The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(68)

“How can you love the game?” I whisper.

His hand clenches mine. “I don’t know. But I do. Because when I’m out there doing my thing, I forget all about them. It’s my game, and I own it. I don’t know… It’s the control amidst the chaos. Same with math. There are rules, boundaries, numbers. Patterns run. Victories won by inches. It gives me joy. That’s f*cked up, isn’t it?”

He looks at me then, his eyes haunted.

“No. I get it. I ought to resent sports like Fi does. It took our dad from us. Ruined my parents’ marriage. But I love it.”

He nods but lets my hand go to grip the steering wheel. “I hate my brothers. Always have. Hate my father too for letting them do that to me, either by direction or ignoring it.”

“And your mom?” I shouldn’t ask but can’t help it. “Did she know?”

His face goes utterly blank, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “I never told her.” A ragged breath leaves him. “Because what if I did, and she…” He glares out the window.

“What if she didn’t stop them?”

A bare nod is his answer.

God, I want to hug him. But I don’t move, not knowing if he can handle it right now.

“I feel like shit for thinking that. Because my mom was awesome to me. Kind, caring, patient.” He snorts. “I have no f*cking clue what she saw in my dad. They met at some college staff mixer. He was a visiting head coach, and she was a Norwegian exchange student finishing up her post-graduate degree. Mom always claimed that Dad charmed her into following him anywhere.”

Gray shakes his head as if disgusted. “When she got sick, though, it was my job to look after her. Dad couldn’t handle it. My brothers didn’t want to. My brothers hated me for Mom too,” he whispers. “I was her favorite. Her baby.”

I think of a teenage Gray forced to watch his mom slowly die and not have any help from the rest of his family. “I bet you were an awesome caregiver,” I tell him softly.

He snorts again and leans back against the seat, blinking up at the ceiling. “I left her alone to die.”

The rain patters against the hood of the truck, and the radio softly plays on.

“What do you mean?” I finally ask.

“She died alone.” He closes his eyes. “I left her.”

“You mean she died when you weren’t there? Gray, that happens sometimes—”

“No, I did it on purpose.” His eyes squeeze tight. “My mom… We both knew it was coming. That she was near the end. The state championship game was that Saturday. I wasn’t going, no way. But she took my hand and said I had to go. For her. The thing is…” He swallows hard, his throat visibly convulsing. “I knew what she was saying. I knew she didn’t want me to see her die. That it would be too hard for her if I was watching. And I…”

He presses a hand over his eyes. “I couldn’t do it, Mac. I ran from that room like a coward. Went to that game like a coward. Because I couldn’t watch her go.”

I can’t hold back anymore. I slide over and put my arms around him, drawing his big body close. Woodenly, he leans into me, trembling. His face burrows against my hair, and he takes shaking breaths. “My dad f*cking hated me for that. I was supposed to watch over her.”

“He should have been there,” I say, barely containing my anger. “She was his wife.”

Gray shakes his head. “I was supposed to be stronger than them.”

“You are the strongest man I know.” I kiss the top of his head, his cheeks, anywhere I can reach without letting him go. “And you did what she wanted. Don’t you ever think less of yourself for that.”

But Gray just trembles like he can’t get past it. I move back to my side of the truck, pulling him down, so that he’s lying across the bench.

He’s too large to be doing this. But he settles his head in my lap with a sigh as if it’s the most comfortable thing in the world. Smiling slightly, I run my fingers through his hair. It’s surprisingly thick, the strands like silk.

“God, that feels good.” Gray settles down with a sigh. On the next breath, his arm steals beneath my knees, wrapping around my legs and hugging tight. “Ivy, I’m sorry to dump on you like this.”

“Stop.” I cup his cheek, letting my palm warm him. “I asked you to tell me. I’m your girl, right?”

“Fuck yeah, you are.” His hold grows more secure, as if I might pull away. “And don’t you forget it.”

“Never. This is what girlfriends do, you know.”

Beneath my hand, his cheek rises as he smiles softly, and little crinkles form at the corners of his denim blue eyes. His lashes are unfairly long and lush, coming in gold then darkening toward the tips. “I’m not letting you go, Ivy Mac. In case I wasn’t clear before.”

Warmth blooms inside my chest.

When he closes his eyes with a contented-yet-still-sad sigh, I reach up and turn off the overhead light. The interior of his truck turns shady, and Gray relaxes a bit more.

I go back to stroking his hair. He grows heavier, warmer. “My mom used to do that. Run her fingers through my hair when I was upset.” He shudders, takes an unsteady breath. “I miss her, Mac.” His voice is broken, and it breaks a little of me, as well.