“So exciting. I am so glad Tucker is back for it. He needs it.”
I make an agreeing noise to avoid talking about Tucker. “Do you want to show me how to do that hand crochet thing we were talking about?”
Marcia’s grin crinkles her eyes, and all the wrinkles bring her to life. My face warms at the attention she lavishes on me as she shows me how to use my hands like crochet needles with thick oversized strands of yarn. We’ve been working on blankets that she sells at the end of the year for charity. Herblanket looks much better than mine, but I’m pleased with the aqua one I’ve been working on.
“Have you started guitar lessons yet?” Marcia asks as she slowly makes loops with her hands.
“This Friday.”
“Tucker is such a sweetheart. And guitar will give you another skill with your hands! Since you can’t toss that pigskin around anymore.”
“It was more than tossing,” I argue, but it’s half-hearted because she’s teasing me.
Marcia just grins wider. “I know. All those men on the television, such beautiful male specimens."
“True.”
“Did you ever date one of them?”
I barely contain my wince. “Nope.”
“Shame,” Marcia says wistfully. She pats my hand once she’s done for the day, her arthritis getting the best of her. “You’re such a catch.”
I hum, not really wanting to get into my lack of dating at the moment. I’ve always felt like something is wrong with me, but I’ve never been able to put my finger on it. While everyone else was worried about dating and finding romance, I was happily distracted by football. I used my career as an excuse most of the time, but I don’t think that was it. Sure, I’ve had the inconsequential one-night stand, but I always look for something in a hookup that the other person isn’t seeking. I want connection and kindness, and although my body does the job, I feel a little empty and lacking afterward.
I leave Marcia with a kiss on her cheek and head back to my truck. My phone rings in my pocket. The name on the screen is that of my former agent, and I dodge him expertly. Idon’t want to talk about football. I want to move on and disappear.
The next morningI’m back on the mainland with Cupcake in tow for her annual vet visit. The island doesn’t have its own veterinarian, which makes sense, but is also kind of sad. It isn’tthatsmall, but it’s not a pain to make the drive over the bridge these days. Cupcake is always weary of new vets, and this is our first visit to this one since moving here, so I’m sure it’ll go swimmingly. Even the sarcasm in my head can’t hype me up for a visit that could go great, or could go exceptionally bad depending on the vet. Either Cupcake will be fine, or she’ll end up cowering in the corner, terrified.
Cupcake whines a little as I carry her into the office, since she won’t walk of her own accord. Like most dogs, she hates the vet, and she’s just big enough to dig her feet in and make it impossible for me to drag her in. The sweet nurse at the station checks us in with a kind smile Cupcake’s way. I’m sure it’s not a daily occurrence that they see a former NFL quarterback carry in his one-hundred-and-forty-pound Saint Bernard.
“Cupcake?” Sarah, the nurse, calls.
Cupcake whines and shakes from her place on the ground. “I know, girl, but the faster we get back there, the faster it’s over.”
She yips as if she understands me, hanging her head as she walks beside me into the back. Sarah laughs at the sight and shakes her head.
“This one has a lot of personality.”
“She has all the personality in our family.”
“Let me take her back for the blood work to get it over with.”
“She’ll be okay?”
Sarah smiles gently. “We’ll be right back.”
I stay in the room as Sarah leads Cupcake into the back, but I catch the mournful look Cupcake sends me over her shoulder. I am so whipped by her. I can’t imagine what I’ll be like if I ever decide to have children. Surely, a husband will have me just as whipped as well. When I love someone, I want to love them with everything I have. Which is surprising considering my less than stellar upbringing. My parents were controlling—church every Sunday, and church most weeknights. And when I’d realized I was gay, I spent most of my time worried they’d send me off to a conversion camp like some of my other friends.
No, what they did was worse.
They kicked me out without a look back.
“Here she is,” Sarah says, thankfully interrupting my thoughts. She leads Cupcake into the room, and Cupcake ignores the chair beside me, instead clamoring into my lap like she wants to climb inside me.
I chuckle and wrap her up in my arms, squeezing tight. I pet her fur as she buries her face in my chest.
“I’ll let the doctor know you’re ready.”
