Sidelines (Wounded Hearts #1)

by S. M. Smith

  Mac bites down on his bottom lip, as if holding back a comment he knows will only infuriate me.

  “We’re having the services at the Church of Christ in Santa Cruz tomorrow. He’ll be buried next to Mag—” Her name catches on my tongue and I have to inhale a lungful just to finish my thought. “Maggie afterward. Then we’ll wrap everything up with a dinner served in their honor at The Kitchen on 94th and Savoy afterward.”

  “What can I contribute to the dinner?” Mac has, on numerous occasions, helped me organize company sponsored dinners for the homeless that come to The Kitchen. As a company we’ve fed countless people who just need a warm meal and place to rest.

  “It’s mostly covered. We’re asking that any monetary donations be sent there for future meals.”

  He nods and pulls out his phone. His thumbs fly across the screen and before he clicks the screen locked again, I know he’s made a handsome donation. “Let me know if that doesn’t cover it.”

  Smiling weakly, I thank him.

  “No need, Al. What time do I need to be at the church?”

  I don’t know why I didn’t think of Mac being there for me for the hardest day of my life. He was there for me when we buried Maggie, standing next to Danny and lending a friendly hand when I needed it. But the surprise hits me full-force anyway, knocking me off guard and sending a fresh wave of tears to assault my eyes again.

  “You—” I don’t even get my protest out before Mac swallows me up in a hug.

  “It’s okay, Allie. You know I wouldn’t miss that for anything.” He runs his hand over my shoulders and lets me hug him back. I let the tears fall, but force the weeps that want to accompany them at bay. If I’m going to lose it again, I might as well be at home in my sweats and not have to worry about scaring little children on the street with my horrendously puffy eyes and flaming red nose.

  “We’ve been friends a long time, Al. Walt was like an uncle to me and I know you have to be devastated. I wish there was something more I could do for you.”

  I almost—almost—ask him if calling a particular wide receiver would be inappropriate. These last two days back in Cali have felt less like home than Walker first did. I miss the quiet country, the warm smiles and the beautiful sunsets. I miss the nonstop chatter of the younger Lassiters and the easy-going playfulness of the eldest Lassiters. But more than anything I miss the peaceful reticence of Logan’s presence at the ranch.

  And his hugs. Definitely those hugs.

  “What is it?” Mac steps away and searches my eyes, trying to decipher my needs.

  “Nothing. You being there will be great. You can make me laugh by making fun of me when I get up there and make a total fool of myself.”

  He gives me a sad grin. “You won’t make a fool of yourself, Al. Just talk from the heart. Everyone knows that you and Walt had a unique bond. I can’t think of a better person to eulogize for him.”

  Although his words bring a sense of pride to my heart, they don’t ease the pain of Walt’s absence. Or Logan’s.

  “I need to go. I have to pick up my dress from the dry cleaners, and I’m going to swing by and help prep for tomorrow’s dinner.”

  I go to turn, but Mac stops me by laying a hand on my arm.

  “You need to rest, Allie. I’m sure the ladies at The Kitchen will understand.”

  I can’t tell him that even if I do as he says, I won’t be able to sleep. I can’t take the pity in his eyes now as it is. So I just nod and push back the tears one more time.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  My heart, which I thought was completely empty, is starting to feel a little full. The turn out for Walt’s memorial is far greater than I could have ever imagined. The church was half full of its normal patrons when players and coaches I have consistent contact with start to arrive. Each man greets me with true, heartfelt condolences, giving hugs and sitting together as if they are one universal team behind the pew set aside for me. When Stan Hadley, the current head coach for the San Jose Spartans walks in, I nearly lose it. I had set up a meeting with Stan a few years ago, when Walt was still a religious season ticket holder for the Spartans, and the man was completely enamored by Walt. The fact that he would take the time away from his team, just weeks away from their season opener, to be here for a mere super fan makes my heart swell to epic proportions.

  “Wow.” Mac exhales as he steps inside the foyer and eyes the growing crowd. “Is that—?”

  I nod, unable to put to words the feelings of support I have from what feels like half of the players of the NPFL.

  “Allie, you have to know they’re here for you.”

  Still unable to formulate any words, I just nod and wipe the stray tears that will not cooperate. Figuring out I’m in a state of speechlessness, Mac wraps one arm around me and squeezes my shoulders. After checking the clock and seeing we have just a few minutes before the service will start, I lean my head on his shoulder and sigh.

  It is after Javonte walks through the door that my hopes that he’ll be followed by Logan start to rise. Every time that door opens and another player walks in, I keep thinking, He’ll make it. Just give him some time to find the place, but he’ll be here.

  But as Pastor Jim makes his way to me, that hope washes away.

  “I’m sorry, Allie, but it’s time.” Pastor Jim’s wrinkled hands envelop mine. “Would you mind if I prayed over you before we begin?”

  I don’t really feel like him praying over me will really do me much good, but I know it will ease the poor pastor if I let him, so I nod. Just as he, Mac and I bow our heads, the doors behind us open and I cannot believe my eyes.

  A bright red head pokes inside the door and when her searching eyes meet mine, I feel the weight of everything I’ve had to do over the last few days slip away. When Lucy, in heels that make her a good foot taller, steps in behind her big sister, I think my heart stops. Both girls nearly stumble into me as they rush me with open arms. Not paying a bit of attention as to how it will affect my make up, the first tears of relief fall as the sisters squeeze me tight.

  “You’re here.” I hear myself exhale as if I’ve been holding it in since the moment I flew out of Texas.

  “Of course we’re here, silly.” Emma pulls back and runs her thumbs gently under my eyes.

  “We couldn’t let you do this all on your own.” Lucy’s sweet smile nearly undoes me. “Fabulous dress, by the way.” She holds my arms out so she can take in my high necked, three quarter sleeved sheath dress before giving me a look of approval.

  “We all know you need your better half here beside you.” Drew stands behind his sisters, a vision in his tailored suit with his hands casually in his pockets and a playful smirk on his face.

  “And you think that’s you?” I ask, choking on my joke back to him.

  He barks a laugh too loud for the circumstances, earning a few glances from the full congregation. “You wish, Mooreland.” His bearlike arms wrap around me and pats my back. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he whispers into my hair.

  “Thanks.”

  He pulls back and gives me a weird look. “Who says ‘thanks’ to a comment like that?”

  I shrug and wipe at the tears that won’t stop leaking down my face. “What would you like me to say?”

  He grins. “Fair point.”

  He’s slapped away by his mother, the only woman I’ve ever missed more than Maggie.

  “Stop messing with her,” she scolds her son as she wraps me in her arms. I inhale the sweet honeysuckle scent of her hair and am not at all surprised by the homesick feeling in my bones. Trying to hold everything in, I shake in her embrace, but like the wonderful mother she is, she soothes me with her words. “Everything’s okay, honey. We’re here now.”

  As much as I try, I can’t hide the crack in my voice. “Thank you so much for being here.”

  She wipes my tears away, much like Emma did, and smiles warmly. “You don’t have to thank us for anything.”

  Sam gives me a quick hug and
his sincerest condolences, and for a moment I wish he’d relieve a bit of the tension in here by whirling me around with some fancy footwork. But his hug is brief and when he steps back, I see why.

  Standing in the best three-piece suit in the house, with eyes as tormented and as pained as I see in the mirror, Logan watches me with his family. Any dreams I had of him rushing and scooping me up in his arms are dashed away when a hushed conversation with Pastor Jim draws my attention away.

  “It’s standing room only, I’m afraid.”

  “They can sit with me,” I say, regretting the surprised look on Mac’s face the moment the words are out of my mouth. “I don’t need a whole pew to myself and honestly,” I glance back at Logan and feel my breath catch at the tortured look in his eyes, “I could use the company.”

  I give Mac a pleading look, wordlessly asking him to not fight me on this. Not today. After a moment, he nods and steps forward. Leaning in, he grasps my shoulders.

  “You sure about this?” He doesn’t have to say anything more, but I know what his words are implying. And I’m a little too high on the roller coaster this whole ordeal has put me through to care.

  “I am.”

  He pins my eyes with another look and nods. Without saying a word, he offers an arm out to Emma and ushers the first set of Lassiters to the front pew. I don’t have to turn back to him to know Logan’s no longer feet behind me. When his elbow is offered beside me, I take it and hold my head high as I let him escort me to my place in the front row.

  ***

  “Walt was the kind of man any teenage girl would be embarrassed of. He walked around with a Spartan helmet—complete with the full, flaming red plume—and his ‘lucky’ shorts, which I’m pretty sure were constructed in the seventies and showed off way too much leg for an old man.” The whole room chuckles politely, encouraging me to power on. “But as a fellow weirdo myself, I loved it. Although I couldn’t commit to his beloved team on his level—my apologies, Coach Hadley—” he shrugs my apology off as if my loyalty to his team is of no consequence, “I did happen to fall just as madly in love with the game.

  “Walt was the first person to explain to me how the game of football works. He never lost his patience when he had to explain the differences between a 3-4 and a 4-3 defense three or four times a game. I remember him sipping coffee proudly as he watched me fill out note cards that I used to memorize penalty calls and player positions. I also will never forget the feeling of coffee being sprayed in my face when I told him my dream was to be the first woman on the coaching staff for the Portland Flames.”

  Several gasps break the silence and Larry’s harrumph makes me smile. The lifelong rivalry between the Spartans and Flames made my declaration that morning my junior year of high school feel like a betrayal to Walt. Anything to do with the Flames was sacrilege to him and my committing myself to them would almost have been grounds for kicking me out if it weren’t for dear, sweet Maggie.

  “I’ll also never forget the first time he took me to my first Spartans game. He and Mr. Whitman introduced me to my first love: stadium nachos.” I can’t help glancing down at the family saving me a seat on the front row. The love and laughter I felt on my birthday will be something I’ll remember long, long after they go back home.

  “Walt was also the kind of man Nicholas Sparks would have written about. His love and devotion to Maggie set an example for me that no romance novel could ever have. He never missed a birthday or anniversary, always sending her her favorite flowers. I remember him telling me how much he hated celebrating Valentine’s day. ‘Showing someone you love them is a daily event, Allie Cat, not a once a year occasion.’ And he did. Every day he showed Maggie how special she was to him, telling her he loved her and making a point to do something every day to prove it to her. Even if it was a small act, whenever she would thank him, he’d wave her off and tell her that the only sign of appreciation he’d accept was her kisses. It was seriously embarrassing having to live as a teen with those two frisky cats.

  “Walt’s adoration of his wife mirrored that of the God he loved to serve. Every Sunday from February through July—and then those weeks where the Spartans would play late—he’d joke that Maggie would drag him to The Kitchen to serve. But even after our beloved Maggie passed, he would still hobble down the street and pass out plates of food until his knees couldn’t hold him up any longer. He was a true man after God’s own heart, loving on every person who crossed his path, and even opening his arms and his home to a scared little girl. My life took a drastic turn for the better the moment I met Maggie and Walter Mooreland. I’m proud to carry their name, but even more so to have known their love and compassion.”

  I turn to the portrait of him on the big screen, his vibrant eyes full of love and life, a healthy glow in his cheeks and commit the image to my memory. Glancing down over at the casket to my right I swallow and try to tune out the room full of eyes watching my every move. Despite my well-thought out words, I only wish I could find the kind of peace and comfort Walt and Maggie found in God.

  “Thank you for everything, Pops. For everything.”

  Without looking up, I pick up my note cards and step down from the podium. Audrey, a kind elderly lady I remember always leading worship, greets me at the bottom of the stage and gives me a quick hug. I don’t linger in her embrace, ready to sit and fade into the crowd. But I can’t just fade into the masses. So knowing half the room is watching, waiting for me to break down, I push my shoulders back and pull my bottom lip in between my teeth as I take my seat. When Audrey’s musical accompaniment starts up, the pressure on my heart and eyes becomes overwhelming. As she begins the opening stanza to “In the Garden,” the pressure becomes almost unbearable. Closing my eyes I try to pretend I’m not here. I’m somewhere far, far away, where no one is watching, no one expects anything of me, somewhere I can just breathe. Then a hand slips into mine and his long fingers smoothly glide over the back of my hand and the pins and needles holding my every muscle in place start to fall out. Just as she sings, “tells me I’m his own,” the dam breaks and I can’t hold it in any longer. The tears fall down my cheeks and my shoulders won’t stay back to save my life. I nearly cry out when his hand releases mine, but then Logan pulls me into his side and I don’t have to sit up by myself anymore.

  He’s here and he’s holding me up, and for the moment, I’m not trying to do this alone.

  ***

  The late summer sun beats down on us as the final prayer is prayed over Walt and his body is lowered into the ground. Logan doesn’t leave my side until everyone starts shifting about. I feel him hover close by as I accept hugs and words meant to comfort from well-meaning church members. Pastor Jim reminds me for the fourth time today that I’m always welcome in his church before stepping around me and making his way back to the car. Several people tell me they’ll see me at The Kitchen but the faces all start to blur together until Mac steps into my line of sight. He runs a frustrated tongue over his teeth, inhaling sharply when he glances over my shoulder to where I know Logan is still standing guard.

  “It was really nice of Lassiter and his family to come.”

  I try to summon up the energy to fight this battle. “It was really nice of them.”

  “Are they coming to The Kitchen with us?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not sure.”

  Mac glances down at his loafers before staring off toward the line of cars waiting to exit the cemetery. “Allie, I know this probably isn’t the time, but I feel like I need to remind you of—”

  “You’re right. It’s not the right time. And you don’t have to. I know the consequences.”

  “Do you?” I shoot him a look and he sighs in defeat. “I’m sorry. I just—Your life is already complicated enough for you right now. I know you don’t need anything muddying things up for you any more than they already are.”

  He was right. I had already gotten some feedback on the article. The editor I normally work with sent me an email lett
ing me know that the vibe of the article was reverential and had told me she had a few notes on places that I could tweak. She had seen the Instagram post and had warned me that as it was, the article wouldn’t help any case to ward off the rumors the post had started circulating.

  “I know what I’m doing, Mac.”

  “With all due respect, Al, I’m not sure you’re in any state to make that an accurate statement.”

  “I’m fine, Mac.”

  I feel Logan approaching, knowing he senses the tension between Mac and I. When Mac shifts into a defensive stance, I know it’s time to get both boys to walk away.

  “Is everything okay here, Allie?” He hasn’t said much to me since he first walked in that church door so his voice is like ice water to my parched throat.

  “I was just asking her the same thing. I don’t know what was going on between you two back in Texas but—”

  “Mac.” I place a hand on his arm but he shrugs it off and gives me a warning look.

  “No, Allie. He needs to understand.”

  “Now is not the time for this.” I try to step in front of him, but he shifts so that his eyes never leave Logan’s.

  “Now is most definitely the time for this. I think it’s blatantly obvious that you care for her, Lassiter, but I think it has escaped your attention how much doing so is ruining her career. They’re making her re-write half the article and if they had more time to put together something equally advantageous, they’d pull the piece all together. Allie has overcome so much in her career to get her where she is today and I’m afraid that one more public display of affection could cost her everything. Is that really what you want for her?”

  Seething, I don’t even let Logan answer. “Are you done?”

  Turning, I fold my arms together and turn away from Mac, not even giving him the chance to say if he is or not, and try to tell Logan with my eyes that he doesn’t have to answer that question. “I’ll show you to The Kitchen.”