The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(29)

“I had such a big crush on him.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” She nods as the melodic sound of one of my favorite songs by the Lumineers, “Nobody Knows,” plays in the background. “It’s the voice that captured me.”

“Did you have a poster of him on your wall?” I ask, and then something strikes me. “You know, I’ve never seen your room, actually. Isn’t that kind of weird?”

From the corner of my eyes, I catch her shake her head. “No, it was planned that way. Mom and I didn’t have much when it came to a home, and I actually slept in a blanketed-off section that was supposed to be a dining room. I never had anyone over.”

“What? Seriously? Did Pops know?”

She nods. “Oh yeah. He tried to get my mom and me to live with him quite a few times. Grandpa Thomas—my dad’s dad—didn’t have any room for us in his cabin, or else he’d have helped us out. Mom wouldn’t take Pops’s help because she didn’t ever want to take charity. There were a few nights, though, when Pops would have me stay the night because I was working late. Those were my favorite nights, because I felt such comfort in the bed—” Her words stop short and I can see her start to retreat.

“Feel comfort in what?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not. What did you feel comfort in?”

“It’s going to sound really stalkerish.”

“Try me,” I say.

Sighing, she says, “Felt comfort in knowing it was the same bed you slept in when you were visiting.”

“How is that stalkerish? I mean, unless you were trying to smell the pillow to find any sort of essence I might have left behind.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

I laugh and nudge her leg. “Seriously, though, you said it yourself—I was a comfort to you, especially during the summer. Why wouldn’t you want to cling to that, especially when you were going through a lot of shit at home?”

“I know but saying it out loud feels creepy.”

I reach over the console between us and take her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. “It’s not creepy, Haze. It makes sense.”

“Thanks for getting me.”

“No need to thank me. We’ve gotten each other for years.” Instead of removing my hand from hers, I continue to hold it, not just because I want to, but because I feel as though she needs it right now.

I came into this trip thinking I was the only one needing to find acceptance with losing Pops, but it seems we both have to accept his passing, but in different ways. Pops was my cheerleader, my inspiration, my guiding light. A best friend.

But to Hazel, he was more than just a second grandfather—he was a safe place, a shelter, someone she could rely on when things got hard. And from listening to her on this trip, it seems as though things were hard often.

Which brings me to think . . .

“What are you doing now?”

“Uh, sitting here, listening to the Lumineers.”

“No, I mean, on the farm, in life. What are you doing? Are you still living with your mom?”

She grows silent and I glance her direction to catch her looking out the window. She slowly lets go of my hand and shifts in her seat.

“Um, right now, things are kind of hard.”

“What do you mean?” When she doesn’t answer right away, I say, “You can talk to me, Hazel.”

“I know. It’s just hard to talk about, is all.” She takes a deep breath. “Around June, Pops asked me to go to the house in the morning to have a conversation about the farm. I thought it was going to be about the upcoming fall season. But that’s when he told me he was sick with pancreatic cancer. Stage four.” She grows silent again and I can hear her sniffle. “I wasn’t expecting it. I had no idea he was even sick. I felt stupid for not recognizing the signs and overwhelmed with what was going to happen to the mini empire he’d built with the farm.”

“I can’t believe he told you and not me.”

“He didn’t want to ruin your season,” she says softly. “At least, that’s what he told me.”

Well, it was ruined anyway.

Continuing, she says, “He brought me in to talk because he wanted me to start taking over operations. He then asked me to take up the guest room as well, to help him around the house.”

“You helped him while he was sick?”

“Yeah,” she says softly.

Hell. Hearing that, knowing that she was making things easier on Pops during his final days, it changes something in me, almost as if I’m seeing Hazel in a completely different light, and it’s confusing and alarming, all at the same time. If I’d kept in contact, would she have told me? Even though Pops hadn’t wanted me to know? Would Hazel have given me the chance to say goodbye to him?

I clear my throat. “So, is that where you’ve been staying?”

“It is. I’m not sure for how long, though. Grandpa Thomas said things might be changing when I get back from the trip and after the New Year. He wasn’t quite sure since Pops left a will, but he hasn’t heard any details yet. Not sure if they plan on selling or leaving the farm to your mom. I started thinking about what I was going to do for a job, you know?”