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I still remember watching the replay. Once. One viewing was all my stomach could handle. Dad dropped back to pass, his O-line fell apart and two defenders took him down in a pile. Then the guys jumped up and frantically waved over the medics, because my father’s leg was bent at a sickening angle no human leg was meant to bend.
Career over.
“He wants it so badly for you,” Mom said. “Mostly because his dream is unfinished. He sees the potential for you to have everything he couldn’t. But do you want it for you? Sometimes, I’m not so sure.”
The truth was waiting to be released. Like setting down a thousand-pound weight. Or unpacking all those boxes I’d carefully stored out of sight. But if I told Mom the truth, she’d insist Dad know too. It’d crush him and then he’d have to deal with me and losing the love of his life. It was too much.
I was too late.
“Nah, I’m good,” I said. “Just tired. Lots of practice. But forget that boring shit. What about you? Can I bring you anything? Dazia’s making spaghetti…”
Mom’s clear blue eyes narrowed. She knew I wasn’t saying everything, but she let it go. For now. “That woman is a whirlwind, isn’t she? I’m so glad she came.”
“Me too. But she has to go back to DC soon, right?”
“In a bit, but she promises to come back as soon as she can.” Mom’s thin hand squeezed my strong one. “It’s been easier having her here, I know. Not that anything about this is easy.”
“Least of all for you,” I said, my throat thick.
Mom smiled. “I’m sick, but I’m still your mom, even if I can’t take care of you the way I want to. I never want to be a burden—”
“Impossible,” I said fiercely. “You’re not a burden.”
“And you’re a sweet boy growing into a good man.” She pulled out an envelope from today’s mail. “I’ve signed myself up for the Medical Center’s Patient Care Program. Twice a week, a promising student from your school will spend the afternoon here, helping around the house and taking care of things for me.”
I flipped opened the letter. “Violet McNamara? She’s going to be your patient care…person?”
“Volunteer. Do you know her?”
“She’s been hanging around our crowd lately. She’s very pretty. Smart. In fact…” I cleared my throat. “I was thinking about getting to know her a little better. Maybe ask her out.”
Mom’s eyebrow ridges rose. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I…I like her.”
Jesus, I sounded like a terrible actor giving the world’s worst line reading.
My mother regarded me closely, as if seeing right through me. I wished she could. Maybe she could tell me what she saw because when I pictured myself on a date, I couldn’t see who with. Only a nameless, faceless girl who made me laugh, whom I could tell all my shit to and she’d understand. No judgement. Only connection.
And maybe not a girl at all.
I quickly boxed that thought up with the rest and tucked it away.
“I’m happy to hear that you like her,” Mom said. “I can’t remember the last time you mentioned being interested in someone.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Football takes up so much time. But yeah, Violet is…nice.”
Christ.
“Well, I’m looking forward to meeting her. Now go on downstairs and eat before your dinner gets cold.”
I practically jumped off the bed, eager to get away from this convo. “Can I bring you anything?”
“Maybe a Hot Pocket later?”
I rolled my eyes, laughing. “You and your Hot Pockets.”
She grinned. “Nutrition at its finest.”
