The Allure of the Game

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I had always liked to live by many life mottos. 'Fake it till you make it', 'have no regrets', 'expect the unexpected', etc. The one I probably repeated myself the most, though, was 'no pain, no gain'. I had to repeat it to myself at least ten times a day to endure the exhaustion I was constantly in. Almost every night I dragged myself into my building's elevator after long training sessions and couldn't wait to be inside my bathtub or to ice all of my body just to make it stop, to find relief from the ache. And every time I had to remind myself it was all worth it because it all had a reason.

Football.

My entire life had always revolved around football. Ever since I could remember, I had always had a football in my hands. I had watched every game in the season religiously since I was a kid and had always wished, dreamed, to play professionally one day. To be the one little kids were excited to see on Sundays on their televisions, be their hero like the players before me were mine. All my life, I had always had one goal, and one goal only: to go down in history as one of the best players and still be remembered long after my playing days were over. I would play with my dad whenever he had time and with my older brothers when he didn't until I was old enough to enter the high school team and innocent family games became hours of practice and after-school games where people expected my best always. I worked my way up to team captain in junior year and led my team to the gold in the championships we participated in. I was reached out by so many universities begging me to choose to be on their teams I even lost count, all of them with ridiculous propositions to charm me with. I was adored in varsity football and had no trouble being drafted by a top team after I graduated college. My name was known, chanted, written on shirts, posters, and even boobs; it was insane the things people asked me to sign. I skipped parties, spring breaks, holidays, and big events all in the name of football.

Everything I did was in the name of football.

Including staring at the face I hadn't seen in eight years that was sitting outside my door. It had been a long time since I had been on the other end of that glare and I couldn't say I had missed it.

"Would it have killed you to leave a spare key somewhere?" Said an icy voice I could sadly recognize anywhere. It was a little deeper now, more mature, but the same tone that used to drive me insane growing up, and not in a good way.

I'd known Allison Garcia my entire life. Our mothers had always been good friends and therefore, tried to make us good friends too. They never succeeded. Looking at her now, pushing herself up from the floor, I could tell she was the same bitter girl I grew up with. She also had the same dark hair and hazel eyes shooting daggers at me. Despite knowing Allison since she was literally a newborn, I could count with the fingers in one hand the number of times I'd seen her smile. Or look loose. Or calm. Or anything other than her normal, cold, rigid self—other than when she was dancing, at least. She was obviously still that person. By the way her hair was pulled in a perfect ponytail and her three suitcases were aligned against the wall, I could also tell she was still the squared girl that would always yell at me for having my school uniform shirt untucked or leaving the smallest things out of place. She was by far the most exasperating being I had ever met and that's coming from someone who trained with a bunch of other men every single day of his life.