Reed
Jason hasn’t called me back. I don’t blame him. He knows why I’m calling, and that’s fine. I’ll wait. He can’t avoid me forever. His paycheck guarantees that.
“All right, Reed. You know the drill.”
The tech is nice. She’s the same one I’ve had for the last two ultrasounds. The results always come back with “inflammation,” and I’m starting to think that’s just my new life—one big, fat inflammation. Doctor Williams, the team doc, is hovering around the computer, waiting for images of my muscles and joints to populate the screen. He’s not much of a talker, but he’s serious about the work he prescribes. And when he tells people to lay off the work for a while to heal, he’s serious about that, too. I’ve listened. If anything, I’ve gotten lazy I’ve laid off my calf so much.
I pull myself up on the table and flip on my side while the tech rolls up my shorts until I’m showing way too much leg. My phone vibrates in my palm just as she’s slapping the cool jelly on my skin, so I wince when I answer.
“You goddamned asshole,” I say, tucking the phone into the crook of my neck and mouthing to the tech “not you.”
She giggles and lifts a brow.
“I figured,” she whispers. “Hi, Jason.” She says that part for my brother a little louder.
“Oh hey, that’s Wendy. Tell her hi.” My brother is acting like this is any other day rather than the one after I now know what I know.
“You don’t get to do that. No, no. What the hell, man?” I twitch a little when Wendy starts to move the wand around. Six-two, two-hundred-twenty-five pounds, and I’m ticklish as hell.
“See, this is why I didn’t want to say anything,” Jason says, a very audible sigh punctuating his response.
“What is why? I might be critical? I might wonder what’s up with the flirting? I might wonder why…out of every woman between here and Arizona…you had to pick my wife’s best friend to screw over?”
“I love her.”
My brother punches the air from my lungs with three words. I part my lips but only a gasp escapes, and only Wendy can hear it. I’m blinking and my head is spinning, and the length of silence between us over the phone is ticking longer and longer.
“There aren’t other girls. I’m not flirting with anyone, and if you really thought about it, if you really think back over the last six months, you’d realize that I have been so completely not into any other woman.” Jason’s voice is almost angry. It’s definitely defensive. Shit. This…it’s the real deal.
“Six months.” I lock onto that detail.
“Officially,” he adds.
I echo “officially” with a whisper and a breath of a laugh.
“Don’t do that. Don’t belittle it. Yes, officially. I asked her…officially. I asked to be real and to try this, a me and her. And we both decided to keep it to ourselves because we wanted it to have a shot without all of our friends and family throwing darts at it.”
I wince with guilt. He’s not painting a flattering picture, but it sure as hell is accurate. We would have. We’re dart-throwers.
“I love her, man. I go back a lot more often than you think I do, and half of those times I tell you I’m at conferences, I’m not. I’m holed up in the apartment here or back in Arizona, with her.” I can actually picture his expression from the way his voice softens and rasps with that hint of desperation. This is how I talk about Nolan.
“I thought she hated you,” I chuckle out.
“Yeah, she may have at one point.” He’s quiet after that. I think because this…it’s hard for him. He really loves her.
“There are things I should say…for Nolan. But I…”
My brother interrupts me.
“I’m not going to fuck this up. It’s real. I, uh…” His pause seizes my chest.
“You…” I can’t get my own mouth to form the rest of the words.
“I bought a ring. I asked her dad. I’ve booked a beach house. I hired a fucking cello player, man. I’m in deep.” His swallow is audible. I burst into laughter. He joins me.
“Wow,” I say, overexaggerating the way the word moves my mouth. “When?”
“Thanksgiving. I have to tell Dad I’ll be missing it,” Jason says.
“He won’t care, dude.” I don’t add how dad and Rose will think this is a miracle. Jason having a family was something our pops just about wrote off. This is going to make his day. If anything, he’s going to insist he travel to California and hide in the bushes to watch the proposal go down.
“Congrats, man. Honestly…I’m happy for you.” I sit up, my leg wiped clean with a warm towel. My feet dangle from the exam table.
“Hey, I gotta go. But I’ll see ya in a few hours. And do me a favor…just keep this with us for now. I want to tell people,” my brother says.
“I got you,” I say, and we exchange brief byes then hang up just in time for Doctor Williams to slide around so he’s facing me, his long knees jutted up in the air because his body is too big for the tiny stool he’s sitting on.
“Give it to me straight, Doc,” I say, smirking. The doc and I have a long history. He was with Detroit for my big injury, and he’s delivered some seriously tough news to me in the past. This calf thing—it’s nothing.
“You’re clear.”
I blink a few times because clear isn’t what I was expecting. Honestly, I was ready for chronic arthritis, splints, spurs, hairline fractures, tears. Clear? Not even a word I recognize.
“Clear,” I repeat.
“Yup.” He stands and holds out a hand, his mouth a tight smile that says more than the words he’s saying. I pull my brow in and take his hand, sliding to a stand as I do.
“Look, I can’t make them put you in a game, but if QB1 goes down, you’re a viable option.”
I puff out a snort of a laugh at his overly scientific prognosis of my future. I’m a…viable option.
“That’s a lot like saying I’m a hail Mary, Doc,” I say, taking the printout of my results from the tech.
“I suppose it is,” he says, his mouth still not quite smiling.
“Is there something you want to say?” I tilt my head, wondering what else he saw in that ultrasound.
His chest lifts with breath, and his nostrils open a little more than normal. Our eyes meet, and after a second, his flutter as he crosses his arms and looks up at the ceiling with a huff.
“Your leg will be just fine, Reed. That’s what I’m saying. Your leg…it will be fine…”
“But my neck…my head…” I fill in, kinda knowing all along what he meant. He’s never been committed either way on this subject. I never asked him, instead getting first and second opinions elsewhere. There’s a reason I did that. He knows what it is.
He gives it to me straight. Straight would take away options. Straight…is cautious.
His chin drops so our eyes meet again squarely, and we stare at one another just long enough for his to flicker with warning. He won’t say it. He’d never do that to me. Doc knows the danger that comes along with putting risk in a player’s head. Doesn’t mean that risk isn’t there, though. And his ethics can’t ignore it completely.
“Right.” I nod and thank him again, leaving in a way that I’m sure has made him uneasy. I’m uneasy. All of it is for nothing, though, because the odds of me getting in a game are so incredibly slim.
I stop in at the head office and deliver the paper to Coach Jenkins, our quarterback coach. He’s not even fully aware as I enter and leave his office until I’m six steps out the door.
“Thanks, Johnson. I’ll let him know,” he shouts, busy with his coordinators working out tonight’s plan. I wave my hand, sure he doesn’t see it.
The rest of the guys won’t be here for a few hours, but I’m not really interested in going home to my empty, sparsely furnished rental condo. I should probably call Noles and tell her the news, only it’s the last thing she wants to hear. I’m not sure I should worry her for no reason, either.
I kick through the main doors out to the lot where my baby is parked in the middle, few other cars here this early. I pull my foot up and step on the top of my driver’s side front tire and stretch the calf that’s just been stamped with approval. It hasn’t hurt in a while. It’ll hurt again. Practice is enough to knock me on my ass for a good two or three days.
I switch legs and stretch the other muscle, then lean through the passenger window and grab my ear pods so I can go for a short run. I pop on the latest playlist Peyton sent me, and do my best not to sound like an old man in my head as I wonder why she likes this crap. Every song sounds the same, and the lyrics don’t mean shit. A mile in, I get to a few songs I know she likes because I introduced her to them. Back-to-back Eminem gets me to the middle of the downtown, and I start to jog where the shade falls from the buildings.
A few people recognize me and give me head nods as I rush by the Starbucks. “They probably just think you’re a regular there,” I muse to myself. I turn down the alley I discovered last week and dip in to the greatest sandwich shop known to man, pulling my ear pods out at mile three and wiping the sweat from my forehead with the bottom of my T-shirt.
“Usual, Reed?” the owner says. His name’s Tony, and his Italian beef is to die for.
“Yes, sir,” I say as I pass through the kitchen and to the hallway for the restroom. A few fans have started to fill the joint, and I run into two or three guys who want to talk strategy with me at the urinal. Why conversations should happen here is beyond me.
I give them my take on the Atlanta defense, which is probably dated, then turn my back a little when I feel their eyes wander a little too low. Not cool, dudes. Not cool.
By the time I wash my hands and sign their jerseys—which are Duke Miller jerseys—Tony is waiting at the end of the hallway with my wrapped meal.
“Here you go, Boss,” he says, his accent thick. He’s from Philly originally, which is why his food is so damn good.
“Ahhh, I love you,” I say, taking my sandwich in my fist and pushing through the back door on the other end. Crates stack up to form makeshift tables. This is where Tony and his brothers eat between the lunch and dinner rushes. He lets me sit out here because I can’t really enjoy my meal with people constantly stopping in to get my commentary on the team. Sometimes, it’s guys who have followed me for years, and they want to relive the past. I don’t mind indulging when I have time, or at least, I don’t mind being nice. But when I’m hungry, I just want to fucking eat.
I stuff half of the sandwich in my mouth within three bites and spend the next six minutes chewing and swallowing. The rumbles in my stomach quiet, and I pull my phone out to get up the courage for what I have to do next.
I pick at the meat, taking a few small tastes while I open Nolan’s info and press CALL. She answers after a few rings, out of breath.
“Hey, bad time?” I ask.
“No, no…one of the horses got out. Kid got spooked. Or maybe he just thought it was time to set him free. I was talking to his mom, and he wandered over.” She breathes a few more times, loud enough that it rattles against the phone. “I’m good. Sorry.”
“You chased a horse. You sure you’re all right?” I chuckle at the thought. I have a visual in my head to help. I’ve seen her do it twice, and once was my fault.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It was Paisley, and she’s slow.”
I smile to myself, a little sad I missed it. Not because it was funny or anything, but just because I missed it and it’s familiar—home.
“I talked to Jason.” I wait for a second as her breath normalizes and her throat makes a soft grunting sound.
“Yeah?” She’s still pissed. She’s going to be hard to convince.
“They’re in love, Noles.”
My wife laughs so loud and hard that she starts to cough. I squint and brace myself for her knee-jerk reaction.
“No, they’re not.”
And there it is.
“I said the same thing to him. I threw down the bullshit card, but he had an answer for it all. He didn’t bend or break. There wasn’t a joke to be found, or some dirty comment or crass thing he said about hookups. Have you talked to Sarah?”
“I think she’s too embarrassed because they got caught. She hasn’t answered my text yet, and this is the first morning since I can’t even remember that she wasn’t scrounging for food in our fridge. This isn’t love, Reed. Your brother is good at bluffing, and maybe they’re caught up in the game of it. It’s new, ya know?”
She’s going to be hurt when I tell her this.
“Six months.”
Sudden silence takes over the other end of the line, and I start to think I lost her when I hear her breathe out.
“He got a ring, Noles.”
“Wow,” she says, her voice soft and sincere.
“Right? That’s what I said.”
“In love, huh?” She sounds sort of detached. I think she’s hurt that her best friend kept this from her. For a minute, I felt the same way when Jason told me, but I got his reasons. I would have been relentless. Maybe Sarah thought Nolan would have forbade it. She might have. Jason…he’s not easy. She would have wanted to protect her friend.
“You can’t say anything about the ring. He has it all planned out, and I was sworn to secrecy, but me and you don’t have secrets.” I swallow my words too late. That right there is a lie, or at least, it has been. We did have secrets. Those hidden things are what got us into this place we are now. She caught that, too, which is why she hasn’t answered.
“Sorry,” I say finally, and she knows what for.
“I won’t say anything,” she says. Her words are raspy, heavy with thought and double meaning.
I’m no longer hungry; it has nothing to do with Tony’s food. I wrap the other half of my sandwich up, stand and raise my hand as I pass by the open doorway to gesture thanks to his brother as I pass. I need to walk for this next part of our conversation.
“In other news…” That’s such a lame transition, and I scrunch my face and wish I’d brought sunglasses now that I’m moving along the main road. A few cars honk, and the number of OKC jerseys on the street is growing by the minute. I’m the famous has-been, which means I’ll be nice and always say “Sure, I’ll take a selfie.”
“Hang on,” I say, while two drunk men in Atlanta jerseys sandwich me for a photo that I’m sure they’re going to hashtag with some unflattering shit later, but whatever.
“Reed, you sound busy. It’s okay…”
“No, no…” I excuse myself from the cluster of football fans starting to congregate near a beer garden and duck into a convenience store, weaving into the aisle that sells motor oil and paper towels.
“I was out for a run, and it’s game day.” I glance around with relief when the store is virtually empty minus the steady stream of people buying beer. No wanderers; if I stay here, I’ll be fine.
“Out for a run, huh?”
I didn’t really mean to leave her a clue. I haven’t been running much, which I miss. I wouldn’t run, either…unless it was okay for me to.
“Yeah,” I sigh, and let the silence fill in the blanks for a while. She’s not going to ask for details. There really aren’t many. If I give them to her, she’ll feel better.
“Calf is all good to go. Not that it’s going to do much more than pace around behind Jenkins, nodding that he’s giving Duke good advice. Really, it’s just a formality that I’m quote-unquote healthy.” I end with a nervous laugh.
“Yeah…yeah. I know. I guess I just wasn’t expecting it. I got used to injuries taking longer, I guess…” Her volume falls with those last few words, probably at the realization that I am always the one living with those injuries—living through them.
“Anyhow. I just wanted to tell you before…”
“Before I saw the ticker during pre-game or heard it come out of Terry’s mouth on TV?” She’s joking, but only partially.
I laugh a short sound to acknowledge her.
“I have a good part to this, though,” I start.
“Reed, I’m glad you’re healthy. It’s good news,” she interjects.
“I know. But…” I stop there, because we could do this back and forth all night. I’d miss my game standing here in the four-foot automotive aisle rehashing our guilt. I won’t. “The good news is I’m traveling to L.A. with the team. Backup quarterback duties and all. I thought maybe I could meet you in Santa Fe for the services and we could make a road trip together.”
“That far…in the Jeep?”
I laugh loudly this time, and I pop up from crouching down to make sure I didn’t blow my cover. One guy looks my direction, but he turns his attention right back to his phone. Cover intact.
“We can take the Tahoe,” I say, a little sad because me, her and the Jeep have history. And if we take the Tahoe, she has to drive it to Santa Fe alone. I don’t want her to be alone on that stretch of highway.
She hums, thinking about it for a few seconds, and finally agrees to my idea. It’s actually the first thing I thought about when Doc said I was cleared. It’s been years since I traveled anywhere far by road with her. This might just be our shot to right this ship.
“How’s Peyton?” My chest hasn’t stopped twisting with this adolescent need for vengeance on her behalf. Nobody wants their kid to hurt, especially in their heart.
“She’ll live,” Nolan says.
“I can’t believe I liked that kid. I feel so…duped.”
Nolan laughs softly.
“You know…you weren’t exactly perfect either when you were that age.” There’s a wryness to her tone that cuts right into me.
I sniffle and look down at my feet, then glance up again at the sound of the bell tied to the store door. If Bryce is anything like me, he’s feeling like shit right now. I wasn’t ignorant to the effects of my actions. I just lacked that little kick in my brain to stop me before I carried through with the bad ideas. I always felt guilty after. More than guilty—I felt unworthy. I wanted to punish myself, and protect her from me hurting her again.
“Things I will spend a lifetime making up to you,” I say, dead serious.
“You already have,” she answers.
The heaviness in my chest says I still have a long way to go, though.
“I gotta get your dad moving. Call me after the game?”
I quirk my lip up in a half smile. I remember when she used to watch, not willing to miss a single move I made on that field. I thought for a while she took notes, because our late-night conversations included so many details. She knew every damn play I made. Nothing for her to watch anymore.
“Tell him I miss him,” I say, adding “Love you.” She says it back, and a second later I’m standing by trash bags and wiper blades all alone.