, tears finally came, fast and hot and angry. No amount of mini ice cream cones would fix it. She kept picturing the woman draped over Max, and more than anything, she wished she’d found out about his unfaithfulness from anywhere but the internet.

Her mind then flitted to where it had been for the past week. Had Max and the woman done stuff in their house? In their bed? Her thoughts landed on a year and a half earlier when she’d gone out with Max and his friends, her hair slicked back and her button-down tucked tightly into her pencil skirt. She’d wanted to wear something more comfortable, but Max had insisted her work clothes made the most sense for an outing with him and his teammates.

She’d gone to the bathroom, and when she’d come back, she’d found a beautiful woman leaning over Max, her manicured nails running down his cheek. He’d moved away when he’d noticed Lucia, but her stomach had already begun to turn. When she’d brought it up, Max had looked at her like she was an idiot. He’d always looked at her like that, though.

She’d been so stupid then. It’d only taken him ten minutes to explain away the “misunderstanding,” and then they’d gone back to normal.

She’d spent her life before him certain that she didn’t want to ever be in a relationship, not after witnessing the instability of her father’s relationships. And then Max had been there, had pursued her relentlessly, and she’d started to think maybe things would be different. He had been her only relationship, and she’d had no others to compare theirs to, so she hadn’t known better. Sometimes, she still wasn’t sure she did.

She’d let him get away with missed anniversaries and birthdays, thoughtless presents (that somehow always benefited him, too), and blatant flirting before her very eyes, all because she’d thought he’d loved her. She’d become exactly what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. A sucker. A victim.

Lucia felt sick, and she knew she was only doing it to herself, but she couldn’t help it. Tears kept coming faster and faster, and she grew angrier and angrier.

Angry at Max for taking seven of the best years of her life from her. For making her believe love was real again. For making her believe that he’d loved her, that he would stay with her for the rest of their lives.

But she was angrier at herself. Angry for letting Max in when she’d always known love didn’t last. For thinking an NFL player in the prime of his life would be ready to settle down with his college sweetheart. For not recognizing the signs, especially after being engaged for years with no wedding date in sight.

Her body slid further down until she was lying on her kitchen floor, staring up at the white ceiling, fluorescent lights flickering every once in a while. She swiped at her tears, but more came to replace them.

Even worse than the fact that she’d let herself believe in love, was that she’d become the person she’d always promised she wouldn’t be. Her father’s monthly heartbreaks had shown her what it was like to believe that love could be true, and she’d spent years in her tiny house in Philadelphia promising herself in the mirror that she would never let herself play the fool.

Yet, here she was. Naive and publicly, horribly, awfully, painfully humiliated because she’d let herself believe that she could be loved. Forced to move to another state, to another job, to work in a place where she knew nobody except fucking Colton Beaumont, who’d made it his life mission to make Max, his greatest nemesis, miserable for years.

Colton had done many things to rile up Max, and when Max couldn’t take out his frustration on him, it’d ended with her having to calm him down. During her and Max’s junior year of college, in the week leading up to their rivalry game with Crestview, the great Colton Beaumont and his teammates had completely trashed the Lincoln locker rooms and field. Lewd drawings and horrible words were spray-painted everywhere. To add insult to injury, someone had taken a shit in Max’s locker, and he’d been convinced it had been his nemesis.

Of course, until the game, there had been nothing Max could do. Instead, he’d channeled his frustration and anger into their relationship. She’d walked on eggshells for the rest of the week, not sure which version of Max she’d get—the one who glared at the wall as he thought through how to get back at Colton, or the one who yelled at her until she was shrinking against the wall.

Sure, they’d grown since then. Or rather, she’d grown. Max, in all their time together, still hadn’t learned to control his temper, but she’d learned how to handle him, how to not be so afraid when he’d explode and punch the wall near her.

After a few more minutes of quiet sobbing, once the dam had emptied, it occurred to her that maybe she could find the good in this situation. Sure, Isa was miles away, and her father was even further, but she had an opportunity to make even more of a name for herself. And this time, there would be no distractions. No boyfriends, no fiancés, nothing that would divert her from becoming a head analyst for an NFL franchise.

It was a pathetic silver lining to cling to, but she could cling to it nonetheless. When she opened her phone, her thumb wavered over the ten voicemails from Max. She tried not to remember the last time she’d seen him: the night before her entire life was upended, in their bed, that charming smile wide and golden hair shining in the moonlight that filtered through the windows.

They’d had plans earlier in the day, but he’d decided to go out with his friends instead. She’d expressed her frustrations, explained that she was tired of feeling like she was dating someone who was halfway out the door, and to make up for it, he’d bought out her favorite restaurant for the evening. Just like always, she’d let him get away with treating her poorly, reeling her back in just when she’d been ready to let go.

Well, no more. She’d had enough of being treated like shit to last her many lifetimes. The voicemails could wait another day. Better yet, she would force herself to continue to ignore his messages until the sight of his name didn’t sting so much. Maybe then she’d be able to have a conversation with him that didn’t end with him gaslighting her into taking him back. She would find a way to move on from this, find a way to get what she needed out of her new job.

She typed her best friend’s name into her phone, tapping the call icon.

Isa picked up on the second ring. “It took you long enough.”

“I left you last night, it’s been less than twenty-four hours since we last spoke.”

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