My mom planted her backside on the edge of my bed. “He’s not here,” she said softly.
“Oh, I know, I didn’t expect…” I looked at her face, and she was sporting that familiar, apologetic smile she always gave me whenever my dad would miss one of my meets. I realized she was talking about my father, not Cal. “Where is he?” I asked, more out of habit than anything else. It wasn’t like I wanted to see him, anyway. He had a way of making a bad day worse.
“Believe it or not, you’ve been in and out of it for more than twelve hours. It’s Saturday,” she said as if that explained it all. “But he’s going to be so happy you’re awake when I tell him!” She rubbed my foot gently beneath the blanket.
The hot cocoa burned my tongue but I swallowed it anyway because it masked the taste of bile in my throat.
Saturday. Playoff day for Dad’s favorite college team.
“Nice,” I muttered. “Well, we wouldn’t want him to miss a game full of strangers playing with a ball on the television set.”
My mother cleared her throat and looked away as Flora rubbed her hands and cleared her throat.
“Hey,” she said, snapping her fingers and heading for the door. “I’m going to go get myself a bagel. Be back in a few…”
“K,” I said, working up a smile for her, half-wishing I could call her back and avoid “the talk” I was surely about to endure, but half-glad not to have our family drama aired in front of more people I cared about.
She left the room and my mother reached over to stroke my hair.
“He really did want to come, Bee, but you know how he is...”
I was all ready to pull away. To open my mouth and lay my mom low for her pathetic excuses.
But then I saw them.
Two trails of dried tears in her carefully-applied make-up.
My mother was a pro at putting on the plastic smile and fussing with her make-up to hide even her darkest days.
But she couldn’t hide this time.
And it hit me.
My father didn’t have to care. Maybe she wasn’t good at showing it, and maybe she was a royal pain in the ass sometimes, but my mother cared enough for the two of them. My dad was an asshole. Nothing would make the leopard change his spots. My mom knew that, and she’d made peace with it for the sake of her marriage. That was her choice. And it was her life to lead.
For me? I had a mom. I had Flora. I had my health. That was a lot more than most people.
The bitterness that had been my constant companion, bubbling just beneath the surface, snuffed out like a suddenly dormant volcano and I felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest.
“Mom,” I said softly. “I just want to say thanks.”
She pulled away and studied me. “For what?”
I shrugged. “For being here. For being everywhere, when I needed you. What I said on Thursday, about you staying with Dad…I don’t think any less of you. In fact, I appreciate everything you’ve done, because I know a lot of it was for me. I might never think Dad’s a good parent, but you? I think you’re pretty awesome. And I love you.”
She hugged me, and more tears sprang to her eyes. She quickly wiped them away. “I love you, too, dear. Now don’t make me mess my mascara again!” She stood, all aflutter, clearly desperate to escape and deal with her unseemly emotions in private. “I’m going to go for a little bit and let your young man have a chance to visit with you.”
I stared at her, mouth agape, sure I must’ve hit my head so hard I was hearing things. “My young man?”
She shook her head and furrowed her brow. “Yes. Callum?”
I couldn’t breathe. Then I looked down at my greasy hair and my hospital gown and ran my tongue over my teeth. I hadn’t brushed them in, well, forever.
“You mean, he’s here?” I squeaked out.
She nodded, and managed a teary smile. “He was here all night. They wouldn’t let all of us in the room so he slept in the waiting room.” She stepped to the door and said, “We really have him to thank that you’re all right. He’s the one who found you, you know.”
I blinked and I found myself back there again, in that cold desperate place with no hope of escape. I’d thought of him, over and over, thinking it would be a miracle for him to find me. But he had.
So it hadn’t been a dream. It was his voice I’d heard while I drifted in and out of consciousness. And he’d been with me all night, because that’s the type of person Cal was. The type of person he’d always shown himself to be.
What the hell was wrong with me? How could I have ever doubted him?
“But—” I started, but just then there was a knock on the door.
She opened it, and my breath hitched.
He was still wearing his football pants and a t-shirt, like he’d just come from a game. He gave my mom a polite nod as she left and then turned to me, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. His t-shirt defined every muscle in his chest, and his face was shadowed with stubble.
He’d definitely had a rough night, but I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone look hotter. Every inch of my body prickled with nerves and exhilaration, as if it was the first time I’d ever seen him.
I just stared, drinking him in as he smiled his little-boy smile at me.
“Hey. How are you doing?”
I nodded. He’d asked me a question but I couldn’t process it yet. I was too overcome with relief and sheer joy that he was here. “Er. Yeah.”
He laughed. Then he came up close to me and touched my chin, sending sizzles of electricity through me.
Until I realized he was wiping Pop-Tart crumbs off my chin.
My cheeks went hot. I am so smooth.
I was about to make a stupid joke, but the laughter in his eyes faded and, in that moment, all I could see was stark pain and regret. He might be putting on a brave face for me, but he was far from okay.
“I’m so sorry, Bee. This was my fault.”
I shook my head. “It’s not. It’s my fault for ever doubting you. For pushing you away. If I hadn’t done that, you would’ve been with me and this never would’ve happened.”
“And then she would’ve just done it another night. Don’t try to make me feel better. I should’ve seen—” He broke off and let out a groan, squeezing his eyes shut.
I reached out and laid a hand on his chest. “I was witness to her crazy as much as you, Cal. And I didn’t see it coming either. There was no way to know she was going to take it that far. She’s sick.”
He started to protest, but I held up a hand.
“We can do this all day, but the whole time I was in that walk-in, I was thinking one thing. The last thing I said to you…” My eyes went hot with tears, and I let them roll, unchecked, down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. You offered to come to my parents’ and endure that mess and I treated you like garbage. I’m so sorry. The things I said? I’m an idiot. You’re perfect.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face and glanced at me, surprised. “You think I’m perfect?”
Oh, god, had I really said that? Just because he didn’t want me dead didn’t mean he still wanted me.
Suddenly the floor became really, really interesting. Change subject, stat.
“H-How did you know where to find me?”
He sat down on the edge of my bed. “I was at the game. I’d lost my phone at the bar after our fight, but I wanted to call you, just so I could smooth things over. I saw Flora and asked her if I could borrow her phone, and she gave me yours. She’d found it on your bed, and that’s when I saw the messages I’d never sent. Turned out I hadn’t lost my phone after all. Renee had taken it. I found her and forced her to tell me where you were.”
A shudder ran through me. What if she hadn’t gone to the game? And what if Cal hadn’t seen Flora?
The dozens of ways that this could’ve turned out far more tragic crowded my brain and I was feeling queasy.
“And she told you where I was?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I think
once it got through that I wasn’t going to be with her whether you were in the picture or not, she gave it up. Turns out she’s had paranoid episodes before. She’s in a mental health facility now, getting treatment. But I never believed…” He trailed off, and I knew he was going to apologize again.
I grabbed ahold of his hand. “Don’t. I don’t blame you, Cal.” I squeezed hard to show him I meant it when something hit me. “Wait. You missed the game? Your big game?”
His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Actually, I found out where she was keeping you, played my four quarters, then moseyed on over to the dining hall when it was convenient.”
Oh, god. My stomach churned. He’d given up the most important game of his life for me. The game that could’ve landed him his dream of being in the NFL.
I started to shake as the ramifications sunk in all at once.
“Jesus, Cal, why did you do that? You could’ve just called the police or something.”
He stared at me like I had noodles coming out of my ears. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “Hey, guys, go get my girl while I play in this fucking game. She may be dying, but these are the playoffs we’re talking about here.”
I froze, thinking of my father. I guess that’s what I got for thinking all football players were alike. Still, this was his whole future. And he’d blown it clear out of the water because of me. “But there had to be a way. Couldn’t you have, I don’t know, told Coach where you were going and—”
“No, I couldn’t have,” he said, standing up and pacing, his jaw tight and tense.
“But why not? Maybe he could’ve—”
“No, he couldn’t do anything.”
“But—”
“Enough.” Cal’s face was thunderous as he stared down at me. “Don’t you get it, Bee? All that matters to me is that you’re okay. The rest of it will work out or it won’t. Just let me be here with you, and feed you Pop-Tarts and take care of you. That’s what I want to do. This is where I want to be.”
His eyes were burning bright with sincerity, and I wished I wasn’t hooked up to a bunch of machines, because I would’ve launched myself into his arms and hung on like a barnacle.
I bit my lip and slowly shook my head. “Do you even know if you guys won?”
He shrugged. “Nope. I was a little busy worried sick to check.”
“Cal!” I shouted, stunned that he could be so nonchalant about something that meant everything to him. If the Panthers won, he’d have another chance to impress the scouts in the next playoff game. “This is important. This is your life. Why wouldn’t you—”
He threw up his hands, cutting me off, mid-sentence. “Because I love you, all right? You’re my life, too. Okay?”
All the words inside me just died away and I nearly choked on the breath in my lungs. I didn’t have to ask him to say it again. It was obvious by the way he was standing there, fidgeting, eyes still blazing, what he’d said.
I wanted to say something meaningful in reply. But my mind went completely, deliriously blank. Finally, I whispered, “Oh.”
He sat next to me and pushed aside the tray table so that he could slide in closer to me. “Look, you don’t have to say it back. I know your feelings on loving a football player.”
My voice was soft. “I was wrong, Cal. I know you’re not like my dad. I was just bitter about him and so I painted you all with the same brush. You’re nothing like him.”
“I wouldn’t mind people thinking I could play like he could.”
He looked so humble then…something my father never could have achieved. I couldn’t believe I ever thought he was a walking ego. He wasn’t Cal Samskevitch, awesome wide receiver. He was just Cal. My Cal.
He cleared his throat. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re okay. And I don’t know how you feel about me, but—”
At that moment, I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed the front of his t-shirt, ignoring the pain in my fingers, and pulled him toward me. His lips melted against mine, warm and perfect, and after a second of surprise, he wrapped his arms around me and crawled into bed with next to me, doing his best to avoid the wires and tubes that seemed to be springing out all over my body.
“I love you, too,” I told him as I nuzzled against him. “Can we pretend the last couple of days never happened?”
“What couple of days?” he said into the skin of my neck. Then he looked around. “Where are we? How’d we get in this hospital room?”
I laughed, suddenly a little choked up with happy tears. Just then, something vibrated against my leg. “Either that’s your phone, or you’re really happy to see me?”
He reached into the pocket of the hoodie he had thrown over his jersey and fished it out, then stared at the display.
“So Renee gave you it back?”
He nodded, a tense look on his face, as if he wasn’t sure whether to answer it.
“Who is it?”
“Coach,” he murmured.
I gasped. “What’s the matter with you? Answer it!”
He sighed dramatically. “If you insist.”
Then he answered the call and spoke into the phone, “Hey, Coach.”
He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
“Yeah. Yeah.” He looked at me and smiled. “She’s good. Thanks.”
He kept saying “yeah” and “no” to the point that I thought I’d go mad waiting for a clue as to whether he’d have another chance. Damn him for not letting me in on the conversation, for keeping me hanging like this. I wanted to yank the phone from his grip and ask Coach myself.
Finally, he said, “Okay. Thanks. Talk to you later,” and ended the call.
“Well?” I demanded.
He cocked his head at me. “Well, what?”
I ripped my pillow out from behind me and threw it at him.
He caught it and grinned. “We pulled it out. Next game’s a week away.”
“Really? Yes!” I pumped my fist.
As he climbed back on the bed and kissed me again, I couldn’t want for anything more. Cal loved me, and I loved him. And he’d make his dream of playing pro come true. I knew he would, because for this game, he would be more than ready.
As his physical therapist, I planned to give him plenty of exercise.
Epilogue
Cal
One week later…
I’d heard the statistics before. One million high school athletes participate in football each year. Only one of every seventeen high school football players goes on to play college ball. I’d defied the odds by making it this far and had managed to do it on a full athletic scholarship to play for the Panthers. Hell, no matter how you sliced it, it had been a good run.
But damn if I didn’t want to defy some more odds by being of the two percent of college seniors to get drafted by the NFL.
As I climbed, freshly showered, to the top bleacher of the stadium and stared at the scene of the epic ass-whooping we’d taken out there, those odds felt insurmountable.
I watched as the rest of the crowd straggled off the bleachers, looking as defeated as I felt. The knee’d been great. I’d been pretty great, too. I’d gone out there and done everything I could to impress the scouts in the audience. Ran the ball for more yards than I’d ever done in a single game. But it wasn’t enough. The Raiders’ late field goal put them on top, and there was no way we could come back from that.
Not the ending to my football career I’d envisioned when I was a kid. Back then, I’d expected cheering crowds and ticker-tape parades. Instead, all I heard in my head was sad trumpets.
“Hey, you.”
I looked up to see Bee climbing the bleachers toward me, most of her upper half buried in a furry coat. It was frigid right now, early December, but I hadn’t even noticed until I saw her blowing into her hands. I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, instantly feeling just a little better.
She ran her hands up my back and behind my head. “Your ha
ir is still wet. Aren’t you freezing?”
“Nah.”
“I know you’re sad. But you were phenomenal,” she said, giving me a squeeze.
The truth was, I’d expected to feel worse. Something about having Bee with me made things okay. Maybe because she was the only girl I knew who’d be perfectly happy with me if I hung up my cleats and never played another game again.
“I’m good,” I told her, thrusting my chin toward the field. “Just taking it all in one last time. You know? After four years, it’s hard to believe it’s over.”
She smiled. “When one door closes, another one opens. Right?”
“Here’s hoping.”
Truth was, it was intimidating. I didn’t know what that open door would look like. My grades weren’t exactly stellar. I’d majored in Humanities because it was the easy track, taken because it was least likely to interfere with the grueling practice schedule. What did Humanities majors even do with the rest of their lives? I had no clue. In fact, it felt like my life from here on out was completely up in the air.
Except one thing.
I pulled Bee to me and ran my finger down the side of her cheek to her chin. Then I lifted her face to mine and pressed a kiss onto her warm lips. Even if nothing else was, this felt right.
She grabbed my hand. “Come on. Let’s go. Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
We headed for the alley and out into the street. I’d like to say that at that moment, I left the stadium behind me and started thinking on nothing but pepperoni and cheese, a few good beers, and spending the night with Bee, but I’d be lying. I knew that part of me would always be thinking of my childhood dreams and how this was the night they’d officially come to an end.
Score (Skin in the Game Book 1) Page 19