Page 57 of Playing for Love

I chuckled, looking at the floor. I hadn’t wanted to bother Mom about this, but she was determined to have this conversation, I knew her.

“Okay, I won’t deny I have girl problems. That’s why I played like shit. And my shitty play is what’s got me down.”

She laughed, reached up and stroked my unshaven chin like she used to when I was a boy, when my chin was smooth and innocent. The way she had after my best friend had died right before my eyes. One minute he’d been skateboarding, the next minute a car had smashed him, sending him flying into the air and crashing onto the windshield, broken, bloody. And lifeless.

I turned away. I never thought about him, and especially not about that moment. Not in years. And now the nightmare scene was popping up out of nowhere. What the fuck?

“You’re thinking about Derek, aren’t you?”

“No.” My mother was too good at reading me for my comfort. “It’s . . .” I was confused. “Derek wasn’t my best friend, wasn’t the one—”

“You loved him,” she said.

“But he stole Laura.” I squeezed my mind, details floating around, evading me.

“Laura? Your first girlfriend? I haven’t heard her name in years. Derek stole her? You never told me that.” She studied me, must have seen my confusion, because for the life of me I couldn’t remember right now, couldn’t remember Derek being my best friend.

“You must be thinking of Kevin,” she said.

The stab of pain shot through me like an icepick through my heart. I swiped a hand through my hair.

“That’s right. You remember better than I do.” I gave a shaky laugh, managed to shove the soul-tearing confusion aside, locked Derek and Kevin and Laura back up where they belonged in a black vault inside my soul. I squeezed her hand in mine. It felt cold. I squeezed harder.

“You forget, I’ve known you since before you were born,” she said. “No one will ever know you better or love you more, except . . .” she trailed off, looked thoughtful. It was a familiar refrain.

“So you’ve been telling me. Until I meet my special girl someday.” I tried smiling. Thought of Mia. Pushed her away. Stood up and paced.

“You’ve met her, haven’t you? And you’re afraid.”

“Afraid?” I scoffed, foolishly pretending I didn’t know what she meant. She smiled. I rolled my eyes. All the posturing, the pretense did no good. I couldn’t even fool myself anymore.

Because Mom was right.

I swore under my breath, thought of leaving. The clench in my gut was enough for me not to want this conversation.

“Don’t leave, Gabriel. We need to talk about this. You need to face your fear.”

“What fear?” I honestly didn’t know.

“You’re afraid of losing someone close. You’re afraid of losing football because it saved you from drowning in your sorrow. You’re especially afraid of losing football to a woman you know will come before the game, before your family, before me and your father and everything else you hold dear, those things you’ve counted on all your life to make you happy. You’re afraid to let go of your allegiance to all those things for a woman who’s untested, who you’re not sure will make you happy.”

Clenching my teeth against the automatic shiver of that fear she’d so accurately pinpointed, I stared at her, unable to look away. I had lost Derek that same summer I had lost Laura. The memory snapped into clarity as if I’d turned it on like a television. I remembered everything about her and Kevin. And Derek now. Laura, my first crush, was forever linked to losing my best friend, to that horrific bloody accident. She’d been there with me, in the street when the accident happened. She never spoke to me again afterwards. Somehow over the years I’d conflated the loss of Derek, my jealousy of Kevin and desertion of Laura. And how football had saved my life so that I didn’t need her anymore, so I would never think about how I lost my best friend.

How had everything gotten so confused in my head?

“I’m an emotional wreck.” I said aloud, quiet, but she heard me and frowned. I’d been unable to deal with the losses so I hid it all away, leaned on my family, but most of all relied on the crutch of football to change my focus and never dealt with my grief. At least that’s what my rational adult brain was telling me. My gut still felt the same churn of uncertainty and confusion.

Mom tried to protest, to speak up, but instead coughed violently. I knelt by her bed, kissed her forehead, felt my heart stutter at her fragility and swore at myself for letting her use her limited energy on me and my stupidity.

“Mom, don’t worry. I’ll be fine. You rest.”

“You’ll talk to Mia?”

My heart stopped, then raced ahead. I took a breath and nodded. I needed football. I had no idea if I needed Mia, or if she would have anything to do with me. She above anyone else knew what an emotional coward I was. She’d been brave yesterday.

It was about time I got some courage.

“I will. I’ll talk to her. See how she feels. See if there’s . . .”

Mom squeezed my hand and closed her eyes. The heart monitor was steady. She was asleep. I left her that way.

Throwing on my leather jacket, I left the room, slipped past the nurse’s station with a wave and went down the back stairwell and out the back door. I hadn’t wanted to talk to Mom about this, to bother her with it, but I was glad I did. She was wiser than dad. Easier to talk to.

Having no idea what I would say to Mia, I started my car, the roar of the engine giving me energy and false bravado. I slipped out my phone and texted Mia that I was coming over. It was nine o’clock. Not too late. I knew she’d be home. It was probably cowardly to text instead of calling. One step at a time.

My next step would be a doozie. I had no idea what I would say or do.

Understanding the problem was a far cry from solving the problem.