KICK IT | JENLISA

98

Lisa

You're no hero.

I left Jennie's words on in my bathroom until they blurred under my shower steam and dripped down in dark crimson trails. Gone but not forgotten, the words burned in my brain. I wiped the mirror clean and replaced the message with my ragged reflection.

I disgusted myself.

Not by the stressed-out version of the gorgeous devil glaring at me with dark, puffy half-moons under my red eyes and the uneven and split ends of my hair encroaching mountain-hermit status. No, the assumptions and hypocrisy that festered beneath the surface of my lifeless skin burned my eyes with regret. I acted no different from what I accused her of.

I wrenched my mouth into a grimace and palmed the counters. The ghost memory of Jennie's curves bent over the same surface made me curl my fingers into fists. Heat simmered under my skin, broiling me from the inside. The brown irises surrounding my enlarged pupils turned darker from the same regret filling my stomach.

She was right. I wasn't a hero.

Professionally, I was an overpaid, arrogant athlete who controlled every aspect of football. I put in the extra time, ate clean, and ground my bones into dust and muscles into screaming fits of fatigue. My body went through enough ice baths to make a glacier.

Three hundred offensive plays were available with no recall effort, and I executed them effectively. My body wasn't fast, but it was more agile thanks to stronger ankle stabilisers. The larger size I was teased about in high school made me a tree to tackle. I was second in the league for passing percentage, secured my future status as Houston's franchise quarterback for the rest of my career despite my multiple off-the-field distractions, and owned the two most recent Super Bowl rings. My body operated at an elevated level most only imagined, and my brain saw the chess pieces on the field in real-time action...

But off it? Fuck, I was a work in progress to the people closest to me. I was flailing. I leaped at every dangled financial opportunity, but I wasn't in touch with all aspects of my life. Yes, I was talented, and my bank account was set for post-football life. Jackson and I salvaged all my endorsements after the charity shit show, which proved I was serious about protecting my off-field interests. I jumped through every media hoop that Nancy lit ablaze in front of me and bared my stupidity to correct an ignored wrong.

After I took the fallout for the accident.