Reed
Nolan left with the girls and Peyton about an hour ago. I told her I had this, but I don’t have a damn thing. Rose isn’t strong enough to help, and my brother is off somewhere and only texts me vague answers about showing up to the homecoming game. Hanging around our old school has never been his thing. I think he feels like he failed the legacy somehow because I was the better quarterback. He’s better at business, which is why I gave him mine.
I could use him to check his ego tonight, though, because my dad was a handful before half of his body betrayed him. Now he’s a belligerent handful that still thinks he can move around like a forty-year-old.
My only hope is that Sean and Becky somehow make it through Phoenix rush hour in time to get to Coolidge. I need one more set of hands besides Micah, who isn’t really very…well…he’s a musician.
“He’s still getting ready,” Rose assures me as I call my best friend one more time, hoping he’s close.
I nod at her and mouth “Thanks” before stepping outside to pace around the driveway while the phone rings in my ear. I should move my Jeep so my dad doesn’t get some crazy notion that we’ll drive that to the game.
“Hey, man. I’m almost there.” My neck releases about a thousand pounds of tension at Sean’s words.
“Thank God,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. I close my eyes and let myself breathe in and blow out.
“You’re making this harder than it is, man. We got this,” Sean says.
“Thanks…yeah. You’re right.” He is right, but I don’t think that tonight is what’s pushing my chest in so hard and sucking me into the dirt. It’s part of it, but it’s really just…everything, I think.
Trig. My injury. My marriage and contract, and the nothing I get to do on the field. My age.
Fuck. I’m having a mid-life crisis.
I start to chuckle to myself when I see headlights spill over the desert brush out in the distance.
“That you?” I start to walk down the driveway, suddenly not getting to my friend fast enough.
“Yeah, that’s me.” I can tell by Sean’s voice he misses me too. Grown-ass men still wanting their best friend to play with. If only the rest of life were this simple.
I begin backpedaling my steps as Sean pulls up closer to the house, and when he gets out I march toward him with wide arms and this strange choking sensation holding my lungs hostage.
“Goddamn, it’s been too long.” Sean’s hands pat my back hard as we hug, and I squeeze him enough to lift him from the ground before letting go and moving to the other side of the car to hug Becky.
“Thanks for coming straight here,” I say, scratching at the side of my face to mask my emotions.
“Of course,” Sean says, his eyes settling on mine for a few long seconds, his mouth in that same slight smile that he always got when we did this—when we spoke without words. Two people in this world can read me this well, and I’m married to the other one. Sometimes, Sean sees things just a little deeper, too.
“Thanks,” I say with a hard swallow. He doesn’t speak but only nods.
I help Sean with his bags and the three of us head inside where Rose and Buck are waiting in the foyer. My father reaches his hands out for Sean the moment he steps inside, pulling my best friend to his chest as he bends over to hug my father in his chair.
“You lose that hair…or just shave it to be…fancy?” My dad teases him, and my friend throws a fake punch softly into my dad’s arm.
“Remember when you used to tease me about spending so much time styling it?” Sean responds.
My dad’s quick back to him. “Styled it right off…your damn head,” he says.
My friend laughs and reaches out a hand, prepared with his other one to take my dad’s awkward shake firmly. He always thinks about those little things, the ones that require extra care of feelings.
I help Sean take his and Becky’s bags up to their room, the smallest of our guest rooms and the one that used to be Jason’s. When we come back down, Becky is laughing with Rose at something my dad said. It almost feels normal. I guess this actually is normal now.
“You ready to get this show on the road, folks?” Sean moves to the back of my dad’s chair, and I wrinkle my brow at him.
“Abso-tudily-ludily, Skipper!” I tease him for being so colloquial.
“I’m being polite. I didn’t want to call you all ass-hats,” my pal says, guiding my dad out of the house and to their SUV.
“Ass-hats would definitely…be accurate,” my dad says.
I shrug and laugh.
“He’s right…Skipper,” I joke again, dodging his fist as it flies to my arm.
I chuckle my way to the car, getting into the backseat and sliding to the other side making sure everything’s ready and out of the way before stepping out again. My dad has gotten good at getting into vehicles as long as there is enough room and nothing unexpected, like arm rests. Sean helps my dad into the vehicle while I move his chair to the back and fold it up as small as it will go. My friend helps me get it in after my dad is settled, and he brushes his hands together after he closes the back hatch.
“See, that was easy,” he says.
“It’s not the driveway I’m worried about navigating,” I answer.
I climb in the backseat with my dad, and Becky takes the front passenger side. Sean starts in quickly with small talk about the team, and the new quarterback, and I fill him in on the fact that we might have to kill the guy since he’s dating Peyton. Sean makes a few jokes about how this is the ultimate payback for me, but Becky’s mostly silent. I don’t ask why, but I have my suspicions. They’ve been trying to have kids for years, and Nolan told me a few months ago that they’re on their last attempt. I wonder if that attempt has come and gone.
Nolan and I had our struggles too—before and after Peyton. But we have Peyton. She is our blessing, even when she makes us yank our hair out.
When we get to the school, I direct Sean through the back gates. I step out of the car to swing the security gate open when we get to it, and he drives through until we’re parked right next to Nolan’s car. This lot is for the boosters, which means we technically get a spot here, but we told them we’d need two tonight since Buck was coming.
Everyone’s waiting in the lot for us, along with a cluster of parents anxious to talk to me. I must wear the frustration, because Sean jumps from the driver’s side and holds up his hands before anyone can step closer and start firing away with questions and autograph requests.
“Hey, folks,” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder. I bite my cheek with my laugh. “Wheelchair coming through, so if you all could give us some space for just a little bit, I’m sure Reed will come over and visit for a few minutes.”
I’d rather sneak in and never come back out, but I get it. And normally, I don’t mind. I’m just so high-strung tonight that my mood is less…grateful athlete. I’m more depressed has-been.
“How you doing?” Nolan’s arm slips around me and she hugs me tightly as my lips find the top of her head.
“I don’t know,” I breathe out.
“It’ll be fine. Even if all of us have to carry your dad in his chair like some king of an empire,” she says, and I cringe at the thought.
“Yeah, that’ll be real subtle,” I say, letting go of her and pacing a few steps while my dad works his way from the car to his chair.
“Your dad doesn’t give a shit what people see. Is that what’s bugging you so much? That people will see your dad like this?” Nolan steps in front of me with her arms crossed and hip jutted out.
“No…it’s not that. I just hate that he has to go through this,” I lie. She’s always more right than wrong.
“No, you’re not.” She calls me on it and steps in closer so she can speak in a whisper. “You hate that people will see him going through this and start to talk about how you’re getting older, too, Reed. Well, guess what?”
She steps back with her arms outstretched and palms up.
“We all get older. Some of us just age with a lot more fucking grace.” Her eyes narrow and I feel the chill that’s meant from them.
“Noles, stop. That’s not it…” I put up a pathetic counterargument and give up quickly when she catches up to the other girls and walks away.
Sean, Micah, and I begin maneuvering my dad through the thick gravel and onto the weed-filled grass. If I had any sense, I would have come here this afternoon and smoothed all of this out or laid plywood for a ramp.
“Not very ADA compliant,” I mumble.
“It’s fucking…Coolidge,” my dad jokes. Sean laughs with him, but all I can do is stew over the fact that this is hard when it shouldn’t be.
We get my dad to the track and the edge of the field, and most of the old-timers have gotten up from their seats to greet him. He’s been insistent that he’ll walk to his seat from here, but with dozens of other senior citizens surrounding him, I don’t know if he’ll ever make it. I’m not sure he cares anymore, either, because his face is smiling larger than it has in months—at least compared to the times I’ve seen him.
I step back and thank Micah, sending him to the seats with the girls while Sean hangs back with me. My dad’s in his element, talking with people about his physical therapy, but more about what a damn good-luck charm he is. If the Bears win tonight, my dad will take full credit.
Maybe he’ll deserve it.
“He’s gonna be busy for a little while. You wanna go do this with me?” I point over my shoulder to the now doubled-in-size crowd clustered around the concession area.
“Sure, man. I’m like your personal body guard. This is awesome.” My friend rolls the sleeves up on his sweatshirt and puffs out his chest, trying to look bigger than he is. It makes him walk stiff, though, and the entire visual makes me laugh, genuinely.
“What? I’m a tough guy,” Sean says, adding a little skip to his step along with a fake piece of gum that he chews on one side of his mouth.
“Yeah, you’re tough. Like the way a kitten is when it can’t quite climb to the top of the couch yet,” I say, barely getting the last few words out between laughs.
My friend spins on his heels and flips me off while we make our way back to the crowd. Sean manages to stay close to me at first, despite the dozens of pens and random pieces of paper people thrust at me to sign. I think one of the papers is a bank statement.
“You playing this weekend, Reed?” One of the older guys shouts his question from the back and I squint to focus on him.
“Hard to say. Depends on how my MRI goes tomorrow.” I hand back one pen and paper and take another.
“Yeah, like you’re not playing just because you’re injured,” someone heckles from my side. I ignore him and keep signing, but I can feel the burn start in my chest.
“How’s the leg feeling?” An older woman I sort of recognize asks me while I sign a stuffed football for her and hand it back.
“Good…thanks,” I say, scanning her face in an effort to jog my memory.
“Mrs. Stetson,” she says, seeing my struggle. Her reminder sends me back to my junior year physics class.
“Oh wow, how are you?” I relax a little and put my hands in my pockets to get a break from signing things being shoved at me.
“I’m good. I retire this year, so I’m glad you came back now. Next year, I’ll be in Costa Rica.” She holds up the ball I signed. “Thanks for this. My grandson just loves you.”
I nod.
“That’s some retirement…wow!” I mentally flash to my own life, imagining it in some remote place away from here.
“It’s a lot more affordable, and ya know…teachers,” she shrugs in jest at her pathetic salary.
“That’s why I went into football,” I joke.
“You should have retired this year, buddy.” The voice comes at me from my side again, and this time I give in and turn to find out the source. I was half expecting to recognize him as some old teammate or something, but this guy is definitely a stranger, and he’s embarrassing his son, who’s standing next to him and getting smaller by the second.
“Maybe,” I say, faking out a laugh and deciding to be the bigger man. I am, by the way…the bigger man.
I turn my focus to the kid standing next to him and make the gesture for the old Chargers hat he’s holding with a pen in the other hand. The kid’s maybe a freshman, but he’s small, so I’m guessing he’s still at the junior high. He smiles enough that his teeth show, but as I reach to take his hat, his dad pushes it back down.
“No maybe about it, Johnson. You’re a shit quarterback, always have been. We don’t want your signature on nothin’.”
I breathe in slowly through my nose above my tight-lipped grimace, and I spot Sean a few people behind this guy, making a gesture with his hand to tell me he’s pretty sure the dude is drunk.
“That’s okay, man. I know not everyone likes me. Your boy play?”
I probably should have just left it there, with the bit about liking me, but I don’t know—something makes me want to string this guy along. It’s a bad idea, and I know the second his face sours because I dared to talk about his son.
“He’s gonna start here someday…break all your records,” he says, and I keep it positive and start looking for a way out.
“I hope so,” I say, nodding and lifting my hand to say goodbye and make my way back to my family. Before I turn and join Sean, I make eye contact with the kid.
“Best thing you can do is take your practice seriously. Do that, eat right, and lift a lot.” I reach out and pound the kid’s fist, and his mouth quirks up in a faint smile as I begin to walk backward. I make it a full three steps before the jackass sets me off.
“You should be riding around in a wheelchair like that old man, Johnson!”
Everyone hears it. I know they do because everything gets hushed. Or maybe the switch flips so hard in my head that it rings my ears and renders me deaf. In a blink, my fist is smashing into the side of the guy’s face, and in a beat, he’s scrambling backward away from me, sliding on his ass and feet and palms while yelling that he’s going to sue.
He will, too. Maybe that’s all this was, but I think it was more than that. I think this guy’s a drunk, and probably a gambler. Maybe I threw an interception that cost him some serious cash. Perhaps I only cost him pennies, or was a source of jealousy behind his failed marriage.
Whatever it is that drives him to be a dick, it shouldn’t happen in front of his kid. And it sure as shit shouldn’t be an insult to my dad.
“You’re going down, Johnson! You broke my face, you fucker. That’s bank!” The man stands and spits blood on the ground as he pulls his phone from his pocket and begins dialing the police. The resource officer shows up during his call, though, so I stand back and wait while this enraged man begins swinging his arms around and pointing fingers.
“If you didn’t hit him, I would have,” Sean says as he leans into me.
“I probably should have waited for that,” I say, sucking on the sore set of knuckles that met his bone. They’re gonna bruise, but not badly.
I sigh as I look over my shoulder and catch Nolan and Rose watching me. It was far enough away that my dad didn’t notice, still surrounded by old friends and talking about the good times. But everyone else saw.
Nolan saw.
And she already thinks I’m a mess.
Maybe she’s right.