by Dawn Klehr
“Now? Not so much. I’m sad, and I’ve had to mourn losing your dad, and losing the way our family used to be. But I’ve had time to really work through my feelings and talk to your dad, and I now believe, without any doubt, that our lives weren’t a lie. Our family isn’t a lie. Your dad wanted to be here with us. He still does. He loves this family. The lie was about what your dad was telling himself, not about what he was telling us.”
“What do you mean?” She totally lost him there.
“Honey, your dad didn’t know, or trust himself to know, who he was until pretty late in life. As you kids have gotten older, he’s had more time and fewer distractions to think about that. About his lie. I think it got to the breaking point, and he had to come to terms with it. He still is coming to terms with it and trying to understand how it’s impacted all of us—which is one of the reasons we fight. But I can tell you that he’s trying so hard. For everyone.”
“So, let me get this straight. You don’t hate him.”
“No, I really don’t. How could I hate him for being himself? How could I hate him for giving me twenty great years and you and your sister?”
“I thought you were embarrassed.”
“I can see that, but it was more grieving, though I’m sure it was hard to tell. But I don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. Neither does your dad, and neither do you. So don’t feel like you always need to go on defense. He knows you love him. You don’t have to fight his battles—especially with your fists.”
“Well, actually the fight this time was about a girl,” he admitted.
She raised her brow and settled in. “Really? Now this I want to hear.”
Surprisingly, he wanted to talk. He was ready, so there in his bedroom, he told her everything—well, the mom-friendly version.
He told her about Rebel’s revenge plot, they way she liked to push him, and how they began to get close. He told her how she made him feel important in a way that had nothing to do with football or popularity, but just him. He told her about what Coach said before he left and why they had to hide. Then he told her about that last day and all the ugliness of it. With each admission, the weight began to lift off his shoulders.
“That’s why I’m totally screwed.” He fell back onto his bed, exhausted after having said everything out loud.
“That doesn’t sound like the fighter I know,” his mom said in a way that was firm, but gentle at the same time.
“Well, what can I do?”
“About football, that’s up to you,” she said, sounding like the mom he hadn’t had in so long. He missed her. “If you want to play, you find a way to convince your coach. And about Rebel, well, the advice I’d give is that you can’t change people, honey. You can’t make them into the version that you want them to be. It isn’t fair.”
The way he’d treated Rebel wasn’t fair. He knew that she was just being herself. No lies. No pretense. And isn’t that what he’d always respected and wanted for himself? So why did he expect her to change for him?
“But just as important,” his mom continued. “Don’t ever let someone else tell you who you can and cannot love.”
Love.
The word hit him worse than a blindsided sack.
It was something he didn’t want to consider, maybe because it was too complicated. Too hard. But now that she’d thrown it out there, there was no way to unhear it. And because he couldn’t imagine what loving Rebel could even look like, he chose to focus on something he could control.
Football.
Suddenly, he knew what he had to do.
…
The first time Justice experienced an interception at a game, he’d never felt so low in his life. The throw was flawless, sailing through the air like a rocket, in perfect position for his receiver. And just as it was ready to drop, a guy in the wrong jersey snagged it right out of the air.
He felt so robbed, so inadequate. He’d never experienced anything that made him feel so worthless.
Now that he lost Rebel, those feelings seemed so minor. Over the past few days, he’d tried calling her to apologize, to explain, hell, just to hear her voice, but she wouldn’t pick up. Worthless didn’t even begin to explain how he felt. After the dreadful intercepted pass that day, Justice remembered stomping into the locker room, blaming everything and everyone. He was only in junior high at the time, but in so many ways he hadn’t grown since then. At the time, his coach told him that there were two traits that could kill a player’s career: defensiveness and volatility. At thirteen years old, he understood what it meant to be defensive, but he didn’t understand the bit about volatility, so Coach explained it to him.
“It’s about being overemotional, son. Volatile people are unpredictable. They also hog all of the attention. They are so consumed with themselves, they can’t see the world around them.”
Yep, that pretty much summed him up in a nutshell.
It was what he was planning on telling Coach before his tryout, if he’d even let him. He needed to fix this thing, not just for his scholarship, and not just to get back to doing what he loved. It was deeper than that. He had to own up to his shit here and now before he could make one throw, and definitely before he could talk to Rebel.
He took a chair and waited outside Coach’s office, his eyes fixed on the floor as he worked up the courage. He didn’t even look up when someone took the seat next to his.
“Here to grovel?”
Justice cringed at the sound of that voice, freaking Grayson Wright.
“Thanks to you,” he said.
There he went again with the blaming. Gray was being Gray that day at camp. It was nothing new, and after all the progress Justice was making with keeping his emotions in check, why did he snap that day? Why did he lie to save face? Why was he so intent on protecting himself that he forgot about everything else important to him? Like Rebel. Yeah, this was all on him.
“Consider us even,” he said.
“How do you figure?” Justice asked, finally looking up. Odd, Gray wasn’t wearing his normal smirk. He looked…pretty damn stressed out himself.
“You took the QB position away from me two years ago,” he said. “And not just with your skills. You worked Da—I mean Coach, over every chance you got, took up all his time.”
That couldn’t be true, could it? But the longer he sat there with Gray, and the more it talked, it seemed like, maybe, it was.
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Coach rubbed his head when he set his sights on him and Gray. “Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.”
“Coach,” Justice began. “I know we’ve both done some stupid crap, but we want to try out today.”
That move was on the fly—but it made perfect sense. He couldn’t just protect himself if he wanted to be part of a team. So as much as he thought the kid was a scum-ridden douchebag, he had to bring him along for the ride.
“We?” Coach’s face softened, just a little.
Justice nodded and so did Gray.
“Well, stop talking then, and get suited up. And be ready to work.”
Justice and Gray didn’t waste a second. They were out on the turf in record time, and once Justice felt the laces on the ball, everything fell into place. The two of them worked as a team out on the field. It was…odd. But also really good. They did their drills together and when it came to setting up a game-play situation, Gray took on the wide-receiver position.
He was killing it in that role, something that was much better suited to him than QB. If Justice had been paying attention to the guy on the field sophomore year, instead of working with Coach and obsessing over all of his individual issues, he would’ve seen it earlier.
They could’ve been a much better team, and maybe now more of them would already have their college scholarships set up.
Coach was liking what he was seeing, and it was no surprise when they got the call back to join the team. But he wasn’t about to let up. Coach was harder on the two of them than he was on the rest of the team. They
didn’t seem to mind, and Coach began to relax more and more with each drill.
He only hoped he’d be in as good of spirits after their next conversation.
“Coach.” Justice walked into his office after practice.
“Yeah, J.” He pulled out a seat for him like in old times. “Looking good out there, real good.”
“Thank you, sir.” Justice cleared his throat.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, flipping through the map of plays attached to his clipboard.
“Have an open mind?” Justice joked.
Coach didn’t laugh but instead set his clipboard down, giving him his full attention.
“Okay,” Justice took a breath and shifted in his seat. “Well, you know how you wanted me to steer clear of drama and all that this summer?”
“I do.”
“Well, I wasn’t quite able to do that, sir.”
“What kind of drama are we talking about?” Coach asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as his easy manner began to dissolve.
Great.
“Girl-related, drama,” he managed to say.
Yeah, the conversation was so overdue, and whether or not Rebel would ever talk to him again, he had to get this off his chest. For her, and for him. It wasn’t Coach’s call who he dated, and he had to make that clear if he was going to finish the year on the team.
“If you tell me you got someone pregnant, I’m going to—” Coaches face turned bright red, and a thick vein in his neck looked like it was ready to burst.
“No! God, no. I just—”
“Well then,” Coach interrupted as he stood up, “unless it’s something illegal, keep it to yourself and off the field. You are a senior now, Brody, and I can’t keep babysitting. It’s up to you, son. Are you equipped to handle that?”
“More than you know.”
“Good, then get out of here and show me your best this week.”
So that’s exactly what he did. The next few days were a whirlwind of practice and the weight room, but he tried not to think about Rebel. Didn’t help when he had Gray nagging at him.
“Did you invite your sis—I mean Rebel to the season opener?” he asked after practice. Justice tightened his fists on reflex but quickly loosened them. Now that things were out in the open, Gray couldn’t get to him like before. And really, what damage could the guy do to him at this point?
“You fucked that right up for me, Gray, remember?” He shoved his gear in the locker and slammed it shut.
“Then go get her back,” Gray said. “Geez, you smoked dozens of guys out there today with absolutely no fear, and you can’t handle a little girl?”
His gut squeezed just talking about her. Like he still had a chance. Gray just didn’t get it. Nobody handled Rebel Hart.
Though, maybe, he could offer her another option—the girl loved having options. And all the feelings he had for her that he’d been pushing down deep inside came bubbling to the surface. Admittedly with Mom and Gray’s prodding and poking. But he’d always been a late bloomer, slow to adapt. But once he knew, really knew, what he wanted, nobody could stop him. Not on the field, anyway.
Maybe it was time he started playing just as hard in his real life. First, though, he needed to come to terms with his pesky feelings he’d been ignoring. Like the fact that he, Justice Brody, loved Rebel Hart.
Shit.
The thought was scarier than the undefeated team of 250-pound monsters they were set to play for home opener, but it was absolutely true and it was time to do something about it.
He couldn’t do it alone though, he needed someone on his side to help. Someone who understood what it was like to be misunderstood. Luckily, he knew such a person.
“Dad,” he called, when he got home that night. “I need your help.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rebel
Rebel didn’t put Wolf Wilks’s book back on her shelf when she arrived home after camp. She packed it away in a box filled with all her other childhood mementos. Seemed she’d finally outgrown him. Her problems had become too big, too complex, to be solved by Wolf’s little tips. Or maybe it meant she wouldn’t survive her teenage years—or, more likely, love. Either way, the book was useless to her now. It was sad, but it didn’t hurt as much as when she packed away the mala beads Justice gave her. She couldn’t bear to throw them out, and as much as she hated it, Justice was part of her past, too.
The final weeks of summer whipped by as Dad put the final touches on the restaurant and she shopped for school supplies and new sneakers. There was nothing more she could do at this point. Her clothes were ready for the day, her lunch was packed, and her face had been scrubbed clean. Senior year would commence in T-minus ten hours. Her head hurt just thinking about it.
She stretched out on her bed and stared up at the Pisces constellation she had mapped out on her ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stars. She’d put them up with Dad years ago, and they comforted her, even now. Even when they reminded her of Justice and those quiet nights on the lake. It seemed so long ago.
Not that she needed the reminder. He’d been calling and texting for the past week. Probably because he wanted to smooth things over before school started. She wasn’t interested. See, by the time camp ended all of the sadness and hurt Rebel had been carrying around turned to anger. She wasn’t the same girl she’d been when she was with Ryan. She now knew she was worth something. She also knew she could not—would not—have a year like the last. Yes, while it was true she stood up to Ryan, she’d internalized everything. She let him have power over her and shut people out because of him.
She wasn’t going to make the same mistake with Justice. Those two assholes wouldn’t ruin her senior year.
And there went her phone again.
“Are you going to answer that or what?” Dad walked into her bedroom, nudged her over to the wall, and took the open spot on her bed. He laid back, arms folded with his hands under his head, looking up at the ceiling just as she was.
“Or what,” she said. It was same response she’d given since she was six, whenever he offered that particular choice. Childish? Yes, but she wasn’t answering the call.
“Okay, then, second option,” he said. “You tell me who was on the other line, and why you’ve been moping around since you got back.”
“What’s the third option?”
“No third option. I’ve given you space, but whatever happened at camp hasn’t been resolved, and you can’t start out your senior year like this, Rebby.”
He was right. She needed to get this out in the open. She had Aubrey to talk to, but all they really did was plan Justice’s demise part two, and it never made her feel better. Plus, she hated keeping things from her dad.
“It was Justice.” She sighed, but her dad didn’t change his expression. Hmmm, she suspected he might already know.
“And?” he pushed.
“And I’m thinking you already heard the story.”
“Yes, and now I want to hear your side of it.”
“Well, I let him in,” she told him. “Even after everything with Ryan last year, I let him in, and I trusted him. It was a really stupid move.”
“I wouldn’t call that stupid.” He squeezed her hand. “I’d call that brave.”
“It wasn’t brave; it was foolish. Justice totally let me down—he made us hide and lie and pretend. At first, I went along with it because his coach was hanging the tryouts over his head. If Justice didn’t follow his rules, he wouldn’t let him try out. Being with me was definitely breaking the rules.”
“Well, that is bullshit,” her dad said, which was one of the reasons she loved him so much. He didn’t give her diplomatic parental reactions to the things she told him. He was always real.
“I understood,” she explained. “I know how much football means to him. But he wouldn’t come clean about a lot of things—his family, our families.”
“I understand how frustrating and hurtful that might’ve been, but you’re going to
see him tomorrow, Rebby,” he said, as if she hadn’t been thinking about that very fact all day. “Might be less awkward if you get the conversation out of the way now. Plus, I think it might be good for you to hear him out.”
Oh, I see how it is…traitor!
“Hear him out? Is this because of Stephen?” she asked accusingly. “What, are you guys conspiring?”
“No.” he laughed. “God no. And that’s a hard rule, by the way. We don’t meddle or offer parenting advice to each other. That’s a one-way trip to Splitsville.”
It was a good point. Splitsville wasn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.
“Here’s the thing, hon.” Dad sat up on the bed, facing her. “Stephen hasn’t been out that long, and he has a lot to figure out, but we love each other, and we’ve decided we want to be together. There are no guarantees to forever, but I won’t miss out on something wonderful because of fear. And I would offer the same advice for you and Justice.”
She let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Things have come and gone with Justice. We’re actually proud residents of Splitsville.”
“For now,” he offered.
“Forever,” she countered.
“I know you hate talking about this stuff.” He patted her leg. “But I want you to know that you two are free to pursue whomever you choose—as long as the person is in your age group. That coach can’t impose any rules on either one of you. Relationships are fragile, and Stephen and I would never put ours ahead of yours. How could I keep you away from the person who might be it for you, only to have my relationship bomb. And all for the sake of the way it looks? Since when has that ever bothered us before?”
“It bothers Justice.”
“For now,” he repeated.
Though she appreciated what he was saying, it was a moot point. There was no shot for anything between her and Justice.
“Dad, you do remember that Justice didn’t just throw me under the bus. He took you and Stephen out at the same time. He denied it all at camp.”
“So you’re saying he’s a little weasel with no character?” he asked.
“Exactly.”