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He said nothing, his mouth a tight line. Then, quietly, “It just feels like a big leap into nothing. Without football, I’m not sure where I’d land.”
She wanted to reach out, touch his hand, say something corny like,Right here. You’ll land right here. But frankly…well, what if she wasn’t enough?
The thought swept through her, and suddenly, tears burned her eyes.
What?
She looked out the window, took a breath.
“Iris? What was that sigh for?”
“I don’t know. I just had this crazy memory. I was ten, and my mom was sick—going through chemo. She’d lost her hair, and I was really scared of her. I didn’t like being around her, actually. It terrified me.”
“Because you thought she would die?”
“Maybe.”
“I get that.” He looked at her. “I felt the same way when my mom was sick.”
“Usually, she stayed in her bed upstairs, but this one day she wanted to come downstairs, and she asked me to help her. Just to steady her as she went downstairs. But I wasn’t strong enough, because when she got to the last step, she tripped. And I couldn’t catch her.”
She pressed her fingers under her eyes. “She wasn’t really hurt. But it scared me, and I ran out and got my dad, and he came in and picked her up. Brought her to the sofa and then…” Her hand pressed her mouth. “And then he just held her and started to cry. I’d never seen my dad cry, but he was just sitting there, holding on to her and crying, and she held him back, and I just stood there watching, horrified.”
“And scared.”
“Terrified. I even came over and tried to comfort my dad, but he just put out his hand, shooed me away, and I thought…I did this. I made my dad cry.”
“You know that’s not true, right? He was scared.”
“Yeah. Now I do. Then, I thought…well, I needed to be stronger. And not weak. And if I do it right—”
“Then you won’t be rejected.”
Oh. “I was about to say then no one will get hurt, but…yeah, maybe.” She looked away. They were entering the suburbs, houses with Christmas lights strung along their roofs, driveways shoveled. Neat and orderly. “I just…I don’t want to get in the way of your future, Hud. So, if you want to play for the USFL, then…you should do it.”
He went strangely quiet. Drew in a breath.
They drove the rest of the way in silence. He pulled up to the valet station at the Four Seasons in Minneapolis, and she put on her heels as he got out.
The valet opened her door, but Hud had come around to extend his hand. He met her eyes with a smile, but something seemed haunted in it.
“Hud? Is everything okay?”
He nodded, put his hand over hers as they went inside.
They walked to the concierge desk through the expansive lobby with the tall mirrored walls, golden light fixtures, leather sofas, orange accent chairs, the massive decorated Christmas tree rising from the center.
“Carlson event?” Hud asked, and the concierge directed them to the Mara Restaurant. The private area had been cordoned off with a thick orange velvet rope. A fire flickered in the massive copper fireplace, and a faux fir tree twinkled with white lights.
Mostly men in suits milled around the half dozen tables.
A man waved, and Hud slipped his hand into hers and headed toward him. “That’s Gripe Carlson, coach for the Seattle Kraken.” He then reached out his free hand and shook Coach Carlson’s hand.
“This is Iris Marshall,” he said to Carlson. “My girlfriend.”
Iris froze. Wait—what?
But Hud seemed to slide right by that, continuing to hold her hand.
