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I sat on the barstool. He plated a pasta dish and placed it in front of me. “Dinner.”
“Smells good.” I picked up my wine glass. “We have to finish this discussion. You know that, right?”
“I know that I’ve said everything I want to say. And I don’t expect you to keep questioning me.”
I fought back the anger and tried to remind myself he was new at this. “Whatever it is we’re doing here, Wes. This thing between us… it’s not going to include lies. I’m not compromising on that.”
He gripped his fork. “You knew what you were getting into with me. I drink. I gamble. I sleep around. Uh, used to sleep around. I cross lines that have to be crossed so we can win. I do the things that other people don’t want to do.”
“What is it with you and winning? Damn it, Wes. Winning isn’t everything.”
He slammed the fork on the counter. “Yes it is. You don’t get it. You don’t understand my life, or what it’s taken for me to get here. You live in a happy black and white land where you get to save people and put them back together. It’s my job to tear them down. To trample and stomp. To tackle and defeat. That’s my life. I’ve fought for everything I have. Every victory. Every dollar. Every single damn thing. Everything.”
“Hey, hey. I’m not judging you.” I saw the flames in his eyes. The vein on the side of his neck was throbbing. “Tell me. Just tell me. Explain it. All of it.”
He hunched back in his seat, letting an expansive breath escape his chest. “It’s not a great story. Let’s just let it go. I don’t want to fight with you.”
I pulled his right hand into my lap. Something desperate had made him do what he did. And I knew enough about my connection to him that I wanted to understand it. I wanted to know what would drive a man who had everything to risk it all. Put his health at stake. I still had no idea what he had taken, and that scared me.
I traced the side of his jaw. “No. I’m not letting it go. I care about you. And if we’re doing this, then I’m here for all of it. Not just the sex and the beautiful clothes.” I smiled. “Although, those are nice perks.”
“The truth comes out.”
“It always does.” My thumb rubbed his bottom lip. “You can trust me. Talk to me. I want to know why you have to win.”
“Huh. I think that’s the first time someone has asked me that. Doesn’t everyone want to win? Isn’t an instinct?”
I shook my head. “Not at the risk of everything. There’s something driving you. I see it. I feel it. It’s even with me. You wanted to win me over.”
“And I did.” He winked.
“Yeah, you did. And here we are. So, I’m asking you, where does it come from?”
He closed his eyes. “This is fucking hard.”
My heart pounded. I wanted to pull him to my chest and cradle him and tell him he could trust me with everything. Even if he had done something I thought was completely unethical. But that wasn’t really the problem. Whatever he had done to regenerate his hand wasn’t the core issue. It came from something far deeper. There was something Wes wasn’t telling me.
“Where does all this come from?” I pressed him for an answer. Some kind of explanation.
I had seen two sides of him. There was the competitor. The cocky bastard who wanted people to fall at his feet. The man who dominated me in the bedroom. The womanizer. The reckless millionaire who threw money around.
And then there was this man in front of me. The one who had cooked dinner for me after I had a hard day at the hospital. The one who made sure I had everything I needed. The one who sent flowers a
nd kissed me like every kiss was making him whole again. That man was the reason I was here. That man was the reason I slept under his sheets and wore his jersey.
I waited, trying to be patient. Trying to understand why it was so hard for him to open up. He wasn’t used to this.
“You’re not from Texas, Doc.”
I shook my head. “No, this has all been a culture shock.”
“What you have to understand is that football is life here. My dad shoved a helmet on my head and a set of pads on me when the ball was still bigger than my head. He had me run drills on Saturday mornings at 6am when most kids were still sleeping. I threw the ball until it was time for dinner. He hired a private coach when I was eight. I was scouted by the time I was twelve.” Wes’s eyes hardened. “It didn’t matter to him if I liked football or not, I was going to be a champion.”
“But did you like it? Did you want to play?” I tried to imagine a younger version of the strong man sitting in front of me, spending his every waking minute on a football field instead of playing Chutes and Ladders or watching cartoons.
“I didn’t know what I wanted. He didn’t ask. I never had a choice. By the time I was in high school, I was already getting scholarship offers for top schools. It was a no brainer. Football was in my blood by then. It was my life and I kept riding the train.”
“But you love it now?” I questioned.
