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“More like twelve years for y’all. And we’re not kids anymore. We know what we want, and when we see it, we go after it. You’ve been around the block—you know what’s out there. And none of it compares to Amelia.”
“You’re not wrong about her,” I say gruffly. “But you are wrong on another point—I’m not sure what I want.”
Beau raises an eyebrow. “I don’t buy it.”
“I got offered an extension. Two years, twelve million guaranteed.”
He leans back in his chair. Lets out a breath. “I know.”
“Who told you?” I bite out.
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is doing right by the people you love. You really think chasing a championship is how you do that?”
“Sure as hell wouldn’t hurt.”
“But you already have money. Money you’ve invested well.”
“I’m providing for my family, Beau, just like Daddy taught us to.”
“Horseshit,” he spits. “I guarantee you Daddy would want you to stay in Asheville with Amelia.”
Now my eyes are burning. “You have no fucking idea what Daddy would want.”
“Rhett,” he says, voice softer now.
“What?”
“Why the anger?”
I glare at my brother. For a split second, I consider standing up and walking out of here. I have every right to end this conversation. Beau’s poking his beak into matters that don’t concern him. This is my life. My kid. I can do what I want.
But for some reason, my ass stays glued to the chair. I drop my head and dig my thumbs into my eye sockets, pressing hard enough to make neon stars explode behind my closed lids.
“I fucked up,” I bite out. “I missed out. Chasing this goddamn championship, I missed out on so much. Girls came and went, and I kept it that way so I could put all my time and energy into the game. I never gave out my number, and I never went back for seconds. So, yeah, there was no chance I’d see Liam be born because his mom had no way of reaching me. I didn’t get to hold him or cut the cord or any of that shit. Two whole years, gone. Never mind the time she was pregnant. Beau, she was alone. Can you imagine how rough that was? I didn’t think I’d care, I didn’t know to care, but now I do, and it hurts.”
A beat of stunned silence.
Then a hand covers my shoulder. Squeezes. “That’s heavy.”
“No kidding.”
I run a hand over my face, “I’m an asshole.”
“Well, yeah.”
I turn my head and spear my brother with a look. He’s smiling, the shithead. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”
“Of course I’m on your side. Sometimes that means telling you things you don’t want to hear. You were an asshole, but I don’t think you meant to be. I think you genuinely believe your reasons are good.”
“Right. I thought I was doing the right thing, chasing. Working.”
“And why is that?”
“Because.” I let out a long, low breath. “Work and wealth are how you gain respect.”
“Daddy’s respect.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. Yes. And by extension, everyone else’s respect too. Sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud. He’s gone. I know that. And when he was around, when I was a little older, at least, he was sick. Even so, the lessons I learned living in our house . . .”
“They shaped you. They shaped all of us, Rhett.”
“Even after everything that’s happened, and everything I’ve lost, part of me still thinks if I just get there, you know, get the Super Bowl, I’ll be happy, and he’ll be happy up in heaven or hell or wherever the fuck he is, and then I can live my life. Then I can put a ring on it.”
Beau frowns thoughtfully. “But that’s magical thinking. Why not live your life now?”
I shrug. “Wish I knew how.”
“You give yourself permission. You say, ‘Hello, self, please stop torturing me, it’s stupid and pointless, and I’m telling you I deserve to be happy right now, whether or not I win.’”
Scoffing, I reply, “I just give myself permission. It’s that easy?”
“It’s that hard. What I’m saying is, it’s up to you. Not whether you’ll end up with the perfect life you always imagined. But whether you’ll give yourself a shot at happiness. We’re lucky motherfuckers to have everything we do. You don’t have to sweat money. You’re surrounded by people who love you. It’s an incredible privilege to be in your position, and it’d be a sin to waste it. Also—lest we forget the elephant in the room—you’re definitely not gonna find happiness if you die a slow, awful death from CTE. Which, if you play another couple seasons . . .”
Sitting up, I offer him a tight smile. “Right.”
“Take it from a fellow father—Liam doesn’t need a trust fund. He needs you.”
I glance over my shoulder through the back windows. Amelia has Liam on her hip and is spinning around in quick, tight circles. I can hear him giggling.
