Page 5 of Lessons in Heartbreak

“You cannot be serious.”

“It’s either this, or I leave you alone with the giant dildo, Ruby. Which is it gonna be?”

For a moment, I actually considered both options, envisioning that giant fist around my own life, squeezing to the point of danger.

Wasn’t I already in danger, though? I’d lived thirty years, sure. But what had I really experienced?

I’d lost the ability to allow myself anything spontaneous in life, because I was afraid of what might happen. It was so easy to imagine standing up in front of a group of people and making my own small admission:Hi, my name is Ruby Tate, and I’m a control freak.

Blowing out a slow breath, I looked at the pink-and-white-wrapped box, then back at Lauren’s face.

“Fine. Tell me what to do next.”

Chapter TwoGriffin

How many almost-thirty-three-year-old professional athletes got their asses grounded by their agents?

Not many, I’ll tell you that.

Oh sure, he told me over and over that I wasn’t grounded when he sent me away for three weeks to his big fucking house in some tiny town outside Fort Collins, Colorado. He told me over and over that it was for my own good, that I should go somewhere quieter, get some rest, stay out of the public eye. He told me over and over that I’d end up appreciating the peace and quiet.

I didn’t believe him the first time he said it. Didn’t believe him the third or fourth time he said it.

And it took me exactly thirty-six hours before I was bored out of my skull.

Obviously, there were people in the world who would love this shit. A big-ass house to themselves, sprawling land all around, mountains in the distance, green fields, unobstructed views of the sunsets. I’m sure those people would do things like read books and nap and cook meals. They’d probably meditate and become one with nature, deep-breathing while they cleared their minds of everything that was troubling them.

My first attempt at meditation lasted less than a minute. There was no slowing my thoughts. No centering of anything.

In fact, the attempt just made me feel like I was crawling out of my skin, immediately sending me downstairs, in the direction of his home gym, where I worked out until my muscles shook. Then I searched all the cupboards, wandered through the bedrooms, lay on the big couch and tried flipping through one of the many books lining the shelves of the two-story family room with the gorgeous mountain views, and generally wondered exactly how much money my agent made.

After tossing the book onto the floor, I pulled out my phone and brought up his contact information.

Me:Your house is nicer than mine.

Steven:That’s because my wife has excellent taste and no problem spending the money I make.

Me:That sounds like something you should bring up with a marriage counselor.

Steven:Oh, I’m not complaining. She spent a fortune on lingerie last week after I finalized your new deal with Nike. She loves you just as much as she loves me right now.

Me:It’s my deal, but you’re the one getting laid and buying the giant house. Why do I feel like something’s wrong here?

Steven:You’re also the one who ran his mouth to the press about his brother now coaching in the division in which you played. Maybe if you’d refrained from doing that, you wouldn’t have to disappear for a few weeks to let it die down. Or change teams, for that matter.

The scowl appeared on my face before I could stop it.

The truth of both things sat like a rock in my gut. Changing teams wasn’t ideal, but I’d been unhappy in New York for years—friction with a new coach, and an owner who looked at me like a show pony instead of someone who could actually help lead the team—and Denver had a huge amount of space in their salary cap and a weak left side on their defensive line.

Not only that, but Denver was in not just a different division but also a different conference from the one I’d left. The one my brother now coached in.

And I really, really didn’t want to have to play my asshole brother twice a year for the rest of my career—hence the running of the mouth.

One interview over some drinks, and I got a little too comfortable with the woman on the other side of the table. It wasn’t like she’d tricked me; the mic was sitting right in between us, plain as fucking day, and because we’d spent the previous fifteen minutes laughing about something completely unrelated to the interview, my guard was down.

“So your brother will be coaching your divisional rival now. How’s that gonna feel? You two haven’t gotten along in years.”

And she’d asked it so smoothly, like we were just talking as best friends.

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