Matters to Me: A Football Romance (The Hart Series Book 4)

by M. E. Carter

  Looking at Coach’s expression, though, I’m suddenly wondering if I’m wrong. He’s not moving, just looking at me, his fingers steepled and resting against the tip of his nose. I’ve seen this look before. He only makes it when he’s preparing himself to give bad news.

  Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he sniffs and drops his hands to the armrests. “I think you need to wait a year.”

  Not the words I was expecting, but now he has me curious, so I wait.

  “Your stats are solid, but you’ve got room to improve which will give you a stronger showing and will secure a better contract.”

  “That also gives me another year to risk an injury that could knock me out completely.”

  “True,” he says with a nod. “But right now, you run a greater risk of being injured your first year in the pros. You need to add a few pounds yourself if you’re going to keep up with the big dogs. You play with some big guys now, but you know full well how much bigger they are at that level.”

  My jaw ticks. I don’t have a year to wait. I’ve got responsibilities now. I’ve got people to help provide for now. If I can secure a contract in the next couple of months, my parents can stop worrying about how to make ends meet and they can stop working so hard. If I wait—hell, I don’t even want to think about the potential implications on my dad’s health if I stay in college for another year.

  With that in mind, I ignore his concerns. “But do you think I’ll get picked if I go for it this year?”

  “Yeah, I do,” he says with a nod of his head. “But I’ve been doing this for a lot of years, Heath. And while you’ll get picked up, you won’t be in the top ten. I also have reservations thinking you’ll do much more than play for a year or two before it’s over.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his desk. “Give yourself another year to gain some muscle weight and show your stats are solid, not just a fluke. It’ll be better for your career, long term. And I don’t just mean that because you’ll have a degree to fall back on. That part’s an added bonus. I’m talking about your longevity in the pros.”

  Looking off to the side, I consider his words, but we both know I’m not going to take his advice. Pushing out of my chair, we both stand. “I appreciate your honesty, Coach.”

  “But your mind is made up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He sighs and puts his hands on his hips. “I won’t say I think it’s the right choice, but it’s your call, and I’ll support you any way I can.”

  “Thank you.”

  Coming around from behind his desk he claps me on the shoulder. “Go get some rest, son. You look wiped, and I don’t want you to miss another practice. We need to keep you in shape if you’re going to put in a good showing in Indianapolis.”

  I smile at him and nod, the exhaustion I’ve been holding in beginning to take over. It makes the trip back across campus seem slower.

  By the time I’m back at my dorm, my feet feel like they’re dragging through cement and my body feels like it’s been hit by a bus. I’m behind on schoolwork, I have to register for the combine, and I need to check in with my dad. All I want to do is slow down for a few minutes, but suddenly, all my priorities seem to be moving at the speed of light. The only part of me moving fast is my brain.

  Trudging up the stairs for the second time, I can’t help but think of how much of a dick I am for hoping my dorm room is empty. I don’t want to see anybody. I don’t want to talk to anybody. I don’t want to do any more talking for the night. Not even with Lauren. I know my bad mood isn’t her fault and eventually, it will pass, so at minimum, I need to text her and let her know I’m okay.

  That thought is fleeting, though, when I find my room empty of noise and people. Taking advantage of the quiet, I call home to check-in.

  “Heath. Did you make it okay?” My mom’s calm voice relaxes me. When she sounds like this, her tone gentle and her drawl slow, I know everything is fine.

  “It was a long drive, but I made it.”

  “Good, good. Did you eat on the way?”

  I chuckle at her concern. My mother shows love in a lot of ways, but food is probably her favorite. There’s a reason I had to be an athlete growing up in that house. I needed to burn off all the calories. “I did, Ma. I stopped and grabbed a burger.”

  She tsks. “A burger. That’s terrible. I should have sent you home with some leftover homemade lasagna.”

  “Ma, I’m fine. Besides, I polished off the lasagna yesterday. That’s not why I called though. I wanted to check on Dad. How’s he holding up?”

  “Your father is just fine. Still angry he can’t go to work tomorrow.”

  My father’s voice belts out through the speaker. “Doctor shouldn’t be worried about my heart. He should be worried about me dying of boredom. You left me with all these women, Heath. I’m gonna go out of my mind listening to all their boy talk.”

  “You hush up,” my mother scolds him gently while I smile at their antics. My dad always complains that he’s outnumbered now that I left him as the lone man of the house. I never remind him that we were outnumbered four-to-two in the first place. It’s all in jest anyway. It was always clear growing up that he was happy to have a boy. But his girls make his face light up.

  “Don’t listen to your father,” my mom says, refocusing her attention back on me. “He’s just being grumpy because the doctor won’t let him eat fried food anymore.”

  I let out an exaggerated gasp. “What are you going to feed him now if you can’t fry his food?”

  “Just because I like to cook in grease doesn’t mean I have to.” Her voice carries a little more sass now that I’ve insulted her cooking. “I’m already trying some new marinades for my famous baked chicken. And this just gives me an excuse to learn how to make zucchini noodles like I’ve been wanting to do.”

  “Don’t you try to trick me into eating green vegetables!” my father hollers in the back.

  “Stop interrupting. I’m talking to my son,” she argues. “And Amy, don’t you dare give him that bell back! I’m tired of him ringing it in my ear when I’m sitting next to him on the couch.” I hear rustling around as she probably moves to a different room for some quiet. When things finally settle in the background, she speaks again. “There. I left him in the living room to fend for himself for a while.”

  I love my parents’ relationship. Married for twenty-five years, they’ve always had eyes for only each other. Apart, they’re wonderful people. But together, they’re dynamic.

  “Now that I can hear you without interruption,” she continues, “tell me what’s really on your mind.”

  “What do you mean?” I play dumb, not wanting to add any more pressure to her already stressful life.

  She scoffs. “Don’t even try that with me. I carried you inside me for eight-and-a-half months, Heath Germaine. I know when you’re thinking too much.”

  I could keep up the pretense, but if my mother is throwing out birthing stories, I’m just wasting my own breath. Leaning back on my bed, I fess up. “I’m registering for the combine.”

  “Ah.” Oddly, she doesn’t sound surprised. She doesn’t sound happy either, though. “What made you finally come to the conclusion that it’s the best course of action?”

  Her lack of excitement is disappointing. I thought she’d be happy I was one step closer to the pros. Instead, she makes it sound like it’s the wrong thing to do.

  “It’s time. I’m ready.”

  “Hmm.”

  My head falls back, knowing this conversation isn’t going to end well. “What, Ma? I know you have an opinion.”

  “Oh no. No opinion. I’m just curious if you talked to your coach about it.”

  I don’t want to tell her what he said, mainly because I don’t want her to be disappointed in me. But I also don’t put it past her to call him herself if she thinks I’m being shady. That fear is what kept me on the straight and narrow most of my life. Nothing like being humiliated in the middle school locker room beca
use my mother called to verify my whereabouts, which were not exactly honest, to scare you straight.

  “He thinks I need another year.”

  “Mmm. And you don’t agree.”

  “It’s not about if I agree or not, Mom. It’s about taking care of my family. It’s about making sure the girls can go to college without student loans and making sure you and dad don’t have to work two jobs anymore.”

  I don’t mean to spew all my issues at her, but something inside me snaps. Probably because I’m tired of people dismissing my plans. They should be excited about me being an NFL prospect, but instead, I keep getting shit from everyone about it. It’s disappointing and angering and actually a little hurtful that the consensus seems to be I’m not ready.

  Probably stunned by my outburst, my mother says nothing. Until suddenly, she’s laughing. And not just a little. She’s laughing so hard she might even have tears in her eyes.

  I don’t understand. “Why is this so funny?”

  “Oh lord, you are so much like your father.”

  “And that’s funny?”

  “It sure is. Do you know how many times your father’s pride has gotten in the way of him making good decisions, and how many times I’ve had to intervene so he gets out of his own head long enough to stop thinking like he is the end all-be all of this family?”

  Her words stop my irate train of thought. I’ve never once thought of my dad as being prideful. Proud, yes. But letting pride cloud his judgment? Never.

  I want to say as much, but she’s not done. “I appreciate how much you want to help, and I know your daddy’s heart attack is making you panic—”

  “I’m not panicking—” I try to interrupt, but she runs right over me.

  “—but if you suddenly paid off our mortgage and paid for your sisters’ college, your father would knock your ass out.”

  Never, in my twenty-two years of life, have I heard my mother cuss. The shock of it deflates any argument I have.

  “We don’t have much, but we only have a few years left on our mortgage until it’s paid off. By ourselves. With no outside help. Do you know what an accomplishment that is and how good we feel about that? And the timing is such that it’ll be paid off before Amy goes to go to college, so she won’t have to take out any loans.”

  “But what about Jackie and Maggie? They’ll be going to college sooner than that.”

  “Have you even talked to your sisters about their future plans?”

  I shift uncomfortably realizing I’ve spent so much time on my own goals, I never actually asked my sisters about theirs. “No.”

  “That’s what I thought,” my mother says with a sigh. “Jackie wants to be a cosmetologist. She’s been taking the classes for the last couple of semesters and will just have a few more things to do to get her license after graduation.” That comes as a shock to me, but my mother keeps going. “And Maggie wants to work with animals, but she doesn’t like school. She’s been saving up money already to become a vet tech.”

  My thoughts begin to swirl as she feeds me this information. “But… dad works two jobs.”

  “For the insurance, Heath.”

  “What?”

  “Your dad is a teacher by trade. He loves it and would never quit, but health insurance for a teacher is terrible. The coffee shop provides insurance for part-time employees. So, we crunched some numbers and realized it would cost us less and help us build our nest egg if he worked a few nights a week.”

  “Wait…” I squeeze the bridge of my nose because this is all new information for me. I’m having a hard time processing it. “So, you guys aren’t struggling for money?”

  “Well… we have four kids. We’re always struggling for money,” she says with a chuckle. I’m glad she finds this humorous because I don’t find any of this amusing at all. “But we’re not destitute. Not even close. How did you even come to that conclusion?”

  I have to think about that. I suppose it’s from years of my dad bitching about proms and weddings and all the expenses that come from having so many girls. “Just some of the things dad says.”

  “Heath, I’ll let you in on a little secret. Your dad is a whiner.” I huff a laugh because I know that. “He’s hilarious, which is why I put up with it, because it’s just his dark sense of humor.”

  “So, you don’t need my help?”

  “Oh baby, no. And I’m sorry you thought we did. I know that put unnecessary pressure on you to get to the next level.” That’s an understatement. Since high school, I’ve been working to make things easier on my parents more than to make it easier on myself. “Don’t misunderstand. I love your heart and how hard you’ve worked for us. But if you swooped in at the last minute and took away your dad’s chance to write that final mortgage check so he can say he bought this house on his own, he would never forgive you. I suspect you understand that because you are just the same.”

  She’s right. I am. I love the satisfaction of working hard and accomplishing my goal. When it comes down to it, having the best stats in the NCAA isn’t that different from paying off a thirty-year mortgage.

  “I’m coming!” my mom’s voice yells, and I know my time with her is almost up. “Dark humor or not, I’m gonna smack that man upside the head if he gets ahold of that bell again.”

  That elicits a genuine chuckle from me. If I know my sister’s well enough, they’ll give it back to him just to see if they can get my mom to lose her shit. She rarely does, so it’s a sight to see sometimes.

  “Anyway, I’m going to see what he needs and let you get some rest, okay, baby?”

  “Alright, Mom. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Oh, and Heath, before you register, just think about what I said. Don’t do the combine for us. Do it because you feel it’s the best course of action for you.”

  “Okay, Mom. Goodnight.”

  We hang up and I collapse on the bed, more confused now than I was a few days ago. There’s so much to think about, but I’m not sure my body and brain can take much more.

  It isn’t until the next morning that I realize I fell asleep without taking a shower. Or texting my girlfriend.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Lauren

  I click off my phone, disappointment and hurt running through me again. I’m still getting radio silence from my boyfriend, if I can even still call him that. I can see the writing on the wall. I know how this works. He’s going to ghost me now that he’s gotten what he wants. I should have known better than to sleep with him.

  I hate the feeling of defeat it gives me to know I was snowed yet again. It makes me feel weak and insecure. Like when it comes to the opposite sex, I only have one thing to offer. It’s a shitty feeling to have.

  And yes, I know logically it’s not truth, but when that’s the only way men ever treat you, it’s tough to get logic and emotions to work together.

  Squeezing my eyes closed, I vow not to think about it anymore. Not to think about him. I’d rather cut my losses and move on. It shouldn’t be that hard to avoid him. Just because his best friend is dating my best friend doesn’t mean we all have to hang out anymore. It was easy and convenient for a short amount of time, but we all have our own lives. Right now, I need to focus on mine.

  “Thanks for bringing me,” I say to Annika, determined to keep my thoughts in safer territory. It’s a sad day when the demise of my gymnastics career is a topic I’d prefer to discuss.

  Annika is sitting on a rickety blue chair that looks like it could collapse at any moment. It looks uncomfortable, but she doesn’t seem to notice, probably because she’s reading some sports injury article. Ever since she got into the training program, her obsession with sprains, strains, and ice baths has hit a whole new level.

  Looking up from her phone, she smiles at me. “It was no problem. I have some reading to do, so I don’t mind the wait.”

  “And you get to pick the doctor’s brain about my injury and the best course of action to help it heal, right?” I prod.


  She shoves her hands in between her thighs, probably to warm up her fingers. Even I have to admit it’s cold in here and I’ve got five pounds of plaster keeping one of my legs warm. “You got me. I know it seems like I’m doing you a favor, and I know this is painful for you, but from an educational level, your injury is fascinating to me.” She cocks her head in question. “Is it too soon for me to admit that?”

  “No,” I say with a smirk and a shake of my head. “I get it. We athletes need weirdos like you to help us get better, so observe away.”

  “I’m glad to be of service.”

  She’s cut off from saying anything else when the door opens and Dr. Copperman walks in.

  “Hey Lauren. How are you feeling?” He asks with a huge, blindingly white smile, bypassing me to wash his hands.

  Dr. Copperman is a wiry, middle-aged man who seems to have a ton of energy. He’s that doctor who pushes himself around the room on his rolling chair instead of standing up and walking two feet. It’s a little odd, but I’ve gotten used to it. It helps that he’s also quick with his visits, so I’ve never had to wait long and he comes highly recommended as one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the area.

  “How am I?” I make a show of tapping my finger to my lips in thought. “I’m bored out of my mind and praying you’re going to tell me I can work out again.”

  Somehow, his smile gets even broader. “Well, then I won’t leave you in suspense anymore and tell you no, you cannot work out.”

  I groan in response as he rinses and dries his hands.

  “Based on your x-rays, the fracture is healing nicely, but it’s not quite there yet. We want to make sure the bone is nice and solid before putting that kind of pressure on it again.”

  I give him a wry look, not that it will change anything. I just want to make it clear how unhappy this news makes me.

  I jump when his cold hands touch my leg. “Sorry about that. We need to figure out a way to get the water to warm up faster around here.” He begins manipulating my leg this way and that, testing my mobility and pain level. “The good news, however, is that you’re recovering faster than most people with this kind of injury.”