AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I know this might seem incredibly fast and it might be hard for you to accept, but I’m in love with Zara. I’ll ask her to marry me when she’s ready, if she’ll have me. You should know that I can provide for her financially, even without football. I have a few very lucrative endorsement deals in place and a portfolio that’s managed partly by Gabriel that’s been growing exponentially. It was always my plan to finish my business degree as well as to play in the NFL, so I’ll have that too to fall back on if I need it. I know that half my life will be lived after football so I plan to finish it, wherever I have to do that.” He glances at me and squeezes my hand. “From the very first second I saw her, I knew she was the one. I don’t know if I even believed love at first sight was a real thing, except for my parents, who’d been telling me their story their whole lives. I didn’t think it could happen to me. But it did. I want you to know I’ll take good care of her. Everything I have is hers. She’s my reason now and I know that sounds intense and lightning-fast but when you find absolute perfection, there’s no point in slowing it down. When you meet the one person who’s everything you thought you might never find, you really have no choice but to fight for her with everything you’ve got, even if she is off-limits. Especially if she’s off-limits. I’ll play football again, with you or without you, sir, and I’ll be doing it for Zara, for building a future together with her, and for my dad’s memory. But I’ll be doing it for myself too. I do want to play football. I want to finish out this year strong and give it everything I’ve fucking got. I want to get to the NFL and make a stellar career out of it. And the way I’d like to do that is with you as my coach, because you’re the best one there is. I just wanted you to know that. I’m for real, Coach. I’m all in.”
My dad’s quiet for a couple seconds. His voice sounds scratchy with emotion when he finally speaks. “I guess it can be hard to teach an old dog new tricks. But for Zara, I’m willing to learn as many as it takes. She’s one thing I’m not willing to lose.” He glances at me, and the way my hand is still firmly clasped in Elias’s. “You sure about him, honey?”
“I’m sure, Dad.” I look up at Elias and fall even more deeply. “I love him.” It’s the first time I’ve said this and Elias’s eyes get very blue.
“Well, then, I guess there’s only one thing to do.” My dad stands up. “Since it looks like you two aren’t going to budge on this, you give me no choice.” I don’t know if my dad is pausing for effect just to prolong our agony because we’ve put him through hell, but if he is, he’s doing a damn good job of it. “The thing is, I know what love at first sight feels like. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: when you know, you know. So I’m rewriting Rule Number One. It’s now: only date one football player for the rest of time and make sure he’s my starting quarterback.” Gruffly, he admits, “We need you, son. We’ve lost both games—badly—since you’ve been gone and we need our play-making magician back on the field.”
My dad offers his hand and Elias stands up to grasp it. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it.”
“Treat her right, O’Shea, or I’ll be dusting off that sawed-off shotgun I keep in my gun closet.”
“Dad,” I scold.
The doorbell rings. Once. Twice. A third time. Whoever it is, they’re insistent.
“Are you expecting someone, Dad?”
“No.”
I go over and open the door. A woman is standing there. She’s wearing trendy black-framed glasses and has brown, wavy hair that hangs to her shoulders. She looks like she might be in her early forties but she could pass for younger. She’s dressed in a very fashionable outfit with an eccentric, artistic twist. Her dangling earrings are little paint palettes. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Zara?”
“Yes.”
“Zara, I’m Imogen MacBeth from the Sea Glass Gallery. We have an appointment.”
“Oh. Of course. Please, come in.” With everything that’s been going on, I’d completely forgotten that we’d arranged for her to come to my house today. “Ms. MacBeth, this is my dad, Jack Fox. And this is Elias O’Shea.”
Her eyes get wide. “Oh. You’re the quarterback.” Her cheeks get pink. “The one who posted Zara’s painting. Which is now up to seven million views. Please, call me Imogen.”
Elias shakes her hand.
So does my dad. Her cheeks get even pinker and the two of them hold eye contact for a fraction longer than they need to.
Hang on.
But then Imogen turns to me. She’s brimming with anticipation. “So, Zara, you said you have some work to show me. Possibly…a lot of it? Would you be willing to show me where you keep your paintings?”
“Of course.” I’d planned to bring the best of them downstairs and create some kind of display, to show them off as impressively as I could. But it can’t be helped. She’ll just have to view them as they are. “They’re upstairs. Please, follow me.”
So I lead her toward the staircase. Elias follows, and so does my dad.
We get to the fourth floor and I’m glad I cleaned and tidied it before I left for school. It smells like paint but I guess Imogen wouldn’t mind a detail like that.
My room is the attic and takes up the entire fourth floor of our house. It’s got my bedroom area on one side, where two sash windows offer early evening light. But the entire south side of the room is dedicated to art. There’s a long rectangular paned window seat with its faded green cushions my mother made, years ago. Dozens of easels are set up, most with finished works or works in progress. Tables are full of paints, water jars, paintbrushes and palettes, mostly organized, but as I look at it now, the busy space is almost like an art installation itself. Every inch of wall space is covered with hung paintings, sketches, quotes, articles, photos and ripped-out pages of inspiration. My studio is full to bursting with ideas, memories and, most of all, art.
Imogen actually gasps. “Oh my.” She’s quiet as she walks though my studio, taking her time. She stops in front of one of the paintings. “Here it is.”
It’s the one I showed Elias the photo of, that very first day we met. The one he posted on Instagram that got all the views and the attention of the Sea Glass. My only self-portrait, painted in a grief-heavy moment when I wondered if I would ever find a way out of it.
It could be a painting of my mother. My father is also staring at it and his eyes have gone sort of bloodshot and shiny. I think he’s a little bit shocked by how many paintings are actually up here. He never comes up here. It might have been years since he ventured into my zone. He knew I needed space and our two obsessions didn’t have a middle ground, so he left me to it.
Imogen turns to face me. “Zara.”
“Yes?”
“I’d like to offer you a solo exhibition at the Sea Glass. We’re booked for the next few months but we could schedule it for December. Would that work for you?”
