Page 88 of False Start
I hold my head down and continue to the Voodoo side of the field until I make it to the tent. I almost have a panic attack waiting for Bryant to come through, but he never does. And I remain inside the tent until the commotion of the Voodoo win allows me a moment to escape the field undetected.
I make it through the game and the hours after as I help a few players with exercises to relieve pain, but I do it on autopilot. I’m going through the motions as the sound of my name on his tongue continues to haunt me. I’ve not heard his voice in months, and I never realized the effect it has on me until now when I’ve gone without the sound for the first time in years.
“Zhanna,” Otto says from behind me.
“Yeah?” I ask, turning around.
“Our tailback is gonna be alright.” He informs me of the player who left the field unconscious.
I walk out to the employee parking lot with a few players and coaches to be safe and then drive home. It seems like every song that plays on the radio reminds me of him. I welcome the reprieve of silencing it. At home, I slip inside the dark house and undress in the moonlight of my bedroom windows. I just want to crawl between my sheets and go to sleep so this day will be over.
The bell at the front door rings, and I suspect it’s him at this late hour. He has the resources to find me if he really wants to, and I’ve not gone through the trouble to hide my location from anyone.
I open the door in my silk robe and look into his beautiful, pale green eyes.
“Zhanna…,” he starts with wide eyes, “I didn’t think you’d open.”
God. Why is he still so gorgeous?
“It’s late,” I say.
“It was you on the field.”
“Yes.”
“You’re working for Otto?”
“Yes.”
A pregnant pause has me looking away from the pain in his eyes. I can’t let it affect me. I have to be strong.
His voice is full of a rawness that touches somewhere deep inside my heart. “I’m dying without you, Coach.”
“No!” I shout and stand on my toes to get in his face. “You don’t get to call me that. My name is Zhanna to you now.”
He swallows hard as a tear leaks from his right eye. “Baby, you’ve lost weight.”
The rage has lain dormant for months now, suffocating underneath the weight of my depression. But now that he’s here, I can’t seem to contain it. It curls around the base of my neck and heats my face and blood. “Yeah? It’s probably because you broke my fucking heart. You did more than that. You obliterated my entire soul and left me empty. You did that. So I don’t have much of an appetite because I still can’t seem to stomach what you did to us.”
“I’m in therapy. I’ve stopped drinking and partying. I know I put myself in a bad position that night, but you can rest assured it’ll never happen again.”
“No, I can’t. And that’s the problem. I can’t be sure of anything. I was sure—the surest wife there was that you’d never cheat and look where we ended up.”
“I put myself in a bad spot, Z. I know I did that to us, but let me spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
“I can’t do this with you,” I say and a sob breaks through as I turn to go inside.
His hand snakes inside the crook of my elbow. “Wait! Please don’t go yet. I haven’t seen you in months, and I just need…”
“You need?!” I shout and turn around to face him. “You need what?!! Because I don’t owe you shit, not after what you did.”
He holds his hands up in surrender as he pleads, “Please just listen, baby.”
“I’m not your baby anymore,” I cry.
He reaches for me and wraps me in a bear hug as I fight against his hold. “Baby, stop. Just listen. I love you. Okay? I know you’re hurting, and I know I’m the one causing it. I’d give anything to change what I did. Anything to hold you again, so please just give me a minute to do that. And then I’ll leave you alone.”
I wish I weren’t crying and sniffling. I wish I weren’t falling apart in front of him, but it all hits me at once. Him being here in New Orleans is what pushes me over the edge. If he’s here, it’s real—the separation and divorce. So I hold onto his shirt and sob against his chest. And his chest shakes as he cries with me.
