Page 35 of Body Checking
“Yeah D. Thanks. Just gotta get home before my chariot turns back into a pumpkin. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” I give him a quick hug, then shuffle down the sidewalk to the parking lot where my car is parked.
The same parking lot I did the dirty with Cade. The same parking lot that belongs to my new favorite bar. But in the blink of an eye, my new favorite place has become one I can’t get away from fast enough.
MAREN'S phone goes straight to voicemail, just as it has the other eight times I’ve tried calling. The first two missed calls weren’t really a concern. I knew she and Sasha were going to Big Joe’s, so I figured they were having a good time.
I waited an hour, assuming she’d call me when she noticed, but my phone never rang. I started to get worried, and despite that tiny, meek voice in the back of my head telling me to cool my crazy, I just had a gut feeling something wasn’t right.
I texted Bryn and no more than thirty seconds later, my screen was lighting up with an incoming call from her.
I answered it with a sigh of relief, expecting an explanation that they got caught up in chatting again or that Maren’s phone died. What I didn’t expect was a story about a group of girls giving Maren a hard time, and claiming she was lying. My heart began to pound in my ears and my blood pressure spiked with the more details Bryngave me. I wanted so badly to first, hug my girl and remind her how fantastic she is and two, hunt down those women and shave all their heads bald and tattoocunton their foreheads.
But since I’m thirteen hundred miles away in Minnesota, it’s not an option. In fact, that won’t even be an option tomorrow…or the next day. We have four more days on the road before I’m home and it is four and a half days too many.
Can a coach call in sick to work?
So after hanging up with Bryn, I proceeded to call Maren again. And again. And again. Each time the call has gone to voicemail brings me closer to losing my mind and chartering a plane home to check on her.
I quickly end the call I’m on, wait a few seconds for the outgoing message to play through, then dial her again. After five rings, it goes back to voicemail and I leave my fourth message.
“Sweetheart. Please pick up. I’m worried. I just need to hear your voice. I need you to tell me you’re okay because until you do that, I’m not okay. Please baby.” I grow silent like I’m talking into an old school answering machine and she’s going to pick up.
But I’m not and she doesn’t, so I press end and drop the phone on the nightstand of myhotel room.
I throw myself back, my head landing on a fluffy pillow, and throw my arm over my eyes. I’m pissed off and frustrated and I hurt for my girl. Maren was finally in a good place. After Bryn and I had our come to Jesus with her, she became happier and more beautiful. It’s like she had been holding her breath and when we broke down that concrete wall she had built to protect herself, the person who she didn’t think existed was shining. It was impossible for her not to see what a miracle she was.
Now she’s taken a giant forty-five steps back, and I don’t know what to do.
Sleep doesn’t come for hours. And when it does, it’s restless as I pop my eyes open every time I think I hear my phone ring. But it doesn’t and true sleep never follows.
The plane lands and I’m the first to unbuckle my seatbelt and fly up from my seat.
“Woah, Coach. Slow down. We haven’t even stopped yet,” one of my guys says.
I ignore him, grab my carry-on, then quickly pull my phone out and turn off airplane mode. It only takes a few seconds for messages to pop up. Emails, social medianotifications, news headlines, and texts but none of them are from Maren.
“Sir,” the flight attendant calls, turning my focus to her. “I need you to have a seat until we come to a complete stop.”
She smiles at me respectfully, but her eyes tell me to sit the fuck down. I decide I don’t want to be on the news for being carried off a plane by the police, hog tied and losing my shit, and sit down.
My knee bounces rapidly and a large hand clamps around it.
“Coach. You gotta relax. What’s wrong?” Viktor, my left D asks in his thick accent.
I sigh and tell him, “It’s Maren. She hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts for days, and I’m worried something is really wrong.”
He gives me a sad face like he understands what I’m feeling right now, and pats my knee. “I’m sure she’s okay.”
I give him a placating smile, but my imagination is in overdrive and I can only picture her in pain, emotionally and physically, and I just want to be with her.
The plane finally comes to a stop and I pop out of my seat like a Jack-in-the-Box. I push past all the guys as they stand to grab their bags, and wait for the door to open. I bounce impatiently as it feels like the crew is purposelymoving slower, thwarting my efforts to get to Maren in record time.
The door opens and the stairs move closer and closer, and I contemplate my chances of landing if I make a jump for it. My old bones remind me I should just wait and the second the operator gives the thumbs up, I’m hauling down the steps.
Next up is waiting for our bags, but that is one more thing I just don’t have time for.
“Santos,” I yell. “Get my bag and I’ll grab it from you later.”
I don’t check to see his confirmation because I know he’ll do it, and run towards the parking garage where my truck sits. I’m in and on the road in seconds, and charging towards Maren’s. While I drive, I continue to call her but still get no answer.
