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“What’s wrong?” I sit up straighter on the couch and set down my mug.
“Nothing.” She comes over to the couch and sits, but on the opposite end.Far away.Is that a bad sign? Did her thinking on the beach lead to an opposite outcome from mine? “What are we watching?SportsCenter?Ooh—turn it up.”
“Nora.”
“Derek, let it go. I’m fine. Everything is fine. Turn it up, please,” she says with a final bite to her words. She’s not mad at me. This woman just hates when people fuss over her. I remember when I had to take care of her while she had the flu once and I thought she was going to chop my head off every time I forced her to take medicine. And it’s her spiciness to me now that lets me know something truly is bothering her.
I have no choice but to let it go, so I turn the volume up a few notches. Of course, no sooner than I do, my face suddenly fills the screen. Nora and I both tense, instinctively thinking our elopement is about to be discussed on television, but it never comes up. Instead, the two announcers discuss all the potential pitfalls of me returning to the Sharks after my injury.
“I don’t know, Blake, do you really think they’ll start him? Sure, Derek used to be a heck of a tight end before his injury, but he’s thirty now, and it’s harder to bounce back from these things. I mean, how many players have we seen come back from an injury like this and play even half as strong as before?” says one of the announcers.
“Very few,” the other host adds. “Especially now knowing how incredible of a backup the Sharks have had sitting on their bench. Collin Abbot had a heck of a rookie start at the end of last season with an impressive five catches for 121 yards and two touchdowns.”
“As much as I’d like to see Pender make a full comeback, I don’t think it seems likely.”
The TV cuts off. I turn my head to find Nora setting down the remote. “You don’t need those buffoons getting in your head. Collin is a good player”—she smirks—“but you’re better.”
My pulse floods my ears. “They’re right, though. I’m getting old in the world of sports. Abbot is a better bet.”
“You’re thirty, Derek. A sprightly spring chicken.” She nudges me with her foot, but I don’t laugh. I can’t because my chest is too painfully tight to even breathe. Everywhere I look someone is telling me I’m going to fail. That my career, I not only love but have grown up with, is over.
I look away but Nora is beside me in a flash. Curling into my side and putting her hand on my jaw to pull my face back. “Hey. What’s going on? What are you not telling me?”
It’s not fair of her to use her softness against me like this. One look in her eyes, one swipe of her thumb against my cheek and I melt for her. All my best-kept secrets fly out like they were never guarded in the first place. “I can’t lose it, Nora. I can’t lose football.”
“You’re not going to.”
“I might. You and I both know the Sharks are looking at budget cuts. I’m the weakest link with the second-highest salary. I might as well have a target on my forehead. And if I lose it…” The words come out gruff and thick—because anger is easier than disappointment for me.
My damn eyes prickle. I won’t cry in front of her. In front of anyone really. So I try to get up from the couch with the intent of leavingthe suite until I can get my feelings under wraps again, but Nora puts her hand on my chest and stops me. “Oh no, you don’t.”
“Nora, please let me g…” My words die off as she slings one leg over my lap and sits. Two hands go to my jaw, and her hazel eyes sear into mine.
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth. Give me all those ugly feelings swirling around behind your eyes. They look like they’re on a teacup ride having the time of their life.”
Like it’s a fragile thing, I close my hand softly around her wrist. She’s straddling my lap, anchoring me down intentionally to get her way. “This isn’t fair.”
“We can’t always play by the rules.” Her smile turns to a frown. “Tell me what’s bothering you.Please.”
I wish I could keep it to myself. But I’m weak under her hypnotic gaze. Drunk on her touch. Spiraling out on her scent.
“I’m dyslexic.” It’s fitting that Nora is the first person I’ve ever said that out loud to, since she’s also the first person I’ve ever felt truly understands me.
She looks shocked only for a second. And that’s mainly because of my abrupt admission. Her thumb touches my lips and slides away. “How long have you known?”
“Not long. A few months. I had my suspicions, so I got tested.”
“And how do you feel about it?” She’s tentatively circling me with her words. Feeling me out to see if this is the main issue or if there’s something deeper.
I sigh and release her wrist to run my hand over my face and into my hair. “Honestly, having the diagnosis hasn’t changed a lot in my day-to-day. I mean, I don’t have a career that exactly requires a lot of reading or studying, so it’s been more of an emotional shift than anything. And that’s…been interesting.”
She drops her hands to rest between us on my chest. “How so?”
I glance down and close my hand around her fist—holding it like a present. “I guess I’ve been looking back at my younger self with more compassion. And maybe a little sadness.” I feel the need to blink several times. And clench my jaw. “It’s nice to know that there was a reason behind all the difficulty. To know that I wasn’t just some kid who didn’t know how to apply himself like everyone said. But to look back and be able to appreciate how hard I was working, and actually did great considering the lack of support or resources.” I pause and swallow. “And I guess that’s where the sad part comes in—my brain just works different, and no one saw it. Not even my parents. Not my teachers. Definitely not my classmates who were busy laughing at me every time it was my turn to read out loud.”Definitely never mentioned that particular memory to anyone before.“Everyone just assumed I wasn’t trying hard enough…and because of that…football really became my ticket to a good future. One where I didn’t have to rely on reading. One where I could make something of myself and finally see that look of pride in my parents’ eyes.”
I pause and have to clear my throat twice. I look away and Nora lets me. “But now, all I have is football, Nora. All I am, and have ever been, is a good football player. And I’m scared that if I lose this—the only thing I’ve ever exceeded at—I’ll lose everything. Who am I without it?”Because the last time that I lived a life without football, I was nothing but a disappointment.
She doesn’t rush to correct me or to convince me that I’m overreacting. Nora’s eyes peer into mine for several breaths before she tilts her head. “Okay. Let’s say you lose it all. What then?”
