“Are you afraid to fly?”
“Yes.” Her tone is aggravated, like it should be obvious. “I’m not what you think I am, okay? Claustrophobia is part of my life every day. So is insecurity. I wasn’t good enough for my own mother—why would I be good enough for anyone else?”
The raw emotion in her voice cuts me deep. It hurts me that she’s hurting.
“You’re good enough for me, Erin. So much more than good enough.”
“You think I moved past all my issues because of what happened, but I was just coping. How would we ever see each other when I’m afraid to get on a plane?”
“We’d manage.”
“How?”
“I’ll fly.”
“But…can you? Isn’t your season busy?”
I rub my temples, aggravated. “Why do you just want to think of all the reasons this can’t work?”
“Those reasons are real. We have to think about them.”
“I need to see you. Can I come now?”
Her exhale is pained. “No.”
“Why not? Are you at the farm?”
“Yes, and there are a dozen news trucks at the end of the drive. If you stayed the night here, it would be all over the news in the morning.”
“So what?”
“Derek…?”
“So what? I’ve never given a shit what anyone said—”
“It’s not about you,” Erin says, the seriousness of her voice silencing me. “I don’t want anyone digging into my past. I haven’t seen my mother in a long time, and I don’t want reporters finding her and…I just need my solitude, okay?”
“No, you don’t. You’re just scared.”
I look out the window at the lights in the distance, disappointment heavy in my chest.
“I am scared, Derek. I admit that. I’m scared of more than you know. Confined spaces, being underground, rooms without windows, drugs, alcohol, rejection, motherhood… Should I continue?”
“Yeah, you should. And none of it’s gonna scare me away. I know who you are, Erin. I love who you are.”
“I have to go.” Her voice is strangled with tears.
The line goes dead. I toss my phone onto the empty seat next to me and lean back.
That didn’t go as planned. I wanted to be with Erin for the time I’m here. Instead, I’ll be in my dad’s guest room, hoping she changes her mind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Erin
Just looking at the cottonwood tree in front of my mother’s former house brings tears to my eyes. I wipe my fingertips across my cheeks as I put a Morrison Farms truck into park.
I’ve never come back here. It’s been more than twenty years. I had to get the address from my aunt and uncle’s old filing cabinet.
They told me when she moved away. I was ten. After that, I asked them not to give me the cards she sent for my birthday. It was too painful.
The drafty old farmhouse hasn’t changed much. It’s still run-down, the white paint peeling and the rotted front porch sagging. I don’t have many clear memories of this place since I was so young when I lived here.
The tree, though, I remember. My mom would send me out here to play when she was sleeping off a night of partying. With no kids nearby, I’d sit beneath the cottonwood and build things with fallen sticks. It shaded me in the summer but provided no respite from the cold in the winter.
The cold was so intense. Not just out here in the winter, without a coat, but in the basement. I learned not to complain, though. Complaining about anything made my mother mad.
I was a pliant child, but my aunt and uncle sent me to therapy to overcome it. To teach me that it was okay to say I was cold or hungry or lonely.
Even so, I never lost my innate sense that I should keep my discomfort to myself.
“Stay quiet, Erin, or you’ll ruin everything.”
Her words haunt me, because she ruined me. Because of her, I’m only part of a person. I’m terrified of basements and hunger and ruining a child the same way she ruined me.
I remember the words of my former therapist.
“What if you flip the script, though? Let other people’s words run through your mind instead of only hers?”
I usually do this with my aunt and uncle’s reassurances that they love me unconditionally, and that I’m their daughter in every way that matters. But the first words that run through my mind aren’t theirs this time.
“I know who you are, Erin. I love who you are.”
It never seemed possible that a man could love me once he knew my darkest truths. I’ve had relationships, but once they started to veer into vulnerable territory, I bolted. I figured it was better to leave with my dignity than admit that stairways leading down give me chills.
When Derek opened up about his mom, it was the first time I felt like anyone really understood. Even with all his successes and records, he still feels the hurt of his mother’s abandonment. The shame.
That’s the root of it, really. I’ve always felt ashamed not just of what’s happened to me, but of who I am because of it. But Derek saw me at my worst. There’s no hiding anything from him.
And somehow, he thinks I’m fearless? I don’t know where he gets that. I’ve stayed away from so many people and experiences because I’m too afraid.
My phone beeps from the passenger seat, and I grab it, hoping it’s Derek. It’s been two very long days since our conversation. It’s not his number on my screen, though.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Erin Morrison?”
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Lexi Morrow. I’m an organ donation coordinator at Denver Memorial.”
“Oh, hi.”
“I just wanted to thank you for being tested to see if you’re a match for Matias. Unfortunately, you’re not.”
My shoulders sink with disappointment.
“Damn. I really wanted to be a match,” I say softly.
“I have good news, though. One of his uncles is a match.”
“Really? He’s getting a kidney?”
The tears return, but this time, they’re joyful.
“Hopefully. If he’s well enough next week, the doctors will want to go ahead with the surgery.”
“That’s great news. The best.”
“Would you like me to keep you updated about the surgery date? Matias has authorized you to get updates on him.”
“Yes, please let me know. I want to be there.”
“Okay, I’ll be in touch.”
After the call, I look at the farmhouse again. I want to let go of the hold this house has over me. And even more so, the hold the memories of my mom have over me. They’re faint, but always there.
In some ways, life was easier in the bunker. There weren’t many choices to be made down there. And I never had to worry about losing Derek.
Out here, though, everything is a choice again. I have to decide to face my demons, instead of being forcibly immersed in them. I have to decide whether to expose myself to potential heartbreak. Whether to trust.
I start the truck and turn around to head for Camp Caroline, my destination for the next couple days. When I need to clear my head, that is where I go.
It takes a little over an hour to get to the simple wood sign marking the turn onto the gravel road for the camp. Dust flies up behind the truck as I drive the half mile to the bend in the road that takes me beneath a canopy of trees that have shed their leaves for the season.
The building is simple, just a large, one-room log cabin with a loft overhead. Uncle Cal helped us build it over a summer, and I learned everything I know about building over those four months. I’m not expert level at anything, but I’m good enough to be a solid help.
My cousins sheepishly told me they haven’t been here at all since my disappearance. They said they didn’t have the heart to come to the place I begged them to start with me, when they thought I was dead.
The neglect of the cabin shows when I walk inside. There’s a layer o
f dust on everything, and the cabin has a stagnant smell from being closed up for so long.
Still, it’s so good to see it. I pause in the middle of the large room and look around, taking it in like I’m seeing it for the first time. When I was in the bunker, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see this place again.
I guess maybe something good has come from the sadness of my early childhood. It’s this place. When kids come here and can’t even look me in the eye, I don’t ask why. I don’t judge. I know the shame of wondering how anyone else could ever love and accept you when your own parent doesn’t.
Outer bruises have healed by the time campers come here, but the inner ones can haunt forever. Their smiles and laughter are a balm that soothes my own invisible wounds.
I sweep the floors and wipe everything down. It’s drafty in here, because we had to choose between a fireplace and the loft, and the loft won.
I’m shaking the dust off blankets, the front door open, when I hear the ring of my phone. I run inside and set the blanket down, my heart leaping when I see Derek’s number on the screen.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey. What are you doing?”
“I’m at Camp Caroline, just cleaning.”
“I wish I could help you.”
His words make me smile as I sit down in a well-worn armchair. “Yeah? I don’t picture you cleaning much.”
“I clean. You think I bring a maid with me when I camp?”
“Maybe.”
“I miss you. I feel like a sniveling bitch admitting it at this point, since you clearly don’t miss me.”
“Oh, I don’t? Thanks for the insight into my mind. What do I want for dinner tonight?”
“You want to meet me at the best steakhouse in Denver.”
He’s right. But things are complicated.
“I wish I could,” I say.
“Well, that’s a start.”
“I do miss you, Derek.”
“But?”
“You already know the answer. I miss you, but I think we have to be realistic about where this can go.”
“A lot of guys on my team have wives and girlfriends. They make it work.”
“Do they come to games?”
“Some do.” God, I missed his deep, husky voice. “Some don’t. One of my teammates is married to a doctor. She only comes to home games, and sometimes, she can’t even make those.”
“Home games are in New York?”
“Babe, I don’t give a shit if you come to my games. I don’t even care if you watch them on TV. You’re overthinking all of this. Can we start with just dinner?”
I want to say yes. I want to fall into his arms again, but I’m so scared. “Maybe.”
“You gonna make me beg?”
“I would enjoy that.”
“You know as soon as you lay eyes on me, you’ll be mine again, don’t you?”
My stomach flips with nervous excitement. “Possibly.”
“Did you hear Matias is getting a transplant?”
“Yes. I can’t believe how quickly it all came together. I’m so happy for him.”
There’s a smile in Derek’s voice. “He deserves it.”
“Wait…did you have something to do with it?”
“Not much,” he says dismissively. “Money can cut through red tape faster, that’s all.”
“And you’re putting up his family too.”
He sounds genuinely dismayed that I know. “It’s nothing, babe. Honestly.”
“Thank you.”
“So…” He clears his throat. “I’m not missing his surgery, and I know you’ll be there too. Can I book a room in Denver for us?”
“Oh, Derek.” I laugh. “The reporters will have a field day with that.”
“Let ’em. I don’t care if the whole world knows, do you?”
A strong breeze whistles outside, and I feel a shiver. “Not really.”
“Sounds like a yes to me.”
“Okay, it is.”
His low hum of satisfaction banishes the chill, and suddenly I’m warm again.
“I have to go to New York tomorrow,” he says. “Legal stuff.”
“About Kenna? What the hell is wrong with her, anyway? I can’t believe the stories I’ve been seeing.”
Derek sighs heavily. “Yeah, my agent said she backtracked in the latest interview, after Bryce told a reporter it was all in her head.”
“Bryce? Someone interviewed Bryce?”
“Yep. From jail.”
“Wow.” I rub my free hand over my thigh, trying to warm it against the fabric of my jeans. “Hey, I have to get back to work before I turn into an icicle. Can I call you later?”
“Are you working outside?”
“No, I’m inside.”
Derek’s tone is gruff. “Turn on the heat, crazy girl.”
“Oh, there’s no heat here.”
“No heat? Erin, it’s winter. Can you start a fire?”
“No fireplace.”
He groans. “Send me the address of this place. I’ll send a contractor out.”
“Derek, I don’t want your money.”
“You just want my body?”
I laugh awkwardly at that. “Maybe, if you play your cards right.”
His low hum again makes me warm inside. “I can find out where it is, so make this easier and send me the address, okay?”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Too fucking bad. I’ll have an HVAC system put in, and you can leave it turned off on principle, how about that?”
“Derek.”
“Erin.”
I sigh heavily. “All right. You can get an estimate, and we’ll look at the numbers.”
“The nice thing about being me is that I don’t have to look at numbers. It’s done, okay? And let the contractor know anything else you need there, too.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say, ‘Thanks, Derek. I’ll see you for dinner at that steakhouse tonight.’”
I smile and glance at my watch. “Thank you. It means a lot to me. But there’s no way I can finish here and get a shower and make it to Denver before it’s really late. And the entourage would be following me.”
“Yeah, okay. But if Matias doesn’t get his transplant next week, we’re meeting up anyway.”
“Probably.”
His single note of laughter makes me break out in a huge grin. “We’ll see how coy you are next week, babe.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yes, you will.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Derek
I exhale deeply as the SUV I’m in the back seat of disappears into the Denver Memorial Hospital parking garage, away from the flashing cameras and screaming reporters.
The security team had four identical black SUVs with tinted windows leave the parking garage of my hotel this morning at the same time, forcing the reporters to choose one to follow. The pack that chose the right one was manageable, and we were able to get in here pretty smoothly.
Today is about Matias. Somehow, word of his transplant leaked, and the media is whipped into a frenzy. I sent a security team to the farm for Erin so she can get here safely, and another for Matias’s family.
It took an extra couple of days for Matias to get cleared for the transplant, and I’ve felt like a caged beast every day. Not just so he can get this surgery behind him, but because it means I get to be with Erin for a few days.
I’ve missed her so deeply, I can feel it in my bones. We talk on the phone every day, but it’s not the same. I need to look into her sky-blue eyes and feel her in my arms again.
“Mr. Heaton.” The driver nods at me, holding the door open as I step out of the vehicle.
“Thanks, man.”
I run my hands down my shirt as I walk toward the elevator in the parking garage, hoping I look okay. I chose well-worn jeans, a blue-and-gray flannel, and my favorite hiking boots. These are the clothes I’m most comfortable in, and dressing u
p felt like overkill.
A woman wearing a hospital name tag meets us at the elevator.
“Welcome to Denver Memorial, Mr. Heaton,” she says warmly. “We’ve closed off this section of the parking garage to get you inside, and I’ll be taking you in through a staff tunnel. You’ll have a private waiting room once we get inside.”
I turn to Luther, the head of my new security team. “Make sure Erin’s team brings her there too, okay? And Matias’s family. I don’t want anyone taking photos of them either.”
“Yes, sir.”
I’m lost in my thoughts as we’re led through the tunnel and up to the floor where Matias’s surgery is taking place. It’s been a hell of a week.
Bryce’s cousin Oscar was arrested in Florida a few days ago. Fans of my team, pissed off that the team has a losing record this season with me out as quarterback, shared his photo far and wide until it became impossible for him to stay hidden anymore. A gas station clerk turned him in and asked my team if he can get a signed jersey. They’re sending him a lot more than that.
My return to the team is still up in the air, though. I’ve been hitting the gym hard when I’m not traveling, but I’ve lost strength and speed, and it won’t come back overnight. My coaches have been frank with me—they want me back as soon as I’m ready, but they don’t want me before then. There’s no way it’s happening this season.
That doesn’t bother me as much as it would’ve before the bunker. When I thought about my regrets down there, I never wished for a chance to set another record, win another Super Bowl, or even play another game. I’ve done all that.
I’ve been pushing myself so hard for so long that I’ve never considered doing anything else. Having anything else. But the more time that passes since I’ve seen Erin, the more certain I am that I’m ready for a life with more than just football in it.
Just football. Never thought I’d use those two words together. But the past few months have put things into perspective.
“Right here, Mr. Heaton,” the woman from the hospital says.
The spacious room has several couches, chairs, and tables. I don’t even consider sitting down. Instead, I walk up and down the tile floor, alone in the room as my security people wait outside the door.
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