Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Next time I decide to retire abruptly, it damn sure won't be in the middle of the night, on the other side of the country from my girl. I need her in my arms. That's all I thought about the entire flight home.
Hold me closer, Teo. Never let me go.
I held the words she whispered to me close the whole flight, letting them soothe me. Christ, I hope she still means them because never letting her go is my plan—it's the entirety of my plan.
I step off the plane onto the tarmac to find Emelia waiting for me, her expression level. Sunlight glints in her blonde hair as she lifts her hand to shield her face.
"Good luck, man," Tyson says, lifting his fist for me to bump.
"Yeah, brother." I bump his fist and then pause, clearing my throat. "Thanks for everything."
He shoots me a cheeky grin as he jogs down the steps. "This ain't goodbye, motherfucker. I'll be seeing you."
I shake my head, hoping he means that, and take off toward Emelia, anxious as hell.
"Tell me it worked," I growl. That's all I care about hearing right now. That it worked. That my girl isn't at home right now, being bombarded by reports of the worst days of her life. That she gets to decide when and how she talks about her mental health and her story. Not some asshole reporter with dollar signs in his eyes. Not anyone else. Her. No one has the fucking right to take that choice from her and turn it into a hit piece just because we are who we are.
She doesn't owe a goddamn person answers or an explanation. And they don't get to demand them from her. If she never wants to talk about it, that's her right. She doesn't have to be a poster child for PTSD or mental health just because she's a celebrity. No one gets to decide that for her. I'll be damned if I let them, not when I've seen exactly what they do to their poster children.
Everyone watches like a hawk, waiting for any little hint, any crack in the façade, anything they can use to scream that they're cracking up, they're falling apart. The stories never stop. One day, she's Nadia Mikhail, fierce, incredible, exactly who the fuck she is. The next, they're questioning every choice she makes if it's one they don't agree with, hinting that maybe she's falling apart again. Hell will freeze over before I allow them to do that to her the way they've done it to so many others. She's fought too hard for them to take a single thing away from her.
"It's working," Emelia says. "All they're talking about right now is you."
"Fuck," I whisper, my head drooping forward as I exhale a shuddering breath.
"You're not in the clear yet, Teo," she reminds me. "This could still blow up in your face. If they start wondering why you decided to retire…"
"They won't." I cut my eyes at her. "Not if you did the rest of what I asked you to do."
She hesitates for a long moment and then sighs softly. "I did. But you told me that the drinking wasn't a problem."
"Yeah, I know." I swallow hard, my throat burning as I admit the truth, perhaps for the first time. "Turns out, maybe I was lying to myself."
Perhaps I'm not an alcoholic, but sitting in that bar last night, I realized that I'm something. There's a reason I run straight to bars and pick fights or crack open a bottle to drink the memories away when shit gets a little too real. And maybe I could pretend I had it all under control before because I don't drink myself to oblivion every night, but now?
Well, I'm seeing shit a little bit differently now.
For Nadia's sake and mine, I have to see it differently.
She did the impossible and got help when she needed it. And she did that shit alone because I wasn't there. She was still just a kid, and she faced her demons.
It's my turn to face mine and get help, too. It's the only way I'll ever feel like I deserve her. And goddammit, I want to deserve her again. I need to deserve her again. And she needs me to be that man. We'll never get past this shit if I can't get past it.
She asked me to forgive myself. This is where it starts. This is how it starts. With healing.
Emelia sighs again, pulling a card out of her pocket. "This is the name and number of the doctor. It's outpatient treatment," she says. "I have the statement you requested prepped and ready. Do you want to read it before we release it?"
I shake my head, slipping the card into my pocket. "Just release it tomorrow, Emelia."