Page 2 of Wildflowers and Wide Receivers

Death of the one person who means the most to me in life.

Stomping my boots to free them from any leftover snow or ice, I walk into the house, and the smell of pine greets me from the leftover Christmas tree still sitting in the corner of the room. Its lights are on. My guess is that they were never turned off last night.

When I look around, nothing appears out of place. Their home looks like it does any other day, and just like it did a week ago when I was here for Christmas. The dining room table is decorated with winter colors. Boots are lined up next to the front door with coats hanging on the coatrack, and the crackling fireplace makes it all warm and cozy.

And that’s when I spot her next to the fire.

Time stops, and the air rushes from my lungs as the world around me goes silent.

There, wrapped in a fuzzy pink blanket, being rocked by someone I don’t know, is Vivi. Even though it’s early afternoon, she’s still wearing pink unicorn pajamas, and she’s clinging to a stuffed dolphin she got from the aquarium when my brother and sister-in-law came to Tampa to watch me play a few months ago. Her white-blond hair is sticking out everywhere, and at this moment, my bright, full-of-energy, little light of my life looks dull.

“Uncle Jonah,” she says when she sees me standing in the doorway. Her eyes are so large and watery, and her voice is so sweet and so small and so broken.

“Wildflower.” My voice cracks on the syllables, just like my heart.

Cutting the distance between her and me, I scoop her little body up into my arms. She wraps around me like a koala bear and cries.

I cry with her, breathing in her sweet scent of lavender from her kiddie shampoo.

She’s so small and soft. She’s so sweet and perfect.

How do I make this better?

How do I ease her pain?

I can’t because there’s only one thing she wants. The one thing I can’t give her. And her next six words slice me to the core, causing permanent damage.

“I want my mom and dad.”

Chapter 1

Jonah

2 Years Later

Sweat rolls down my back as I stand under the free-frame squat rack and begin my third set. It’s March, we’re in the offseason, and I’ve stuck to my plan of hitting the gym and training hard. I’ll be starting my fifth season in the league and, including the trade, soon to be fourth with the Tampa Tarpons. Do I do a lot of squats? Yes. Any athlete will tell you that the movement of the squat strengthens the tendons, muscles, and ligaments in the legs. This one exercise lowers the chance of injuring the knee or ankle, both of which I can’t afford to have happen, and as a wide receiver, my position leaves me highly susceptible to both.

Tyler stands next to me. He’s equally as sweaty as I am, and his near-black hair is plastered to his face. He’s there for a spot if I need it, but I don’t, and neither does he. He’s a tight end for the Tarpons and, ultimately, my person. Since day one on the team, we’ve practiced, worked out, studied film, and roomed together when the team won’t allow us singles. We also spend a lot of time with one another outside the organization. He’s my best friend, and I wouldn’t have it any other way—even if he is a big clown, always forgets something, and eats way too much of my food.

I rip the set off, one through twelve, and the bar clunks loudly as I drop it back onto the rack and breathe in the scent of rubber and metal. At least it seems loud since the gym is fairly empty. Most of the team likes to come in earlier in the day, but with Vivi’s busy school and dance schedule, the calm around lunchtime works best for me.

“How’s my girl doing today?” Tyler asks as I move out from under the rack. He wipes a towel over his face, then grabs a standard-issue green-and-orange Gatorade bottle and squirts water into his mouth.

“You know you ask me this every day, and the answer is always the same.” I chuckle, eyeing him as I grab my towel and run it over my shoulders and head. The bar was heavy today, and the burn in my shoulders lingers just like the burn in my legs. “Plus, you just saw her last night.”

“Yeah, I know, but something exciting will happen one day, and you’ll want to tell me when I ask.” He grins.

“Well, today is not that day.” I pick up an identical bottle to his and take a long pull of water.

A little over two years ago, my brother and his wife tragically and unexpectedly died, leaving me their five-year-old daughter, Vivianne, or Vivi as everyone calls her. Everyone except for me. To me, she’s Wildflower.

It was New Year’s Eve, and their car was struck by a drunk driver while driving home from a late dinner. We were told that they died instantly, but on more nights than I care to say, I’ve lain in bed and wondered if that was true. Because what if it wasn’t? What if they lay there, one not moving but the other still watching? Was there panic? Was there pain? And would that pain be the physical kind or the emotional kind, knowing what is happening and what they were leaving behind?

I know I shouldn’t have these thoughts. They aren’t healthy or relevant anymore. It’s not like I can change the outcome, but I do. I can’t help it. I tell myself that everyone has these thoughts about their loved ones who’ve died this way, and somehow that makes it okay. At least for me, but then I worry about Vivi having these thoughts, too. The only comfort I have is knowing that she didn’t see any pictures of the wreckage, and she was too young to ask anyone to describe the details of the accident.

“You never know. There’s still plenty of time left,” Tyler says, breaking me from my thoughts. “So what’s for dinner?”

I almost laugh.