Page 69 of Playing for Love

But the dousing of my jealousy didn’t stop me from being worried about the status of Mia and Tate’s relationship. So I excused myself and walked toward the door at the front of the church, pulling Tate aside as I went by him.

“We need to talk.” He nodded and followed me to a hall where stairs led to the basement. I went down stairs and he followed me into an empty room that looked like it was used for Sunday school.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Tate said.

I heaved a breath and took in his message, let it settle me, though my heart still raced as if in panic. Trying to sound reasonable, I said, “Thank you for taking Mia, for bringing her here.”

He nodded, but his eyes went wary because he knew this was about Mia, knew I might not be rational on the subject although I was trying dam hard to keep my cool.

“I want to see Mia, be with her. When the season is over— “

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He said. I stood, waiting for his explanation, for him to tell me how I was out of my mind because I wanted to know.

“What are you waiting for? For her to get tired of waiting? To lose her patience? To find someone else? See her now, goddamit.” He looked angry, probably more on behalf of Mia than anything else. I gave him the only excuse that came to mind now, the only one that didn’t reveal the level of fear that churned inside me.

“I promised coach I’d wait— “

“Are you fucking stupid?”

Maybe I was.

“The hell with coach. He doesn’t care about you. He cares about his record, the team.”

“So do I.”

“You cared about your mother more. She cared about you. What did she tell you about Mia?”

He sounded like my brother Joe, now. I didn’t bother answering him. The guilt that had been hiding about playing the game last night popped to the surface now. Even though the whole family was behind me, on board with the tribute, and we had won for her, giving me a moment of peace. I felt like a fucking asshole now.

“I’m not a halfway kind of guy, Tate. I go all-in with whatever I’m into.” Stale words. But football was my solace and I needed it more than ever now.

Tate nodded. “Whatever you say, man. Sorry about your mother. You do what you need to do. Mia and I are friends, much to my chagrin.”

He left and the rest of the service, the march of solemn people, the mass, the cemetery all happened while I watched like a by-stander. It was the best I could do. Because I had an eerie sense, one that wouldn’t let go at the back of my mind, that I was mourning for Mia too.