And now I know the reason, and it was something beyond my control.
When he and I stopped being friends, I thought it was some petty high school shit. Not because we shared a father, forcing me to become enemy number one.
How could I not see it?He called mesonmore times than he called me anything else.He gave me pointers before, during, and after every single game.He was the one who arranged for college scouts to see me play, which turned into a full ride scholarship at my dream college.He was the one who traveled all the way from Grangewood Creek to Ohio to tell me I was the number one draft pick.He had no reason to do any of that.
Or so I thought.
If what Cassandra is saying is true, and Austin was behind my injury, didourfather use his name to get him off with no consequences? Without so much as a slap on the wrist? It couldn’t exactly come out that Max Anderson’s son delivered thecareer-ending blow to the best quarterback the league has seen in years, so, of course, he paid them off.
It would have ruined his reputation.
The moment I arrive at the Anderson residence, I suck in a deep breath. Staring at the home in front of me, the life I could have had briefly flashes before my eyes. Weekends spent growing up with my siblings and bonding with my father.
Two Christmases.
A bedroom to come to when mom grounded me for breaking curfew or the one and only time she caught me drinking underage.
A mom who didn’t work herself to the ground to make sure I had everything I could ever need. A mom who could make it to my games, instead of spending every night working to keep the lights on.
Reaching the iron gates, they open for me automatically, and I know Max has been expecting me.
I haven’t been here in fourteen years, and it’s barely changed. It has the same cobblestone driveway, the same large water fountain in the middle, and five sports cars parked out front.
Slamming my car door, I notice two cars following behind me up the driveway, and I recognize them right away.
Cassandra and Bea.
An audience.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
"Harley, will you just wait a second?” Cassandra pleads, Bea slamming her car door. But I can’t look at either of them.
I know she isn’t the bad guy, but like I said, I’m not thinking logically.
"This is just something I need to do,” I tell them both, clenching my fists by my sides. I don’t want to look at her, but my eyes never could look away.
"Then let us come with you. Let us be here to support you,” Bea whispers, taking my hand in hers, but I shake her off.
I don’t know how much Cassandra has told her, but Bea knows everything aboutthattime in my life. She was there when the doctors came in to give me the news.She was there, waiting for me to open my eyes after each of my surgeries.She didn’t leave my side until I was discharged from the hospital, and stayed with me until I could walk without aid. She and Robbie were the only two people who helped drag me out of that dark hole that I had dug myself into.
Nodding, Cassandra takes Bea’s hand that she had extended out, standing side by side, leaving me to stand alone on the cobblestone steps as the door opens.
"I had a feeling I would see you here. It was just a matter of when.” I hear his voice before I see his face.
Leave your aggression at the door, Harley,I force myself.
"Do you mind if I-we, come inside?” I ask, shoving my shaking hands in my pockets.Opening his front door completely, he gestures for the three of us to enter, and we do.
The house still has a double grand staircase with red carpet leading up to the second floor, but I’m not here to see what’s changed and what’s remained exactly the same.In fact, I don’t want to be here at all, but I’ve come this far. I can’t turn back now.
"I would ask why you’re here,” Max begins. "But I think I know.”
Leading us into a main lounge room, he nods to the leather couches for us to take a seat. "Is it true?” The words tumble out of my mouth before anyone gets the chance to sit down and get comfortable.
"It depends what you’re talking about,son.”
There’s that fucking word again.
