My mom and dad forgave me for many of my faults. They turned a blind eye when I got my first tattoo, and they barely gave me a slap on the wrist the first time I stumbled home drunk at two in the morning, when I was only fourteen. Dad even forgave me for trying drugs after Blair’s dad told him about it. And he never mentioned it to my mom.
But when they arrived at the hospital the day of the accident, one look was all it took to convince me that their forgiveness had gone. There was a void in their eyes where the love had once been, and a thickness in the air.
They kept up appearances, staying with me while I healed, accepting their parental duties. They even found me a therapist, and thanked God that they hadn’t lost two children that day, praying for my good health.
They did everything you’d expect of them, making everyone believe we were going to be okay. And I stupidly believed it.
But when I asked to transfer colleges—when I told them I couldn’t live in Florida anymore—they never once asked me to stay.
They practically packed my bags and shipped me out the door. If I’d turned back, I doubt they’d have stayed outside long enough to wave. They never even bothered calling.
The light ahead of me turns red and I come to a stop, closing my eyes, my nostrils flaring as I take in a breath. Images of our last goodbye threaten to haunt me, but I push the pain down, burying it deep, where it belongs.
A horn blares and I startle, my eyes flashing open as I make a move, throwing a quick wave in my rearview mirror.
My heart feels heavy in my chest, but I refuse to acknowledge it. Not today. Not ever.
Me being gone was easier for my parents, and it turns out it was easier for me too. They could move on. And so could I.
Although, based on what Cade and my old friend said, it doesn’t seem like my parents succeeded.
But that’s not my weight to carry.
I did feel for them. Back then. I always felt for them. Always wondered if I’d made the right choice. But when they stopped answering my birthday and Christmas calls, I stopped caring. In general. I had to or I was likely to fall apart.
Instead, football become my focus. It was there when my parents weren’t, and I’m not about to let anything derail that. Nothing will ever get in the way of my game. No teammate trying to attack me after I accidentally fucked his girl, no media agencies trying to paint me as a killer, dragging my name through the mud. And definitely no one from my past.
We have a Super Bowl to win. It’s time to move on.
I’m walking away with a ring this year if it’s the last thing I do. I need it.
Thomas launches the ball and I race forward, knocking our linebacker, Heath, as I secure the ball in my grasp. Nailing it again.
Jogging back to position, I line up for the next drill when the whistle blows.
“Alright boys, time’s up. Back to the locker room,” our head coach, Pierce, calls out, pointing toward the tunnel. “I want you showered and dressed before Johnson and D’Angelo arrive to discuss the upcoming fundraiser for the D’Angelo Foundation.”
A few of the newer guys groan, but when Easton glares their way, they’re all smiles once more. And I almost chuckle. Easton’s girl, Paige, runs the D’Angelo Foundation, and they’d be wise to learn you do not fuck with Easton’s girl. He’s not likely to handle thattwicewithout violence. Especially when it comes to Paige. She’s a whole different ball game from his ex.
When we’re dismissed, I rush off the field, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, a triumphant smirk plastered on my face.
Fuck, that felt good.
Like the first time you sink into a tight pussy, or your first sip of whiskey after a hard day.
Like coming home.
No one can take that away from me. But fuck, I’d like to see them try.
I’m ready for my first game back, and despite the fact that the team is gelling without me, I’m here to show them what they’re missing.
That with me…we’re unstoppable.
This season is ours.
Mine.
We’re ready no matter who we play.
