Page 91 of Hard to Score

He chuckles and grabs his bottle of beer from the end table beside him, takes a long sip of it, and when he sets it down, stares at it for more than a beat before finally meeting my eyes.

“You’re upset,” he murmurs, his tone reticent. Concern etches the lines of his face. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m trying not to be hurt that we’ve been dating each other this long, that we went through the three weeks of getting to know everything about you gathering, and yet I didn’t know about this. About her when obviously, you guys are super close. About . . .” My voice fades as I look at her and a lump forms in my throat. “About your life before.”

I wait to gain control of my emotions before I meet his gaze again. His nod of acknowledgment is so slight, so resigned, but it’s there, and it kind of kills a little piece of me.

“There’s a lot you don’t know still, Brex.”

“But why?” I ask, realizing this is going to be an interesting conversation with a sleeping child in between us. “Do you not trust me?”

“This has nothing to do with trust,” he asserts.

“Do you not think that—”

“You simply wouldn’t understand.”

“Have you tried seeing if I do? Because we’ve talked about everything about me. My mom dying. How I felt after I had to withdraw from the Olympics. What it’s like working for my family. We’ve talked about everything and yet here you are still keeping secrets from me. That’s a hard one to swallow and not be hurt by.”

His sigh is long and loud and feels as heavy weighing on him as it sounds.

“What is it you want to know, Brex? That our world fell apart? That since the day my dad walked away from the NFL my family has never been the same? That my dad no longer seems like my dad? That he became a shell of the man he was?” His voice is calm but there’s devastation to it that I think only hints at the damage underneath. “That Maggs fell into a bad crowd and got hooked on drugs because she didn’t have any guidance? That, for her, it was easier to be high than to deal with our house where we all walked around like nothing happened when our lives had been torn apart because everything did? Will it make any sense to you that I turned to football—to the very sport that ruined him—and he’s never forgiven me for it? Almost like I betrayed him for being good at something that rejected him? Is that what you want to know?” Despite stroking his niece’s hair, he is bristling with anger. It looks like it’s directed at me, but that can’t be the case.

What the hell did his dad do to his family?

And poor Maggs. Where is she now?

My heart hurts for him right now. For the teenager who went through it all alone and for the man now trying to live with all of it behind the scenes without anyone knowing.

I move toward him, needing to touch him, needing to comfort him. With Charley in his lap—her soft snores between us—I drop to my knees in front of him, take his hands in mine, and press a kiss to one of his palms.

“Drew . . . I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“No one knows. No one fucking knows, and it’s been ingrained in our heads for the past fucking decade that no one can know. Our life is private and anyone who knows will use it against us.” He shakes his head. “At first it was the notion that just one fucking story, one reminder of the past, would shatter the perfect world we all pretended to live in. And now it’s if a story gets out, the stress of it all will make my dad’s health decline rapidly as stress is a trigger with ALS.” He pulls his hand from mine and runs a hand through his hair. “Is that the part of me that you need to know? The deep, dark secrets. Is that enough to make you happy?”

“That’s unfair. I just want to know you, Drew. All of you.”

Because I’m in love with you.

It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to think those words, to admit those words to myself. I stumble over the confession because there’s so much unspoken between us—the blame he somehow lays at my family’s feet—that has me fearing he’d never accept the words even if I did put a voice to them.

“Well, that’s it. You happy? Every damn day I’m trying to keep all the plates spinning—my sister sober and alive, Charley feeling loved and oblivious to her mom’s addiction, my dad proud of me when all he’s ever done is shun me for playing a game that shut him out, and my mom in fucking la la land so that the nervous breakdown she’s always teetered on stays at bay—so none fall off and shatter. It’s exhausting, but if they all stay spinning, maybe, just fucking maybe, I’ll get a chance to be me, to do what I need to do to be happy. To have my own fucking life.”

His voice breaks on his last words and he slides out from beneath Charley’s sleeping head and me sitting at his feet and moves about the room to abate his restlessness.

I watch him pace as I turn where I am and sit there. He’s hurting and I don’t know how to help. He’s hurting and I’m afraid he doesn’t want me to help.

“Drew,” I say softly. A plea. An attempt at comfort.

“Don’t you know that’s you?” he whispers as he turns and faces me. “You’re my chance, Brex. Taking the goddamn field in a game is my chance. And I’m fucking terrified that if I get an opportunity at either, that I’ll screw them both up royally and never get a shot again.”

There are tears in his eyes when they meet mine. There is a gravity, a somberness, to his expression that owns my heart in ways I never knew imaginable.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“I’ve fallen for you, Brexton. Can’t you see that? So you tell me what I’m supposed to do about it. I’m stuck in between a rock and a goddamn hard place when all I want to do is be with you.”

I stare at him, eyes wide and heart soaring.