Baden shrugged as if he hadn’t given it much thought when I know he had. “It would make sense to handle it while we’re there.”
Despite his attempt to get me to agree, I wasn’t so easily charmed.
I was still too afraid to confront all the bad memories in Phoenix, and I declined his offer.
Over the subsequent five days, the Titans had two more games—one home and one away in Florida—and Baden was incredibly busy. But it didn’t stop him from broaching the subject with me whenever he could. If he wasn’t at the house, it was via text.
When he was home, it would come up as we shared meals or household chores or over a cup of morning coffee.
While I remained steadfast in my refusal to go to Phoenix with him, our time together, and his obvious concern about me, made something very clear. I very much enjoyed having Baden around. I definitely felt safer and more secure, but I also felt such joy in his presence. Being near him was so easy and right.
It wasn’t hard to admit… I liked him a lot. Probably more than I should, but I was going to enjoy every damn minute for as long I could.
Over the last five days in those moments we had together, whether they were sharing a cup of morning coffee, a meal or helping me to shovel the front sidewalk after it snowed, Baden relentlessly attempted to get me to change my mind about going to Phoenix.
He easily swatted away every excuse I gave.
Too busy searching for a new job.
He pointed out that he had yet to see me go to an interview, and that since all my job searching was done online, I could easily do that while we traveled.
I would only be in your way.
Baden assured me that I could never be in his way.
Admittedly, that one got me in the feels.
I offered a dozen more excuses, none of which he found acceptable.
And then finally, I divulged what was actually causing me anxiety. “You’ll be traveling with the team, and I’m not ready to fly alone yet.”
It turns out that excuse was not so easily solved by Baden, and he couldn’t dismiss it out of hand. As a coach, he’s expected to travel with the team. I certainly don’t know if it’s a written rule anywhere, but I know that team camaraderie and cohesion is reinforced at every opportunity. Traveling together to an away game is one of those moments to solidify that. I imagine it’s even more crucial given that our previous team died together on a plane.
But Baden wouldn’t be deterred. He slipped away and made a phone call outside of my earshot, and when he reappeared, he was practically gloating that he’d gotten special permission from Callum Derringer and Matt Keller to travel with me to Phoenix.
Their decision to let him travel separately from the team wasn’t just about providing me with support, but was also more convenient for Baden since he was going to give his victim impact statement the morning after the game. The team would fly on to Houston for their next game, and he would fly commercial to join them after.
It sounded like I had no more excuses, except that I would be returning to Pittsburgh on my own, but that would probably be the easiest part of the trip—returning to the comfort of my hometown where my dad would pick me up at the airport doors. It couldn’t get any safer.
And still, I couldn’t figure out why I was so resistant to going when Baden was making the whole trip as simple as possible.
Then I realized, the one thing that was really tearing me apart was confronting the attack. I didn’t want to give my victim impact statement.
I didn’t want to talk to the district attorney, and I didn’t want to get up in front of people and talk about how traumatizing this has been for me. I didn’t want people to look at me with pity and listen to my story and then even perhaps wonder what the hell I had to be traumatized about. I was basically roughed up a little. Compared to Baden, I should have no qualms talking about my trauma when he’s the one who almost died.
In other words, I’m just completely embarrassed that this has affected me so significantly. I feel weak, stupid, and pathetic.
Until now, I’ve been able to stay in a bubble so people can’t judge me or my inability to move on. But if I go to Phoenix, I’m going to put it out there for people to see.
That’s what I’m truly afraid of.
On the day before Baden was to leave for Phoenix, he gave me some tough love.
“If you don’t come to Phoenix,” he’d said with extreme candor, holding nothing back, “you’re giving up an incredible opportunity to confront your fears and regain your normal life.”
He pointed out that I would have no safer opportunity, and that I would be wasting this chance.
His was a last-ditch effort, born of his deep care for me. And most touching of all, he never once tried to make me feel bad for my shortcomings or my indecision on taking this step. His words and tone were without judgment and followed by positive encouragement that I’d be able to overcome these challenges one day.
“I’ll never give up helping you,” Baden promised. “Even if it takes forever to get you where you need to be. We’re a team, Sophie.”
After those words, a transcendental moment came over me during which I understood that this could be the most pivotal step in my emotional and mental recovery.
I had no choice but to jump off the ledge and know he’d be holding my hand the entire time I fell into my fear.
And so it was without further hesitation that I agreed to go.
Now here I am, disembarking from a plane in Phoenix, Arizona, and I’m going to attempt to get my life back, even if I can only do so with baby steps.
Baden and I packed light, able to cram enough clothing and toiletries into our carry-ons. We head through the airport to meet Baden’s friend, Riggs, outside the passenger pickup doors.
An incredibly handsome man, Riggs Nadeau is leaning against the passenger door of a champagne-colored Tahoe. Glancing up from his phone, he locks onto Baden as we approach, a huge grin splitting his face.
Pushing off the SUV, Riggs meets Baden with a hug—hands clasped and backslaps—before turning to me.
“This is Sophie,” Baden says to his friend.
“Welcome to Phoenix,” Riggs says, his easygoing smile infectious, so I give it back.
Baden told me about some of his Vengeance friends, Riggs being the one he talks about most. I feel reasonably confident I can tease him when I say, “Baden said you used to be a real jerk on the team, but now you’re not.”
Riggs tips his head back and laughs before regarding me with amusement. “He’s not wrong about that.”
Proving himself a gentleman, Riggs takes our suitcases and loads them in the back. I slide into the back seat while Baden sits up front with Riggs, and we are on our way.
“How’s Janelle?” Baden asks as we exit the airport.
“She’s amazing.” The pride is evident in Riggs’s voice. “Although she and Veronica tend to gang up on me, and they seem to think it’s a democracy where everyone gets an equal vote when we’re trying to decide things.”
Baden laughs and claps his friend on the shoulder. “You’re so screwed, my man. Owned by two women.”
I’m only able to see Riggs’s profile from the back, but I can see enough to marvel at the softness in his expression. “I don’t mind being owned by them at all.”