Cole called out the play and caught the snap from the center.
“Yeah, they’ve asked him about it in interviews, but he never says what it’s all about. What a dipwad.” Dallas shook his head and took a swig of his Mt. Dew.
“He’s not a dipwad,” I said.
I felt Jemma’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the game.
Cole.
It was just too much.
I wouldn’t talk about him. No one would understand even if I did.
The game went by in a blur. My friends cheered and jeered depending on the plays and with five minutes to play in the fourth quarter the game was tied at twenty-four. All I could see was Cole.
The Trojans received the ball after an Irish touchdown. And as much as I loved my school and had rooted for the Trojans all season, I wanted Cole to win. He’d had a fantastic game, throwing for over two hundred and fifty yards with two touchdowns. My body was almost in pain from all the tension rolling through it. Poor Malcolm had given up on talking to me and sat beside me with his arms crossed and a perplexed look on his face.
“OOOhhhhh!” Our living room erupted with dismay. The Trojans star running back had just taken a hard hit sending the ball tumbling from his arms.
“Notre Dame recovers the ball!” the commentator announced.
The Irish sideline was in a frenzy. The camera zeroed in on Cole, who was jumping up and down bouncing off the chests of his teammates. I couldn’t hold back my smile if I tried.
“Oh, my hell, Jo! Are you rooting for Notre Dame?” Dallas looked appalled. Jemma was no longer on his lap and he’d scooted to the edge of his seat in all the excitement.
I shook my head. “What? No.”
Lie.
“I can’t believe you!” Suddenly, I was public enemy number one.
“Guys!” I shouted over the noise. “Watch the game.”
Cole ran out on the field and I pushed thoughts of my friends and team rivalries to the back of my mind. Gosh, he just got better with time. More than once, the camera had stopped on Cole where he sat on the sidelines with his helmet off. He looked older, more mature than the last time I’d seen him. Broader. His chin and cheeks, darker with the promise of thick whiskers. His dark blonde hair looked almost brown as it fell in waves over his forehead.
He looked good. So, so, good. I missed him.
Cole caught the snap and pumped his arm back to throw, his gaze scanning the field in front of him. First and ten, Irish! They ran the next play, gaining three yards. Second and seven. Cole caught the snap. Trojans blitz.
“OOhhh,” the room around me erupted again.
“Cole!” The strangled scream ripped from my throat. Not caring what anyone thought, I climbed over the coffee table until I was right in front of the tv.
Cole lay unmoving at the bottom of the pile of USC defenders.
Chapter 27
Joie
“Oh, my gosh. Joie, are you okay?” Jemma was there beside me, her arms wrapping around my shoulders as I watched medical personnel rush onto the field.
“Cole, come on. Move!” I screamed again. Reflexively, I reached into my pocket for my phone and pulled up Cole’s name on my contact list. My thumb hovered over his name. Which was stupid because he was laying unmoving on the football field.
“Joie! That says Cole. As in Cole Parker? Do you know him?” Jemma was looking at me like I’d grown another head. But I didn’t have time for that. Cole was hurt.
“He’s moving,” Sam said behind me, his voice subdued, and it pulled me out of a trance. Self-consciously, I glanced around the room. My friends were all watching me, their expressions ranging from shock to concern. Malcolm just looked curious.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m sorry.” My cheeks flamed, and I reached up to touch them surprised to find they were wet with tears. Tears? I didn’t know-
“He’s okay, Jo,” Jemma consoled, still beside me. She pointed to the screen where they were lifting Cole onto one of those carts. He was awake now and at least one arm was moving. I glanced down at my phone again, dying to talk to him, to make sure he was okay. Maybe I should call Mrs. Parker. I watched as the game went to a commercial break.
“I’m sorry, guys.” And I was. How embarrassing. I had no idea how to explain my behavior to my friends.
“You know that guy,” Dallas asked.
Rising off the floor, I skirted around the recliner and made my way into the kitchen. This situation called for some caffeine. I yanked open the fridge and reached for another Dr. Pepper. After popping the top, I took a long draw, the acidic liquid burning a pleasant trail down my throat. Turning away from the open fridge door, I kicked it closed with my foot and ran right into Jemma and Dallas. They posed a solid front of concern and curiosity.
Admitting defeat, I sat on the bar stool beside the counter. “Cole and I went to school together. We’ve been neighbors since we were little kids.”
“What?” Jemma sank onto the stool beside me. “How have you never told me that?”
Stalling, I considered about how much more I wanted to tell them. It wouldn’t do me any good to dredge up all the emotional baggage that was me and Cole.
“So... what? You guys were childhood friends? Are you still friends?” Leave it to Dallas to cut to the chase. He could be so cut and dried sometimes.
I shrugged, thinking about the way I’d left things with Cole. I wondered how he would characterize us now. Were we friends? Probably not.
“It’s back on!” someone shouted from the living room.
Sliding off the stool, I started toward the tv. Cole’s backup was on the field. I didn’t care about the game anymore. I just wanted to hear an update on Cole. I looked at the phone in my hand, so tempted to call Mrs. Parker or at least text. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t.
Notre Dame scored even with the backup quarterback and when they kicked the ball back to the Trojans, USC couldn’t return the favor. The Irish won the game. No one said anything about Cole until the post-game show when the head coach was interviewed. I couldn’t turn away from the tv until I heard how Cole was doing.
Apparently, my concern had transferred to my friends. Not one of them left until after the press conference. According to the coach, Cole was stable, alert, but in a lot of pain. And that was all he would say, refusing to discuss Cole’s future playing football either in the Bowl game in two weeks or ever. It was very dissatisfying. I wanted more. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. How was he? Was he going to recover? Would he still be able to play? I wanted to know, and my heart was breaking to think of a world where Cole couldn’t play football.
Later, after the game, after the interviews, I sat on the porch and tried to get my emotions under control. I couldn’t even understand why I was so out of sorts. I hadn’t spoken to Cole in over two years. Not since graduation.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Malcolm slid down to the concrete beside me. He really was handsome with his copper colored hair curling attractively over his forehead. Bright green eyes shone in his appealing face. I admired his chiseled features, his soft voice. He was a genuinely nice man and I knew if I gave him some encouragement...something could be there. Between us.
Against my will, my thoughts turned back to Cole. Would thoughts of Cole always interfere when I faced another man? The idea was discouraging.
“Yeah, I am.” Neither of us found it necessary to look at the other. Instead, we kept our gazes forward. The street out front was busy with students walking. Snatches of conversation about the game reached us as well as discussions of the evenings selection of post-game parties.
“So, Cole Parker, huh.” It wasn’t really a question.
Sighing, I let my head fall back. The clear California sky seemed so different from the air that settled above South Bend. For the first time ever, I missed home.
“Cole and I grew up together. He lived in the house across the street.”
Malcolm sat silently for a moment. “Acquaintance
?”
“Best friend.” The words didn’t do us justice, but I didn’t know which ones would.
“Boyfriend?”
“Not the way you think.” And that was the truth. Had Cole and I ever been on a date? Had he ever picked me up and taken me to a movie? Dinner? Didn’t you have to date someone to consider them a boyfriend? Cole had been a boyfriend to many girls at our high school, but we were different. “It wasn’t like that.”
Again, Malcolm was silent as he considered my words. “But you love him.” This wasn’t a question, either.
I couldn’t do this. I didn’t want to face this. I rose from the porch and stepped toward the front door. Probably, I needed to lock myself in the bathroom and take a long bath. “See you later, Malcolm.”
“Yeah. See you later.”
Chapter 28
Joie
I struggled with myself for two weeks. Battled every moment. Every break at work. Every walk between classes. Each night as I laid in bed. I wanted to reach out to him. How many times had Cole been there for me? There were too many to count. Had I ever been there for him? Had he ever needed me to be?
It was a time for reflection. Introspection. Something I’d been talking to my therapist about lately haunted me. For so many years, I’ve lived with this resentment. This almost blinding rage. I wasn’t oblivious to the pain and suffering of others, I knew I wasn’t the only one who had hard things to deal with. I was just overly conscious of those who seemed to live a charmed life. Overly sensitive. And no one lived a more charmed life than Cole Parker. I’d come to realize that as thankful as I have been for Cole, as much as I have loved him (and I could now admit that I did love him), I’ve also hated him. I have hated every perfect thing about Cole and his perfect life.
That Saturday, watching Cole play football for one of the most elite teams in the country, a new emotion joined the resentment and threatened to overtake it- pride. I was so proud of him. I couldn’t help but think of that little boy, the one with the blonde hair that bounced with every step as a little child. The one who was my best friend in the entire world. He’d made it. He was playing college football. Starting quarterback. And I wasn’t there to share it with him.
Something else I’ve been trying to overcome during my talks with my therapist, was my feelings about letting people into my life. Trusting. I’d been robbed of that basic human instinct by parents that were never there for me when I needed them, parents who constantly put their own needs and desires above mine- above their duty to me as their child. She helped me to understand that during the time in my life when my parents should have been fostering in me the ability to trust, they constantly let me down until I couldn’t trust anyone. Even the one who had been there for me over and over again- Cole.
These realizations took time and it was even longer before I could accept them. I still haven’t gotten over all of it and maybe I never would, but I was coming to the conclusion that I didn’t want to be alone and that was different from needing to not be alone. My mother needed someone like she needed air. I didn’t want to be that dependent on anyone. What I’ve finally realized- I wanted someone in my life. I wanted Cole. I only hoped it wasn’t too late.
And so there I was, laying on my bed, phone in hand. My contacts list opened to Cole’s information. I’d been following his progress online. A few days after the game, Notre Dame’s head coach released the information that Cole had suffered a concussion in that hit during the game. But that wasn’t all. He’d also suffered a career ending injury to his shoulder. An MRI revealed that his rotator cuff had been completely shredded. Cole would be facing surgery and months of rehabilitation.
I was devastated for him. All Cole ever wanted to do was play football. And now he wouldn’t.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard on my phone. One click. Just one click and I could text him. But what would I say?
Come on! Stop being such a chicken! This was Cole! I knew him. We used to pee in the same hole in his backyard for goodness sake. I knew his favorite candy was banana Laffy Taffy and Iron Man was his favorite Avenger. I knew he wore Ninja Turtle underwear until middle school and Darth Vader was his secret man-crush. I knew he had a soft spot for his sister and used to let her dress him up for tea parties in her bedroom. But mostly, I knew that I loved him. And I knew I wanted to need him. It was a choice. A choice I was finally willing to make.
And so, I sent the text.
I am so, so sorry.
And waited.
Cole
That was it. I would never play football again. I didn’t pay any attention to the doctor after he said those words. I didn’t listen when he talked about permanent nerve damage or that I would be lucky to have full use of my arm after surgery. Who cared? I would never throw the ball again in a college game. I would never have the chance to enter the NFL Draft. I was done. The years of
demanding work and sacrifice- for nothing. I would lose my scholarship. It was over.
“It’s going to be okay, honey.” My mom’s worried face was never far from my periphery. She and my dad had been at the game, waiting anxiously outside the locker room while the docs checked me out after taking the worst hit of my football career. I knew in my heart they got it. They understood and felt awful about the news. But it wasn’t them. It was me. My dreams had been shattered. And I just didn’t know how to handle it. I was angry. And sad. And hurt. It hurt in every conceivable way.
Pain.
Pain always reminded me of Joie. Losing my dream of playing football was almost as bad as losing my dream of Joie. As the days passed after the game, I found my thoughts turning to Joie more and more. I missed her. I wanted her with me. It was crazy. Irrational. I hadn’t seen her at all since graduation. I knew she was out in California. At USC of all places. How incredibly ironic that my dreams would be ruined during a game against her school. I wondered if she’d watched. If she’d seen me play. If she recognized my salute to her. It was silly, I know. But it was tradition and I never wanted her to forget that I loved her. So, before every snap of every game I’ve ever played since that day when we were kids, I’ve pounded my fist over my heart to remind me of her.
I shook my head and looked at my phone in my hand. I’d pulled up her name on my contacts list a hundred times since meeting with the doctor. I just wanted to talk to her. To tell her everything. That I was sorry. That I missed her. That I still wanted her with every cell of my body.
They were coming in an hour to get me for surgery. My parents would be back any moment. I just wanted to be left alone. Unless, of course, by some miracle they were bringing Joie with them. I shouldn’t feel that way. I knew they loved me and were worried sick. It was suffocating, and I wished I could escape their concern. I really am a selfish idiot.
My phone buzzed in my hand. I glanced down out of pure habit and my heart almost stopped.
It was her.
I am so, so sorry.
A barrage of emotions battled inside me.
Anger.
Longing.
Resentment.
Desire.
Desperation. Shock.
She was sorry? For what?
Leaving me?
Not needing me?
Chewing up my heart and spitting it out into the dust?
Allowing me to save her time and time again and only to push me away?
I was itching to respond. But I didn’t know what to say. And honestly, I didn’t have time to think about it. I heard my parents down the hall and knew any second, they would be at the door to the hospital room I’d been shown to that morning. I stared at the screen.
“Oh, baby. Are you ready for this?” My mom rushed through the door of the hospital room to my side. Gingerly, I raised my arm and patted her back and pressed the button to turn off my phone. I didn’t need to focus on that right now. My injuries had been a blow not only to myself, but to my family. I knew my parents loved me and wanted the best for me. A career ending injury was not part of anyone�
�s plans and my parents were taking it hard. I knew they were disappointed for my sake.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” And that was the truth. It had been two weeks since the game and I was ready to get this over with.
It wasn’t long before the anesthesiologist came in and explained everything he was doing as he hooked up machines and started medicine in an IV drip. Nurses and doctors fluttered around the room while my parents were shuffled to the side. One nurse lowered the hospital bed, so I was lying flat on my back. The lights on the ceiling seemed overly bright as the sounds in the room faded.
“We love you, Cole,” were the last words I heard before my world faded to black, but my thoughts were on Joie.
And why she was sorry.
Chapter 29
Cole
Surgery sucked. I hated everything about what was happening to my body. I couldn’t move the way I wanted to, the way I used to. I couldn’t get dressed by myself. I could barely eat on my own. I wanted my old life back. This new reality was crushing me.
I’ve always been active. I’ve always been independent. I’ve never had to rely on anyone the way I’ve had to rely on my mom and dad- even my little sister, who wasn’t so little anymore.
“Do you need anything before I go?” Macy asked from the doorway of my room. I moved back home before my surgery. I was finishing my classes online. It had all been worked out with my professors. Joy. Something else I couldn’t do on my own. I couldn’t even use the computer without someone else typing.
“I’m good.” I wouldn’t admit I needed help right now if I was visibly bleeding to death.
Macy rolled her eyes at my tone. “Dad will be home in about an hour.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t set the house on fire. I won’t play with knives. I don’t know where dad hides the keys to the liquor cabinet. There. Satisfied now that I won’t do anything stupid?” It was childish, but I just couldn’t seem to stop myself.
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