Wrecked (Love Edy Book Three)

by Shewanda Pugh

  She’d pulled him to her by the face entirely, then slipped in, mouth parting his, tongue questing and shattering what little calm he had with those succulent, feather-like swoops.

  Then she was gone.

  Gone from arms he hadn’t known he’d been holding her in. Gone from lips that demanded her touch.

  Edy’s eyes went wide. She threw a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I mean, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Hassan grinned. “Don’t apologize for taking what’s definitely yours.”

  This time he swooped in with arms around her waist, pulling her in flush, and God, that tongue of hers, oh did he miss it, oh did he miss her and her laugh and the way she went on about dance or nothing or the little things that only she remembered. He missed everything about her, including this, including her body against his, and the instincts between them and how a graze here or an open-mouthed shiver were all the words he ever needed. And now, please, he’d never let her go if only she’d come back to him.

  Because he knew Edy, well. And she hadn’t agreed to go to the Heisman ceremony yet.

  “Cake?” Hassan said.

  She pulled him inside. “What about your parents?” she said.

  “I don’t give a shit about my parents. I need you.”

  Naomi let out a low whistle.

  Edy shot her a warning look.

  “As long as you’re sure,” Edy said.

  “I’m rock solid on this one,” Hassan said.

  Edy threw herself at him, practically rocking him in place as they hugged. For Hassan, it felt like coming home.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  After finals and the SEC Championship that LSU wrested from Georgia—a game in which Lawrence had to face his brothers on defense, and both Lawrence and Hassan were subjected to a bit of pre-game tussling from the twins—Edy and Hassan headed home on the same flight. Weeks ago, they both would have probably found it horrifying to be on the same plane. Months ago, they had found it thrilling. Life really did turn full circle.

  “You want the window?” Hassan said.

  “Like you want anything but the aisle,” Edy answered. Those shoulders seemed to have broadened in his time down south. He’d certainly thickened and picked up even more mass. She couldn’t believe how imposing he looked these days.

  They dropped into their seats and it wasn’t long before a bit of pre-flight commotion began. A cluster of football faithfuls had gathered near his seat and eventually the word ‘Heisman’ drifted through the cabin. Hassan wound up signing autographs until the flight crew insisted that everyone take their seats. Then he was called into the cockpit to sign two more for the captains.

  When he returned to buckle in, Edy smiled sympathetically. This was his life now. Record breaker. Heisman hopeful. Loved by the multitude. She could get with that.

  He slipped his hand into hers.

  They could make this work. The alternative was unthinkable.

  They kept the stop in Boston brief. An awkward apology from her dad about not having her back when it came to Hassan or LSU and another for his out-of-character behavior while he was in Baton Rouge. She’d already forgiven him for that and could forgive him endlessly—he was her dad. That, for some reason, had him wiping at his eyes and hugging her like he never had before.

  She did some quick shopping with her mom at a few exclusive shops on Newberry, since Rebecca had always been particular about appearances and wouldn’t have her daughter at a high-profile event looking “mangy.” Afterwards there was repacking as some of the Heisman coverage took place in and around the Pradhan house. They wanted to see Hassan’s house, his childhood bedroom, even Edy’s backyard, where he first learned to toss a ball with Nathan. Hassan made sure to mention that it was Edy’s backyard, oddly enough, to point out just how close their homes were, and to remind them that they had come to LSU together. Horrifyingly enough that prompted the crew to descend on Edy after they’d finished taping that segment for a bit of Q&A that they warned her they might not use. In their follow-up, they wanted to know her earliest memories of Hassan and football. She talked about his wish to get everything just so, even when they were small. Holding the ball right. Throwing the ball sure. “He spent so much time with the Dysons,” Edy had said, “and for a while, I think he lived in their shadow.” She’d twisted her hands together, hesitant to admit this, but believing it was just what he needed. “You know, thinking himself a poser, some kind of pretender around the great Steve Dyson and three sons with massive talent.” Edy had glanced at Hassan then, to find him frozen, staring at her with the world’s widest eyes. “I think now he knows Steve Dyson had four sons with massive talent.”

  And his eyes began to water, grass plains flooding at her words. He dashed a hand at his face. “Shut up,” Hassan said and they both laughed.

  She was pretty sure they were using that segment.

  They took a flight to New York that night and checked into the Marriott Marquis. It sat on the shoulder of the PlayStation Theater, both on Broadway. The Heisman ceremony and a ton more coverage would take place at the theater. Hassan swore it would be cheesy from then on out, stuff like him and the other Heisman hopefuls tossing a football around in their suits, on the sidewalk, as they answered random questions. Stuff like the four of them pretending to be friends at a diner as they filmed cheesy promo. Stuff like each of them entering the theater for the ceremony. Edy didn’t need to ask him if he was nervous. Though he stood relaxed and reached for her hand casually when he could, each time she found it slick with sweat. Each time, she gripped it in her own as she was the one frightened.

  A little nervous, yes, but confident, too.

  In fact, Edy worried more about the words she’d exchange with Rani and when she’d exchange them. Her mom told her that Rani had been positively smug when Edy and Hassan broke up. Clearly, Hassan hadn’t bothered to tell her there’d been a change in scheduling, judging by the death his mother tried to glare into her. But on arriving in New York, they hadn’t said a word.

  Oddly enough, while Hassan was out being a celeb, she spent her time playing the tourist with Ali and her dad. It was almost like the old days, walking between the two men, having Ali trying to guess what she wanted and then getting it, with her own father quietly hovering. After he’d cancelled her credit cards in a hissy fit, he’d been distant, absent. That day, however, he’d muttered something like an apology, so she supposed they were okay now. Something near normal, at least. But Ali wasn’t letting him off that easy. As the three of them shopped, he took every opportunity to chastise her dad, to question his sanity, and his thought process. To Edy’s surprise, he insisted that if her father ever lost so much common sense again, she should call him for money.

  She could only imagine how that would go over with Rani.

  Speaking of which, Hassan’s mom had claimed another one of her headaches, but this time hadn’t bothered with a pretense of pain. She said she’d meet her sister at the spa and then, maybe, do a bit of shopping.

  Their days leading up to the ceremony were spent like that: Edy, in the company of both dads and her mom, with Rani as far away from them as she could get. Surprisingly, Edy couldn’t say she minded.

  Hassan busied himself early on the morning of the ceremony with a bit of his nervous vomiting. Edy held his hair up, rubbed his shoulders and back, and reminded him once again that he had nothing to worry about.

  “But I don’t even want it,” he lied. “I’m a freshman. Some other guy should have it. Do you know my quarterback was on the list? He should be here, not me.”

  “You should be here and you are,” Edy said.

  He threw up again. Acid, no doubt because he hadn’t had breakfast and hadn’t had much of an appetite for dinner, either.

  “I don’t even want the Heisman,” he told her again, face down in the bowl. “There are other guys, older ones, like Cash…”

  Edy shushed him and laid her head on his back.

&n
bsp; The Heisman festivities kicked off on Saturday. Hassan spent the latter part of the morning doing interviews and such. That afternoon, the family joined him at a pre-announcement cocktail reception. It was pretty star-studded, positively dripping with famous athletes, and Edy spent it in one corner gripping virgin daiquiri. Rani stood next to her in silence. For all of Hassan’s nervousness, he worked the room like he was a celeb among peers, reacquainting himself with old friends. His presence was insane. For all Edy’s talk, she had to dab her forehead with a napkin repeatedly.

  The Dinner Gala followed. Edy positively squealed when she caught a glimpse of Steve Dyson making his way to their table, followed by the entire Dyson clan. Edy glanced at Hassan, who shook his head slightly, indicating that, no, he hadn’t known they’d be there. He looked touched though. It must’ve been Steve who’d sprung for the table, and maybe for Edy and her dad to play tag along at the cocktail reception, too. What did that cost him? Tens of thousands, she was sure.

  They spent hours honoring this person and that person’s Heisman anniversary. They remembered a few deaths. They laughed at a few jokes, though more from the twins than any up on stage. Finally, finally it was time to move on to the auditorium for the proper announcement. One glimpse of Hassan said that he might pass away. Edy had to think of something. Any second now, cameras would descend on him, capturing his every flinch and smile, grinding fodder for ESPN, YouTube, and a million memes.

  She gripped his hand, tucked her elbow under his so he knew to tilt a bit. This was their secret language. When she had his ear, she said, “You are absolutely it for me, Hassan Pradhan. And you’re it for these people. Can’t you feel it?”

  His skin flushed rose as the corners of his mouth turned up. Hassan’s fingers had her chin, tilting her eyes up to face him.

  “You mean that?” he whispered. “That I’m it for you?” Even as others milled out around them, carrying on nosily as they went, there was no mistaking the heavy rise and fall of his chest, or the intensity of his stare.

  “Yes.” And she knew she did.

  “Yes,” he echoed.

  Edy swallowed as those green eyes continued to watch her, searching endlessly for something. But then he nodded just as surely as if she’d whispered some magic word to him.

  “Wish me luck,” he said, turning towards their group. He exchanged a hug with his parents, Edy’s dad, who said something extra, Steve and Tessa, the latter of whom was teary-eyed, and each of the Dyson boys—even Lawrence, who looked uncomfortable.

  One final time, he turned to Edy, and pressed a kiss on the corner of her mouth. Afterwards, he made towards the press, and towards the main event. He would go it alone from there.

  Edy exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

  Rani stepped into Edy’s line of view and gave her a pointed look. “Remember what I told you about boys being guided with the wrong head. You led him away from his mother, Edith. I hope you’re pleased.”

  “Really?” Edy hissed. “With your son on the cusp of the greatest trophy a college athlete could hold, you still want to talk about how I’m taking him away from you? Life is taking him away from you. Growing up is. He’s still your son, but he’s becoming a man. His own man, whether you like it or not.”

  Rani bared her teeth at Edy, indicating that the answer was ‘not.’

  The Heisman finalists sat at the front of the auditorium, four large bodies with their backs to the entirety of the darkened theater. Family members along the first row. For their purposes, only the Pradhans, her dad, and herself were able to get seats there. The Dysons made it just behind.

  She endured opening remarks pretty well, even chuckled at one or two dry football jokes. But the day had been long, between Hassan’s morning vomiting, the day’s itinerary, and Rani’s nonstop glaring. All she wanted now was to hear the Heisman winner and head back to Boston. Correction, all she wanted now was to hear that Hassan was the Heisman winner and head back to Boston.

  A Heisman Trustee had spent a considerable amount of time describing what they did and the charities they benefitted. Meanwhile, the thin sheen of sweat had returned to Edy’s forehead. A touch of Hassan’s nausea was attacking her, too. What must it be doing to him?

  She made a business of chewing on her bottom lip, lip gloss be damned. The pits of her dress were drenched. God, her mother would be so embarrassed by her. Nonetheless, she shoved that thought from her mind and replaced it with one mindless mantra: Please say Hassan’s name. Please say Hassan’s name.

  Okay. He was about to announce the winner. He’d just promised to announce the winner. But first, he had to tell them about John Heisman, for whom the trophy was named.

  Jesus Christ and Sunshine. Hassan had leaned forward, elbows to knees, and Edy had a momentary bout of panic. Should she switch to praying that he didn’t throw up or continue asking for the Heisman?

  Fuck that.

  Give us a Heisman, Jesus. Please.

  “Without further ado, the winner of this year’s Heisman Trophy is… Hassan Pradhan.”

  Edy screeched, feet kicking out, before both hands clapped over her mouth. Hassan’s parents hugged, then Ali and Nathan hugged, as Hassan trotted up to the stage. Edy hugged her dad, then Ali, before sliding her gaze to Rani. She’d already taken her seat.

  The auditorium sounded reckless. There was so much cheering for Hassan, Edy’s heart might’ve burst. “God, thank you, God,” she whispered and her eyes fell shut.

  Eventually, the room fell silent. Edy opened her eyes. Hassan still hadn’t spoken. He swallowed and swallowed again, enormous gulps magnified on a big screen.

  “Thank you. To those people who cheered for me, voted for me, prayed for me, loved me in their own way. Thank you especially to my mām and pitā.” Hassan sniffed. “I had something prepared to say, but I need to go off script.” He waved a crumpled sheet of paper. “So I’d like to begin with my thank yous.” He rattled off a long list that Edy had helped him with. It included the Dysons and an assortment of coaches, including one who had not even coached him. “Now that that’s done, can I tell you all a story?”

  Some girl from the rafters shouted “Yes!” Heffa.

  He smiled his infectious grin. “My next-door neighbor, Nathan, has always been like a dad to me. He and my father met in college and they’ve been best friends since. It was Nathan that taught me the game. He put a football in my hand when I was five, began teaching me the fundamentals not long after. But one of my earliest memories was of Nathan putting his daughter’s hand in mine.”

  From a few chairs down, Edy heard Rani make the sound of a choking chipmunk.

  “Edy Phelps and I grew up as close as two kids could. When I failed to make the junior varsity team in the sixth grade—yes, folks, JV—”

  Edy threatened to rear up at all the mumbling. Only her father’s hand on her arm steadied her, though that didn’t keep her from glaring around mutinously.

  “I went straight to her house when the team’s list came out.” He laughed a little, though pain rained down beneath it. “I must’ve been the only guy who didn’t make it. Lawrence even made it.”

  A smatter of laughter rang out as Edy careened around for the look on Lawrence’s face, only to see him throw up his hands as if to ask why he deserved that.

  Hassan shook his head. “But I had it in my head to quit. I marched straight up to her room and started snatching down every piece of football-related anything I’d left there. We both tugged at a lot of stuff.” He rubbed the back of his neck in trademark embarrassment. “I trashed what I could get away from her, slumped in a corner, and started crying.” He sighed. “The two of us must have sat there forever… long enough for the room to get dark. She wiped my tears that day and told me that we’d stick out football until the ball got up and left.”

  He waited for the laughter to die down. Then he looked up at her as if they were alone, as if he weren’t magnified for millions to watch.

  “I want to be the
re for you that way, Edy Phelps. There’s no question in my heart about you. So, um,” He stepped away from the podium, abandoning his Heisman momentarily. Then he darted off stage and straight up to her with lightening quick speed.

  Then he knelt before her.

  “Marry me,” Hassan said.

  Edy’s eyes flew huge. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She could only… stare.

  “If you meant what you said,” Hassan said quietly, “if you meant that I’m it for you, then marry me. Not now, of course. After school. After whatever you want. Just…please.”

  Edy exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled nosily and closed her eyes.

  One word entered her mind.

  “Yes,” she said.

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  Acknowledgements

  As always, I owe a debt of gratitude to so many. This novel, long in coming, wouldn’t have been possible without the advice, encouragement, and helping hands of others. Thank you to my husband, Pierre, and son, Caleb for their love, enthusiasm, and boundless encouragement. Thank you to my parents and family, who have shown unwavering support during tough times. Thank you to my writing ace, Lashanta Charles, whose patience and dedication helped make Wrecked a reality. Thank you also to my editor, Stephanie Dagg, cover designer, Regina Wamba, and formatter, Christopher Morgan. Their work contributed to the product before you. And where would I be without these girls? Carletta Hall, Allyn Key, and Catrina Sparkman combed through earlier, rougher versions of this novel and shared their unique insights. Thank you to my respective alma maters, Alabama A&M University and Nova Southeastern University, for the guidance, love, and friendships I found there. They continue to sustain me. A whopping thanks goes out to my uncle, John HL Newton II, for his unique way of kicking my head back into the game. Also, I’d like to thank the doctors and staff of Massachusetts General Hospital, particularly my neurologist, Dr. Michael Bowley, and my rheumatologist, Dr. Sebastian H. Unizony. These people are in the resurrection game; I swear.