Forgiving the Football Player

by Emma St Clair

  He put the phone back down and nodded to Cilla. “We’ll go at four. I should have asked if you can leave by then.”

  “As long as we’re done with these bags. I’ve got a few interns who are staying through dinner tonight. They’ll take over for us. Better get to signing. Because no one else can do that for you.”

  Pax picked up the marker and began to sign his name again. He needed something to focus on so that he didn’t have some kind of breakdown right there in the middle of the conference room. They were going to see his mama and Jazz. Then having dinner with her family. It felt like the years had been wound back at fast speed, plunking him right back down in the life he left. But he didn’t know how to navigate the old, painful familiar now.

  He wanted Cilla to come with him and he didn’t. Truth was, he didn’t want to go home at all. But even before his text, Mama and Jazz likely knew he was back and thought he was back with Cilla, per the news stories. The thought of seeing them made his stomach knot with anxiety and nausea. It really did soothe him, even if only a little, to know Cilla would be beside him. She never let his mother belittle him, which is one reason his mama hated Cilla. Once upon a time Jazz adored Cilla, but after her dad left, Jazz’s anger extended to her as well as Pax.

  To follow that with dinner at her parents’ house? The thought made sweat start to form at the collar of his shirt. Though they had always disliked Pax and disapproved of the relationship, Cilla had never stopped being the apple of the Worthingtons’ eye. Pax might have money and fame now, but even as recently as this week, he had shown himself to be the punk kid still. The one from a bad family who got paid to fight in barns. They probably thought nothing had changed when they saw the tabloids about this fight this week.

  “Hey.” Cilla reached out and touched his hand. Then hesitantly, she linked their fingers together. Pax nearly cried from relief at the feeling of comfort and familiar. When she didn’t speak again, he turned slightly to meet her eyes. She smiled another real, genuine smile that only broke his heart more. “We’re in it together, right?”

  We’re in it together.

  That had always been their saying. When his mama’s boyfriend beat him or when her parents insulted him and pressured her, she would remind him that they were in it together.

  Were the words still true, though?

  Desperately, he wanted them to be, even as reality sank into his heart. Priscilla Worthington had always been too good for him. He knew it then and he knew it now. Even before he got the concussion that resulted in her getting behind the wheel, leaving her in a wheelchair. She was too good for him, and this moment that felt so real was just part of the fake relationship she had created.

  They couldn’t be in it together. Pulling his hand away from hers, Pax nodded and went back to signing autographs on the glossy pictures where he looked like the pro football player who had everything at his fingertips.

  Chapter Eleven

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll drive,” Cilla said as they left Wheels Up. Pax stared at her, his mouth slightly open. Then his jaw snapped closed and he nodded.

  Cilla swallowed hard. She hadn’t thought through the implications of driving Pax riding shotgun. It was like a replay of that night.

  Or maybe a second chance?

  Pax had to be thinking the same thing—how could he not? —but he followed her out to her car without saying a word. He didn’t offer to help her, which she appreciated. She wanted him to see her as capable, not broken. He simply sat in the car, waiting. He looked enormous. Even with the seat all the way back, his legs hardly fit in the space.

  Cilla’s hands shook a little after she pulled herself into the driver’s seat. She almost dropped one of the wheels before she got it stowed away in the backseat and closed the door.

  “You’re fast,” he said appreciatively.

  “I’ve had practice.” Her words didn’t have the heat that they could have. She didn’t want to be flattered by his praise. But his words unfurled in her heart like the petals of a flower, opening to the sun.

  “I don’t know where your mom’s new house is. Want to put it in my phone? It’s connected to the Bluetooth, so you can just plug it in and it will start bossing me around. Or, if you want, you can just tell me how to get there.” She held out the phone, but he shook his head.

  “I can tell you. You know where Cinco Lakes is?”

  “Yep. That’s the one with the beach club with an actual sand area?”

  “Yep. The first gated neighborhood on the left.”

  “Fancy.”

  He grunted but didn’t say anything as she put the car in reverse. Cilla was still trying to steady her shaking hands. She ground her teeth and told herself silently to man up. Driving, with or without Pax in the car, was no big deal. He seemed totally relaxed, but she could still see a muscle tightening in his jaw.

  As a tense silence filled the car, Cilla mentally kicked herself.

  What had she been thinking, offering to go see his mom with him? Cilla should really be better about listening to that little voice of warning inside her before making decisions. Like the time in high school when she let Adele put light blonde highlights in her hair. The box showed someone with honey-colored hair like hers and lighter, sun-kissed highlights. It looked like beach hair.

  That little voice told her no, but she ignored it. Which is how she ended up with chunky streaks of brassy orange all over her head. She had to drop over a hundred dollars at a high-priced salon to strip her hair and dye it back to her normal color.

  The voice didn’t always speak up when it should. Like the night of the accident, when it was decidedly silent as she agreed to watch Pax fight. Why hadn’t it said anything then? It had been the first and only time she went to the fight nights. She had always disapproved of the fighting but understood it. He had to help put money on the table and it was a healthier outlet for the pain and anger Pax had built up over the years.

  Cilla had trusted that David, the twins’ older brother, would keep Pax safe at the fights. The Boyds were more of a family to Pax than his own, and all the boys loved him like a brother. If it had been any other setup, she would have put her foot down about the fighting.

  Until that last night, she hadn’t seen him fight or wanted to. But he’d be leaving for A&M in the morning and wanted to go out with a bang. Curiosity got the better of Cilla and that stupid voice hadn’t said a thing to stop her. Not so much as a whisper.

  Pax didn’t disappoint. She could still picture him in a tight black tank top, muscles shiny with sweat as he threw punches and finally took down a tall, blond guy who looked to be about five years older. Pax’s body was all mass. A smooth, hard machine. As much as the idea of the fights disgusted Cilla, she had found herself screaming as much as anyone else in the crowd. It had woken a dark part of her she didn’t know existed.

  When Pax walked away with a concussion, but also a win, the voice didn’t say a word about her getting behind the wheel. Why should it? Driving was something she had done almost every day for the last two and a half years. Cilla had always been a careful driver. No warning bells, no voices. But the adrenaline and excitement from watching the fight still coursed through her body. Was that why she took that turn too tightly? She’d never know.

  It didn’t speak up then, but that inner voice had been practically going hoarse from shouting at her this week. Like when she threw herself into Pax’s arms at the Wheels Up office. Or when she talked to Larry on the phone and made the stupid deal with him. She thought it would be some kind of punishment for Pax, but she knew herself well enough to know that a big part of her just wanted more reason to be around him.

  So now she was punishing herself, a bittersweet torture.

  As angry as she still was with him for leaving her, this pretend relationship revealed what she actually wanted with Pax, only for real and for keeps. She wanted to be able to introduce Pax to people as her boyfriend—no, husband. She wanted him to be hers.

  Nothing was
fake about the way she beamed with pride as people paraded in front of them all day in the conference room, coming to meet him as she had asked in the office-wide email. If only Pax hadn’t looked so miserable, resigned to do what she asked of him.

  Easton’s words still rang in her head from the night before. She didn’t want to believe that Pax hated himself. She had spent years hating him; he couldn’t hate himself too. It took all the fire out of her.

  When she woke up in the hospital that morning, feeling pain and also an alien nothingness in the lower half of her body, she didn’t believe her parents when they said Pax left. She had to face the truth when Elton and Easton stopped by, their faces grim and tortured. They had no explanation either but confirmed that he was gone.

  The only thing she could think was that he didn’t want Cilla to hold back his dreams. He had been planning his escape from Katy and from home for so many years. A girlfriend with paraplegia? Cilla had, in an instant, become a chain to him, holding him back. Of course he left.

  But had she really believed that? Even in high school, Pax had been so tender with her, so kind. He would have sacrificed anything for Cilla. He gave things up constantly for his Mama and Jazz, despite the way they treated him. That’s the kind of man he was.

  Yet for the past six years, she thought of Pax’s decision as selfish, putting his life ahead of hers. Maybe somewhere inside, she knew that wasn’t true, but until Easton said it out loud, she couldn’t have really thought it. He left because he couldn’t bear the guilt.

  It made her sad, but it also made her angry. He didn’t get to take the blame for it. The whole thing was one hundred percent her fault. A single-car accident, caused when she veered into a brick sign for a planned community after glancing down to change the radio station.

  With every minute that passed in the silent car, her anger built.

  Don’t say anything. Just let it be. Don’t say any—

  “Just so we’re clear on this, you don’t get to take the blame for the accident,” Cilla said. The words poured out, hot and thick like lava bubbling up to the surface. From the corner of her eye, she could see Pax stiffen. But he didn’t respond, which in her mind, was just as much of an argument. “I was the one driving. Me. I looked away from the road. I crashed into something. Me, not you. So, you can go ahead and take that weight right off your shoulders. I’m already carrying it and we don’t both need to.”

  “I shouldn’t have done that last fight. You wanted to go out to dinner on our last night before college. We were supposed to go out on a date.”

  “I told you to fight. I said I wanted to watch.”

  “I got a concussion because I looked over at you. I wanted to see your face.” He paused, and Cilla could hear the sound of him swallowing hard. “I knew better than to look away. I would have been driving. Everything would have been fine. Or I would have been the one hurt.”

  Cilla rolled up to the gate in front of the neighborhood Pax had directed her to. She put the car in park and turned in her seat to glare at him. “Stop. Right now, I want you to stop carrying around this burden. It was my fault and that’s final. We all could have made different decisions all along the way, but the final one, the one that made me crash into a sign, was mine.” She pointed a finger at her own chest. “I carry that burden, Pax. You put it down right now.”

  His jaw looked tight and hard, but his eyes were soft and pained. “That’s not how it works.”

  “You tell me, then. How does it work? Because we can’t both go through life feeling responsible for the same thing and letting that guilt tear us to pieces.” The tears sneaked up on her and Cilla pressed her palms to her cheeks, swiping them away. “It’s too much, Pax.” Her voice shook.

  Slowly, like he was afraid she might slap him away, he reached out and took her hands in his. He held her loosely, softly, like he thought she might break.

  No, that wasn’t it. Pax had always known her strength. He held her like she was precious. Her tears fell faster, dripping down her neck to the collar of her shirt.

  “We’re in it together,” he said. “What if we both lay the guilt down? We both made choices and there’s nothing to be done about them now.”

  Her chest ached. She wanted to unhook her seatbelt and launch herself across the car into his arms. But something still held her back. As much as she wanted to throw herself at him, she wanted to run away.

  Not that she could run anywhere. Funny, even after six years of not being able to run, that was still the phrase that stayed with her. Wheel away or roll away didn’t hold as much power. To even get away from Pax, she’d have to take a few minutes to reassemble her chair. It took all the drama out of it.

  His words turned over in her mind even as she looked down at their joined hands. Could she let go of the guilt? Long ago it had wrapped itself around her heart, squeezing and holding fast. Untangling it now would hurt. It might do greater damage than just letting it be. It was a part of her. She didn’t know how to function without it.

  A car horn blared behind them. Pax dropped her hands and Cilla realized that the car behind them had activated the gate. It swung slowly open. She lifted a hand to wave and then put the car in drive, pulling away from the entrance, the moment, and the question that still hung over her head.

  Right before arriving at his mama’s house was the worst time to have had that conversation. Pax wanted to reach back and stuff the words back in his mouth.

  He had asked the impossible of them both: to put down the guilt they both carried. He hadn’t been able to do it. Why had he thought Cilla could? Or that it was his place to suggest such a thing?

  She might be with him in the car, going home with him, but they weren’t in it together. Not really. The foot or so between them had stretched wide like a gulf.

  “Third house on the right,” Pax said, pointing up ahead.

  “Wow, Pax. This is a really nice neighborhood.” Cilla sounded impressed. It was like she had forgotten all about the conversation they just had. Or maybe it wouldn’t haunt her the way it already haunted him.

  “It’s alright,” he said, imagining how this might look to her eyes.

  Cilla grew up in a mansion seated on an acre of land. The previous owners had horses, and the white-railed wood fences and the columns on the house made it look like a plantation. They had not one but three housekeepers, plus a team that handled the grounds (because it wasn’t just a yard), and back in the day, even a butler who doubled as a chef. Nothing at all like the house Pax had bought for Mama and Jazz.

  With the help of a financial advisor, Pax had bought the nicest house he could afford outright. It was no mansion, but it could swallow at least two of the run-down three-bedroom house Pax grew up in. As they pulled up, Pax noticed that it was the only one on the block without some kind of Christmas lights or décor in the yard.

  Cilla turned off the car. She pointed to the steps. “One thing I didn’t really think about.”

  Pax wanted to kick himself. He should have thought about the fact that their house wasn’t accessible. Instead, he had been paying attention to the lack of lights on the lawn. He didn’t want to ask the wrong thing or make the wrong suggestion, anything that might make her feel like she wasn’t capable.

  He grimaced. “I should have thought about this. I’m sorry. The inside has a sunken living room and steps from the entry into the rest of the house. Tell me what I can do. If you need me to do anything.”

  “I’ll put the chair together and you can just lift me up over the steps in the chair.” She smirked at him. “You think you’re strong enough to carry me while I’m in the chair?”

  He snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  While she put her chair back together, he tried not to stare. She’d probably get the wrong idea. What Pax wanted to know was how the chair fit together and came apart. But her movements were too quick for him to follow, and less than five minutes later, he was following her up the walk.

  When they got to the po
rch steps, Pax bent down, trying to find the best way to pick up her chair without sending her toppling out of it. Unlike the cheap wheelchairs he’d seen in hospitals, this one was streamlined and light. There were no arm rests or handles on the back.

  “Maybe get an arm under the front and one under the back?” she suggested.

  Almost like he was scooping her up, bridal-style, Pax reached an arm around the front of the wheel underneath her seat and put the other around the back. “Grab onto me,” he said. “I don’t want to drop you.”

  “I’d make a joke about dropping the ball, but you play defense.”

  He stood, holding the chair securely if a little awkwardly. Their faces were just inches apart as she wound her arms around his neck. The chair was much lighter than he would have imagined, and he tried to distract himself from thinking about the way her skin smelled. “It this titanium?”

  “Yep. Pretty light. My parents had to get me the best.”

  Her voice sounded bitter, which surprised him. She hadn’t said much about her family, but he’d never heard that tone in her voice before. As much as he loved the feel of her hands on his neck, Pax felt better once he put her down. She wasn’t heavy, but it was awkward with her and the chair. The last thing he needed to do was drop her.

  “You ready?” Cilla glanced up at him with concern in her eyes.

  “No.” Taking a deep breath, Pax rang the doorbell and then wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He jumped when Cilla’s hand brushed his. She smiled and intertwined their fingers just as the door opened. Pax had a hard time keeping a smile from his face.

  Until he saw his mama. She leaned on the door frame with her bony arms crossed. The short T-shirt she wore exposed the slightest bit of skin above her jeans, the color of skim milk. Her dark hair was pulled into a severe ponytail and gold hoop earrings brushed her shoulders. She looked older and thinner than she had the last time he saw her. Just as mean, though.