by Alexa Martin
I shake my head, but only to disguise the way my heart is threatening to explode out of my chest.
“Come on,” TK says, turning to me.
I have no idea what he’s talking about. I just know there’s not a chance he’s ruffling my curls.
I stare at him with a blank expression for a second before he explains. “Kiss me,” he says.
Oh.
That I can do.
I lean forward and touch my lips to his, keeping my hands firmly planted on the guardrail so I don’t fall over.
Bloggers and fans be damned.
“Thanks, Sparks.” He pulls away, tugging a curl before he puts on his helmet and runs to the sideline.
“Gross,” Ace says.
I laugh and yank him into my side, laying a kiss on his cheek.
“Mom!” He wipes off his cheek and stomps up the steps back to our seats . . . which only makes me laugh harder.
I follow him, acutely aware of the eyes on me. Some are appreciative, some in shock, some envious. I add a little more swing to my step, trying to act unaffected. I know it works when I slide back into my seat and Charli gives me a high five.
“You better walk those steps,” she snaps. “Jacqueline couldn’t have looked better.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch,” I say. “But I appreciate it.”
The crowd starts to go wild and draws our attention back to the field, where the Mustangs are spread out, prepared to receive the kickoff. The cheering grows louder, rising in a crescendo as the Raiders’ kicker makes contact with the ball. It sails high over the players’ heads, soaring past the end zone. The crowd moans with disappointment, wanting to see a return, but changes its tune and starts cheering as TK, Peter, and Crosby jog onto the field with the rest of the offense. They line up on the twenty-five yard line, the O-line shifting back and forth until Peter is satisfied.
Peter does his quarterback jig and then, like a shot, the ball is in his hands and orange and black jerseys are going at it. The huge linemen are shoving and tugging at one another, trying to protect or attack Peter. TK’s running down the field trying to best the defender keeping up with him. Peter fakes a throw but hands the ball off to Jaxon Cramer, the running back.
Jaxon makes it only a few yards before a Raiders’ player wraps him up and brings him down. Even though it wasn’t a big play, the crowd still cheers—happy for any forward progress.
The next play starts and Peter passes the ball to Jaxon again. This time, he doesn’t go anywhere.
I know I claim not to know much about football, but I do know that even though they have four tries to get ten yards, they really have only three. Because of this immense knowledge of the sport, my hackles don’t rise when the crowd starts to get a little restless.
“Throw the fuckin’ ball, Bremner, you fucking bum!” the man one row back and a few seats over shouts.
“How about you go out there and try to do better?” I snap.
Okay. So I lied about staying calm.
The guy ignores me but Ace doesn’t. Ace hides his face behind his hands, trying to conceal his laughter. He must not know the shaking of his shoulders and the snorts against his palms kinda give it away.
Back on the field, TK is running to Peter. He leans in for a millisecond before jogging out farther to the sideline. Peter stomps his legs and claps his hand—maybe doing the hokey pokey—before shouting for the ball. It’s a perfect snap and the offense hold their men with pinpoint precision, giving Peter plenty of time to find his target.
But Peter doesn’t need time. Just as the ball is snapped, TK takes off with his defensive counterpart. He sprints about ten yards and then cuts so suddenly, the defender trips over his own feet. TK crosses the field, his hand raised in the air. Peter spots him over the helmets of the linemen and fires the ball right into TK’s chest.
The catch is effortless and well past what they needed for a first down. The crowd, already on their feet, goes ballistic. Jumping up and down, punching the sky and high-fiving their neighbors (hopefully not getting those two mixed up) and chanting “MOOORRRRRREEE.” Next to me, Ace’s curls are flying around, hitting me in the shoulder, and I can already hear the hoarseness setting in from his screams.
TK takes off down the field, dodging one defender at the fifty-yard line, then getting wrapped up with another. But because he’s TK, he doesn’t go down. He plants his powerful legs into the turf and digs in, wrestling and fighting for as many yards as he can get.
Then it happens.
Again.
Out of nowhere, the player who fell when the play began runs to help his teammate take TK down. I don’t know if it’s adrenaline from the game or an ego that’s been bruised, but even though TK is wrapped up in a Raiders’ player’s arms and has nowhere to go, number 27—the rat—lunges forward, helmet first, aiming right at TK’s head.
I see it happening this time.
Probably because the last time has been playing on a wicked loop every time I close my eyes.
I step in front of Ace, hoping I’m wrong and just being paranoid but not wanting Ace to see in case I’m right.
And I know it all happens in a split second, but I swear to God, from my seat in the stands, it’s a slow-motion movie.
The crack of the helmets, TK’s helmet flying off him—his mouthguard not far behind—and his body going limp just before it hits the ground.
Unlike last time, there are no shouts from the stands. No moans of sympathetic pain.
It’s dead silent. In a place where I can’t hear myself think, you can now hear a pin drop.
So it’s easy to hear players from both teams shouting to the sidelines for help while others immediately drop to a knee next to TK’s unmoving body, even number 27.
I watch, frozen to the spot, as the Mustang coaches and trainers rush to the field, pushing players away, creating space for the medics already making their way to TK. The hit replays on the JumboTron, actually in slow motion this time, and competes with my mind. I screw my eyes shut, trying to block it out. Thinking to minutes ago when I dropped a kiss on TK’s lips. To last night, lying in bed, his heavy thigh draped over mine as we fell asleep. Me stupidly agreeing to come to another game. Me pretending I could tag along for the ride while it lasted.
Ace’s sniffling pulls me out of my stupor.
I turn around to look at him, hoping I was able to shield him from the worst of it, but his face is ashen and his beautiful green eyes are haunted as they focus on the screen above the end zone.
I reach for him, realizing Charli’s hand is locked in mine, squeezing hard, trying to evoke a comfort that, quite frankly, doesn’t exist. I try to smile at her before I pull my hand away.
“Let’s go, buddy.” I move the nachos from his lap and put his drink in the cup holder in front of him, but he doesn’t move. He’s staring, his eyes glazed over and unseeing, at the field, where TK’s still lying on the ground, surrounded by teammates on a knee with their heads dropped in prayer. Color has returned to Ace’s face, but it’s green. I know he might seek emancipation if I pick him up and carry him out of this stadium, but I’m willing to chance it. “Ace.”
His head snaps up, the sudden movement forcing the tears brimming in his eyes to fall over.
“Come on,” I whisper.
He nods, swiping at his cheeks, not wanting anyone to see he’s crying, and puts on a brave face. He looks up at me, then reaches his hand to mine, locking our fingers together. “It’s fine, Mom,” he whispers back. “It’s gonna be okay.”
I know he’s not talking about TK. I know he sees through me just as quickly as I see through him. And it makes me feel equal parts proud and guilty. We’ve been through a lot together, and as much as he looks like and worships TK, he’s still my boy.
Always will be.
“I know.” I nudge my head toward the aisle
and tighten my grip in his. “Ready?”
He takes a deep breath, knowing without me telling him that this is our last time in Mile High Stadium. “Yeah, Mom.” He smiles, it’s weak, and his dimple is nowhere to be seen, but it’s still a smile and I’ll take what I can get. “I’m ready.”
“Call me?” Charli asks, also forcing a smile, but all I see are the streaks in her makeup and melted mascara.
“Of course,” I lie.
We haven’t known each other long enough for her to catch the lie and I feel the stab of guilt when she leans in and hugs me, whispering in my ear, “TK’s a beast. He’ll be fine.”
I don’t say anything because I can’t lie again.
And we both know he won’t be.
Fucking football.
Thirty-seven
A small silver lining is that Mrs. Duncan is a huge Mustangs fan, so the phone doesn’t even finish one full ring before she picks up.
“I’ll meet you at your house,” she answers without a hello. “Tell Ace I’m bringing peach cobbler.”
“Thank you.” I let out the deep breath I’ve been holding.
Just like last time, the Mustangs trainers called me to give me an update on TK and tell me to come see him.
But unlike last time, he’s not in the training room. Instead, he’s being transferred to Saint Joseph Hospital, where he’ll be under observation overnight.
“Mrs. D says she’s bringing you cobbler.” I look at Ace in my rearview mirror. “And I’m sure she won’t mind if you invite Jayden over.”
“Jayden’s at the game,” he says to the window.
Crap.
I know he wants to see TK, but I also know the last time we were at Saint Joseph, we were saying our final good-byes to Maya. Seeing his dad in the same place will be too much. I suspect he knows it, too, which is why he didn’t fight me when I said I was going to drop him off at home.
“Are you okay?” I ask him, even though I know he’s not. “It’s okay to be worried and sad.”
“I’m fine.” He keeps his eyes focused on the fogged-over window. “Tell TK I said I hope he feels better.”
God.
My nose begins to burn as my vision clouds over and I damn near bite through my bottom lip trying to hold back the river of tears threatening to break free.
TK. Not Dad.
I want to punch my steering wheel and scream at the top of my lungs. I’m pissed at TK for putting us in this situation. Pissed with myself for letting TK burrow so deep into our lives that now I can almost see the hole forming in Ace’s heart. I want to rip apart the freaking world.
I don’t.
I tap my brake and check my speed. Because that’s my job. Has been since I walked out of a clinic and away from my parents ten years ago. I hold myself together. I make sure Ace is safe, mentally and physically.
I slipped up.
But I know for damn sure it won’t happen again.
Not ever.
We pull up to the house at the same time Mrs. Duncan opens the door to her Camry, climbing out of the car with a giant metal tray.
“Go help,” I tell Ace.
He nods and opens the door, plastering a big, fake smile on his face as he goes. “I can carry that, Mrs. D.”
“Why, thank you, young man,” Mrs. Duncan says, doubt in her voice.
She knows he’s full of it too.
Ace grabs the cobbler from her and pushes through the nonsqueaking gate. My eyes follow him for a second before they meet Mrs. Duncan’s worried ones.
“Here’s the key. Ace knows how to work the alarm.” I drop the key in her palm. “I shouldn’t be gone too long.”
Her warm hand wraps around mine, her grip strong even in her old age. She catches my gaze and whispers with a force I’ve never heard from her, “Maya would’ve liked him.”
I close my eyes and shake my head, not wanting to hear this.
“No.”
“Yes,” she says. “I know you want to run. Maya knew it too, said you’d never get serious with anyone because that boy right there”—she points to Ace, who is watching us from the porch—“had your whole heart. But if she would’ve seen you these last few months, she would’ve known she was wrong. Ace has your heart, but TK has it too.” She squeezes my hand tighter before letting it go. “Don’t you run, girl.”
“It’s . . .” I stop, struggling to find the right words. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is,” she says before turning on a kitten heel, joining Ace, and disappearing into the house.
I get back into my car and drive to Saint Joseph Hospital, fighting not to let her words sink in. Knowing in my heart that, as much as I’ve enjoyed these last few months, the inevitable has finally arrived.
* * *
• • •
I HATE HOSPITALS.
Even the parking lots are filled with so much sadness it threatens to break me before I step foot inside.
I walk in the entrance, ignoring the gift shop and the front desk. Walking with blinders as families huddle together, talking in hushed voices about loved ones suffering, thinking of plans to move forward after their lives have been ripped to shreds. Probably from some freak accident they never saw coming, not in a million years.
Not me.
I knew. TK knew. Yet here we are because I was too afraid to make him choose.
Too afraid he wouldn’t choose me.
And now the decision’s been made for us.
I push the elevator button to the floor the trainer told me on the phone. I ignore the older couple standing next to me with a young girl wearing a shirt that says BIG SISTER in bright pink with a matching bow in her hair, hating myself for the resentment their happiness causes me. Furious I let myself dream of a future where Ace held a baby girl in his arms, staring into her matching green eyes.
I swipe at the tears falling uninvited as the doors slide open. I move down the hallway, trying not to think of the plans that will never happen and focusing only on what needs to be said.
I have the speech rehearsed when I reach TK’s room, but as soon as I pull open the curtain and catch sight of him, my mind goes blank.
He’s lying back, his eyes screwed shut in a way I know to mean he’s trying to fight pain and not sleeping. His big, strong body suddenly seems so small and frail in the hospital bed. His coloring is off and his hair is a knotted mess.
And he’s still the handsomest man I’ve ever set eyes on.
There’s a nurse in the room looking at the monitors next to his bed, then down to her iPad while she enters the information.
She notices me first.
“Can I help you?” She narrows her eyes, probably thinking I’m some rabid fan trying to get a piece of TK.
My mind, a swirling mess of chaos, doesn’t have an answer. Can she help me? Ha. Nobody can help me. Nobody.
“Hey, Sparks.” TK cracks his eyes open for a second but then groans in pain and screws them shut again.
My stomach twists.
I hate seeing him in pain, but I hate even more that I won’t be helping him through this.
“Hey,” I whisper.
I walk to the open side of his bed and ignore the annoyed eyes of the nurse while she finishes.
“If you need anything, the button for the nurses’ station is on the remote,” Nurse Bitchy tells TK, throwing one more nasty look my way before she leaves.
I want to reassure her I’ll be out of her way in no time, but I keep my mouth shut. She’ll find out soon enough.
“Where’s Ace?” TK asks after the nurse closes the curtain behind her, darkening the room again.
My hand is resting on the rail of his bed when he reaches out to grab it. His fingers graze my skin and just that small touch sends electricity through my veins. I pull away, stepping out of
his reach before he can do it again.
“Mrs. Duncan is watching him.” I school my voice, keeping it even and unattached.
“What’s wrong with you?” TK asks with more than a small amount of anger in his voice.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
He blinks hard and jerks against the pillows supporting his head.
“I know.” He struggles to keep his eyes open even in the shadows of his room. “I told you one more game and this bullshit happened. I know I’m not gonna get you to come to more.”
“That’s not what I mean.” I want to go to him. My fingers are aching to touch his face and run through his hair, but I shove them in my back pockets and stay where I am. “I can’t do this anymore. You and me. It’s not going to work.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Poppy?” He struggles to sit up, the pain in his eyes chased away by anger.
“I told you I’d never make you choose between me and football, and I’m not.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I keep going before he can interrupt. “But I can’t do this. I’m not meant for this life. I can deal with the blogs and the crazy fans pulling at you wherever we go. But what I can’t do is sit by idly while you kill yourself every Sunday so you can live in some mansion in Parker.”
“You’re fucking ridiculous,” he spits, his rage acting as a much more effective painkiller than whatever the hospital gave him. “You’re making shit up because you’re fucking afraid and it’s bullshit. You run when shit gets hard. You ran when you were pregnant. You ran when you saw me. And you’re running now. That’s your shit. Don’t put it on Ace and me.”
I fight the urge to flinch. I know they say words can’t hurt you, but his words make my stomach lurch and the acid in his voice makes my skin burn.
“He called you TK.” I surprise myself with how strong my voice comes out. “I told him I was coming to see you and he said, ‘Tell TK I said to feel better.’”