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He opens his mouth to object then exhales heavily and leans back against the seat.
“You’re right. Not entirely, but there is some truth to that.”
Those are the last words I’m expecting to hear. They catch me so off guard I don’t have a response. Instead, I sit in silence, waiting for him to continue.
“I wasn’t sure what to do after getting injured. Running a team was never on my radar, but it sounded better than starting over in a new field. I was scared of having to start over, although before the injury I was thinking about it. The game wasn’t fun, it hadn’t been for a while, but I’d been dependent on it so long I didn’t know how to walk away. All I knew was I didn’t have the life I wanted, and once I acknowledged that football lost some of its appeal. That’s when the injury happened.”
“Before you ask,” he casts a sideways glance in my direction, “I’ll always love the game. It helped me through some tough times, and I did cling to it after getting injured because it’s familiar. I don’t need it the way I used to. It’s something to do, something I’m good at, but if that’s the thing holding you back from giving us a chance, I’ll give my notice today. I’m not scared of starting over anymore. I’m only scared of a life without you.”
My heart throbs inside my chest, squeezing the air out of my lungs. All I’ve ever wanted is to not come second to some stupid game, and that’s what Wes is offering, sort of. Although it’s not as easy as him quitting his job. That won’t magically make things better. Besides, wanting to come before a game and telling someone to quit are two different things, and I’ve never wanted to force anyone to make a choice. I still don’t.
“Sawyer, say something. Please.” He faces me with a pained expression.
“Say what?” I whisper.
“Anything. Tell me how you feel, what you think. Tell me you know who I am now, or don’t. Tell me it’s not hopeless. Anything.”
His amber eyes search mine, looking for reassurance. Part of me wants to give it. Today was nice. Wes made me smile, he made me laugh, he made me remember why Denver feels like home, which makes retreating to D.C. like I planned a depressing thought. And if I’m honest with myself, knowing his feelings all those years ago were real–are real. It doesn't relieve the pain of the past eight years, but it does pave the way for me to move forward. Eventually. Maybe.
“Do you still feel like you don’t know me?” He locks his jaw, bracing for my answer.
I study his face while searching for the right words. Though it’s the face of a man not a boy, it’s still the same one I associate with the happiest times in my life. And while I’ve tried to hate that face for years, the truth is I can’t. Nor can I hate the man himself, because in many ways he’s still who I fell in love with.
Wes is still sensitive. A deep thinker. And I suppose now that the truth of what happened is out, he’s honest. Wait, why wasn’t that the first thing he told me?
“You didn’t tell me my dad put you up to breaking up with me. Why?”
He blinks, unprepared for that question, but holds my gaze when he starts to speak.
“I promised not to. Colt thought it would drive you two apart, and things were going so good between the two of you, I didn’t want to come between that.”
“So you let him come between us. What exactly did he tell you?” I know Dad’s version of this story, which in a way makes me more open to hearing Wes’ version.
He takes a deep breath and stares at the road in front of us, averting his eyes.
“He said with his retirement you were finally going to be free of football, but you’d never escape it if we stayed together. And if I cared about you, I wouldn’t put you through that, because there would be plenty of time after I finished school, and football, to reconnect with you. That we’d have a much better chance of staying together when we were older.” He sneaks a glance at me and sighs heavily when he notices my eyes are shiny. “To be fair, I don’t think he realized how serious things were between us. And neither of us predicted I’d go pro.”
“And the day after, when you told him you made a mistake. What did you say?”
He closes his eyes and leans his head against the seat. “I said I shouldn’t have listened to him, that in your eyes I’d be putting the game before you, and you’d never forgive me for it.”
“He didn’t believe you?” My voice catches.
Wes turns to face me, gently wiping away the tear sliding down my cheek. “In his experience you were pretty forgiving. He really thought you just needed a little time.”
“Time? It’s been eight years. How are you not pissed at him?” His outline is blurry from my tears.
“I was at first, but later on I realized he was only doing what he thought was best. And once he realized the damage he set off, he had enough guilt without me adding to it. He regretted what he did but felt like getting involved would be disloyal to you since you didn’t want to see me. It’s a tough spot for him.”
“You’ve forgiven him?” I swipe the traces of moisture off my face.
“Yes.”
I replay the last eight years with my dad, but the memories that normally make me happy are tainted. Created under false pretenses. They bring only sadness.
“He doesn’t expect you to forgive him. Not right away.” Wes reads my thoughts the way he always used to.
“I don’t know how to do that,” I whisper.
