The Crush (55)

It was because of her prior knowledge that she was keeping her hands stretched out, maintaining that distance between us.

Her life would be the one that would have to completely change if she moved forward with me. There were no guarantees I could give her, not for a couple of years, at least. And I wasn’t ready to walk away from the sport.

But I wasn’t ready to walk away from her either.

I signed the last autograph and waved as the parents herded their excited kids away from me. Dad slapped a hand on my back. “Good to see you on the sidelines, Emmett.”

“Good to be here.”

He tilted his head toward a small set of silver bleachers next to the soccer field. “Wanna sit? I’ve hardly had a chance to talk to you. You were gone earlier when I came home between meetings.”

Gone at Adaline’s. After leaving her office, I just … drove around. Tried to clear my head of all the knotted, messy thoughts.

Mom rubbed Dad’s back. “I’ll wait in the car,” she said.

Dad cupped her chin and kissed her softly. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you curse out that ref,” he whispered. “They’re gonna ban us from the games if you keep that up, wife.”

She smiled innocently. “I would love to see them try.”

Dad shook his head as I laughed. Mom patted my stomach and left to give Dad and me some privacy.

He took a seat on the bleacher and groaned. “I swear, I jump around more at these games than during the playoffs for Washington.”

I grinned.

He gave me a sideways look. “Football or no football?”

It was the question he always started with when the two of us had a chance to sit down. Sometimes, I wanted to talk shop because I respected him so damn much as a coach and a player. And sometimes, I just wanted to talk about life with my dad.

I sighed, hanging my hands between my legs. “I don’t know, Dad.”

He studied my face, finally giving a slow nod. “Little of both, maybe.”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?” he asked.

Staring out at the emerald-green fields, I thought about how many years of my life I’d chased something intangible. Winning games wasn’t anything you could hold in your hand. It was mental. Emotional. We pushed our bodies past their limits. We tested the lines of what we were capable of, for something that was all in our heads—the feeling it gave us.

That was why some guys were shit losers and shit winners.

“Is it possible to have a midlife crisis at twenty-six?” I asked.

He laughed. “I think it’s possible any time, kid.” He glanced over at me. “Is that why you’re home?”

“Sort of.”

“Your mom may have mentioned some”—he winced—“vibes with Adaline when you got home last night. And I will deny it if you ever say I’ve used that word to describe anything.”

“No one will hear it from me,” I promised.

“You know, I thought it would be harder to talk about relationships with the girls. But it’s just as awkward with you, if that makes you feel any better.”

“A little.”

He took a deep breath. “How’s Malcolm?”

The change of topic had me blinking. “He’s … doing okay. We talked the other day. Doctor thinks he’ll be walking again by fall.”

“Good. That was tough to watch.”

The laugh that escaped was dry, devoid of humor. “Yeah.”

“Is that when this started?”

My head turned toward him. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been on those sidelines for more than half my life, Emmett.” He shook his head. “It never gets easier to see someone seriously hurt. All you can do is imagine yourself in his position. Imagine all the ways it can change your life because one play goes sideways.”

“It was awful.” I ran my hands up and down my thighs. “You work day in and day out together, figure out how to work as a team, but when it comes down to moments like that … there’s nothing you can do for the guy next to you when he’s really hurt. It’s totally out of your control.”

“Hardest part of being a leader,” Dad replied. “Hands down.”

I nodded. “It was after, though. At the hospital.” I swallowed. “I was sitting in that chair, watching Rebecca pray when she thought no one was watching. She didn’t care if he ever took another snap. She just wanted him to be all right.”

“It has a way of putting things in perspective.”

I almost laughed. I had so much fucking perspective since that moment. More than I could handle sometimes.

“I’d be alone,” I said.

He turned on the bench, concern stamped on his face.

“Sitting in that chair, I thought about how there’d be no one there to hold my hand while they prayed. Adaline was the first person I thought of. I can’t even tell you why, after so many years. Like I just … knew that I’d messed up something good—something special—because I thought I had to pick. Thought I had to pick one thing to be the focus of my life.” I held up my hand. “And I know if it happened, you guys would come as soon as you could. It’s not about having people who love you or support you. I’m well aware I have that, and I’m grateful for you guys. But you all have your own lives.”