“Maybe you are. I’m not. Not anymore. They fucking kicked me out of the family, so I don’t need anyone making me the fucking mascot.”
“No one kicked you out of anything.” Zeke’s voice lost its humor. “I know for a fact that Coach and the rest of the staff are torn up over what happened. When you were in the coma, Coach invited everyone to his house to pray for you. Coach did that, man. Coach who never lets us see shit about his emotions. He was all broken up. And when he had to tell us that you wouldn’t be able to play again, I swear to God, he had tears in his eyes.”
I sniffed. Thing was, I knew Zeke was telling me the truth. I’d seen how much Coach cared. Even the way he’d told me the hard truth had proved that. He didn’t try to candy-coat it or dance around the facts; he’d laid it out, plain and simple.
Your football career is over.
Flinching even now, I squared my shoulders and glowered at my teammate. “Fine. So all the hearts are broken. Boohoo. But you’re still going out on the field to play this Sunday. You’ll still be at practice later. All your sad feelings are great, but it’s not your life that’s changed. It’s mine, and I’m going to deal with that however the hell I want.”
“But you’re not dealing with it.” Zeke folded his arms over his chest. “You’re wallowing. You’re hiding out here. You’re just laying down to die instead of figuring out how to move on. You’re not making this easier on yourself or on anyone else.”
“Because it’s not easy,” I shot back. “Not for me, and I don’t give a shit about anyone else. And maybe I want to lay down and die. I don’t have anything to live for, and that’s the goddamn truth. I lost the only woman I loved, and then they took away the only other love I’ll ever have. So why should I go on breathing?”
Zeke’s face drew in, his forehead crinkling and his brows coming together. “You talk like that and you’re going to win yourself a free trip back to the hospital, but this time on the psych floor. One of the reasons I’m here is to make sure you’re taking care of yourself, that you’re not on the verge of a mental breakdown. Right now, I’m not so sure I can vouch for that.”
Shit. I scrubbed one hand over my face. The last thing I needed was to go back to the hospital, this time to have them poke and prod at my brain instead of my leg. With a long sigh, my shoulders wilted and I jerked my head in the direction of the kitchen.
“Come on. Let’s go sit down. I can’t stand up very long, and since you don’t look like you’re going to let me kick you out, we might as well be comfortable.”
* * *
“Listen,Noah. You do what you want, you do you, but seriously, let the housekeepers back in. This place is a sty.” Zeke eyed me over the bottle of beer he’d found in the fridge. “And I hate to say this, but if Angela was alive and saw her house like this, she’d kick your ass. Ghost or not.”
That made me smile just a little. Zeke was right. Angela was house-proud, and even when she’d been terribly sick, seeing everything neat and pretty made her happy. I had a fleeting memory of a dream I’d had . . . was it when I’d been in the coma? Or under anesthesia? I didn’t know, but I had the strongest sense that I’d seen Angela, spoken with her. And that she’d told me something important. I couldn’t remember what it was, though.
I lifted my beer to my lips. “Yeah, maybe. I just didn’t want them in here, staring at me, whispering about me. I always work it out that I’m not home when they come, but since I can’t leave the house now, I have to sit here and let them clean around me. It was just too much.”
“Uh-huh.” Zeke nodded. “I get that. But all you had to do was pick up the phone, man, and I’d be happy to come to get you. We could go somewhere else while they do the cleaning.” He tapped the table. “Matter of fact, do that now. Call them, text them, whatever, set up a time for them to come, and I’ll put it in my calendar to get you out of the house.”
“Fine.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and frowned at the screen. There were two more message notifications. One was from Emma, who was on me all the time about PT. One was from the team doctor, just ‘checking in’. But there was nothing from Alison in reply to what I’d sent her earlier. I let my eyes rove over the last one she’d sent me, right above mine in the thread.
Noah, Emma told me that you’re awake—I’m so glad. So relieved. I don’t know if you got my other messages, but I’d really like to see you. Please.
With a flick of my thumb, I deleted her message along with the other two.
I texted the housekeepers, apologized for the misunderstanding, and humbly asked if they’d consider coming back ASAP. I also offered a substantial bonus, seeing as what they’d have to deal with here now was far beyond the scope of their regular work. When they texted back right away, offering to come this afternoon, I accepted.
“Awesome.” Zeke finished his beer. “Now you get a shower, because you smell like a bear who just came out of hibernation, and I’m not letting you in my sweet ride until you’re clean.”
I ducked my head. “I can’t climb the stairs. It’s too hard on my leg.”
“So?” Zeke spread his hands. “You have a shower down here. I happen to know that you have a complete suite on the first floor because Angela once told me that you both thought it would be great if one set of your parents had to move in eventually. So what’s the hold-up, bub?”
“All of my stuff is still upstairs. Clean clothes. My soap, my shampoo. A towel that’s big enough for me.” I grimaced. “The ones Ang hung down here are like doll-sized. She used to buy me the big bath sheets, you know?”
“Dude, all you had to do was ask. I’ll run up and bring all your shit down here.” Zeke rolled his eyes. “Are you that stuck on your pride that you won’t ask for help at all? Noah, for fuck’s sake. No one pities you. We all just love you and want to do whatever we can to make things easier.”
I nodded, and Zeke ambled out of the kitchen, heading up to retrieve what I needed. But as he went, I considered what he’d said.
What he didn’t get—what no one understood—was that there wasn’t any way to make things better or easier. It just wasn’t going to happen. This, right here, right now, was as good as it could get. Maybe I wasn’t going to actively try to off myself—that would be an insult to my late wife and would destroy my parents—but neither was I clinging to hope for a future that no longer existed.
I’d keep breathing in and out for as long as I had to, but there wasn’t anything more than that. No bright tomorrows, no expectation. And there was sure as hell not going to be anything like love.
I was just done.
4
Alison
