Forgiving the Football Player

by Emma St Clair

  Shame made her chest tighten as she thought of the stupid fight she’d picked with them that morning. They had been nothing but generous and loving to her—not just after the accident, but before. The only thing she really ever disagreed with them about over the years was Pax.

  They were fighting about him now but for different reasons. Apparently, her parents had been hoping the two of them would get back together. They didn’t seem to understand why that couldn’t happen. And the thought of explaining how he deserved someone better made her feel physically ill.

  Cilla rubbed a hand over her chest, trying to ease the tension at the thought. She couldn’t think about him without the ache.

  The night before, out of sheer desperation, she had maneuvered herself out of the chair and onto the floor. She couldn’t really get on her knees to pray the way she would have before—not that she was ever the best at praying—but she lay face down, figuring it was close enough. With her cheek pressed to the floor, she attempted to pray.

  The words didn’t come. Not eloquently, anyway. Instead, Cilla wept. She sobbed and muttered and tried to wrap words around the complexity of her feelings.

  “I’m so angry,” she had finally managed to choke out. “God, I’m furious. With Pax. My parents. Myself. Heck, even you. I’m mad and I’m so tired. Help me. Please.”

  Cilla hadn’t known what to expect. Did God even still listen to her after years of radio silence on her part?

  There was no audible voice giving her some kind of answer. Only the sound of her breathing and her heartbeat in her ears. That verse kept coming to her mind, though, the one about his yoke being easy and full of rest. When she managed to lift herself back into her chair, she grabbed her Bible from the bookshelf.

  The spine practically creaked when she opened it, a reminder of how long it had been. The verse that kept running through her mind came from Matthew 11:28-30.

  “‘Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened,’” she read aloud. “Yep. That’s me. ‘You will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.’ Really?” Cilla had slammed the Bible closed with a growl.

  Easy? she thought bitterly. Light? Hardly. Reading the words hadn’t made her feel lighter. If anything, the guilt pressed more firmly against her ribs.

  It was that restless, heavy feeling that made her snap at her parents that morning. And it was why she kept pushing the food around on her plate now.

  The verses echoed in her mind as she half-listened to Elton and Easton and Adele talking. The sound of forks scraping against plates was like nails on a chalkboard. Her stomach churned.

  Could it really be that easy? To just … let go of my burdens? To forgive?

  To hope?

  Every time she thought about it, her face grew warm and sweat gathered at the base of her neck. She wanted that lightness so badly, yet it felt completely impossible to let go of what she’d been holding tightly for so many years.

  “Not hungry?” Easton asked, nudging Cilla’s elbow. He had a stack of plates in his arms. “Or was it Elton’s cooking?”

  “Hey!” Elton protested from the couch.

  She made a face and handed Easton her plate. “Not the cooking. Just me.”

  With an understanding smile, Easton took the dishes to the kitchen. He always seemed to get her, even if he didn’t have a lot to say.

  “Present time!” Elton said, clapping his hands. “I get to be Santa this year.”

  Easton rejoined them as Elton pulled on a fluffy Santa hat. Adele giggled and took a picture of Elton, who pulled his shirtsleeves up to flex. Cilla couldn’t help laughing. “You know you’re still wearing your apron, right?”

  “At least he’s wearing something under the apron,” Easton said.

  Adele’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. “Did we have reason to be concerned about that?”

  Elton winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  Adele’s cheeks grew red, but she was smiling. Even Easton chuckled. Cilla grinned and gestured to the presents. “Santa! Get a move on.”

  “Alright! No need to be snappy.”

  Elton passed out the first round of presents, starting with Cilla’s gifts to everyone. She bit her lip to hold back a smile as she watched her three friends rip open their packages. There was a moment of silence as they stared down at what was inside.

  “What … is this?” Adele asked. She held up the bag with two fingers, like it contained a deadly snake.

  Elton opened his bag to take a sniff. “Some kind of jerky?”

  Easton and Adele stared at Cilla. She thought she would laugh, explaining about the emu jerky, but her smile disappeared as the memory of Pax sitting on the hood of her car popped into her mind. Her lips trembled.

  “Emu. It’s emu jerky,” Cilla said, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

  “It’s what?” Elton took a big bite after his question, chewing and chewing and chewing.

  “Emu jerky.” Cilla practically shouted the words. Then she promptly burst into tears.

  Within seconds, the three of them had formed a protective sort of wall of bodies around her. Hugging, patting, stroking her back. All saying kind, comforting things. It only made Cilla cry harder.

  “Stop it!” she managed to shout through her tears. “I don’t deserve it. I’m not a nice person.”

  Easton and Adele backed off a little, but Elton grabbed her hands and knelt at her feet, pinning her with a fierce gaze. “Darlin, we’re not friends with you because you’re the nicest. That award goes to Adele.”

  Cilla snorted. He got that right. Adele’s cheeks turned a little pink, and Elton glanced at her for a long moment before turning back to Cilla.

  “Look. We love you because you’re you. Passionate, loyal, and maybe stubborn to a fault. Good and bad alike, we love you. And you are nice.” When Cilla glared, Elton gave her a crooked smile. “Ish. Nice-ish.”

  “That’s more like it,” Cilla said, sniffing. As much as she didn’t think she deserved this kindness, Elton’s words and her friends’ presence warmed her chest.

  “It’s not too late,” Adele said.

  “Too late for what?”

  Adele pursed her lips, and Elton chuckled. Easton only shook his head as the three of them exchanged glances.

  “We’re also not friends with you because you’re the sharpest tool in the shed,” Elton said, raising his eyes to the ceiling, like he was just barely tolerating this conversation. “I mean, if you need us to spell it out for you—”

  “Pax,” Easton said. “It’s not too late for you and Pax.”

  Cilla tried to pull her hands away from Elton’s, but he held on. “I don’t—I mean, we aren’t … he isn’t …”

  Adele crossed her arms over her chest and Easton tightened his jaw.

  “Sweetheart, the man loves you,” Elton said. “And you love him. You’re both in love and you’re both hurt and you’re both playing a game of chicken.”

  “Chicken?”

  “You know. Where the cars drive toward each other at full speed and you see who pulls away first,” Elton said.

  “In that movie Footloose, they did it with tractors,” Adele added. “Remember?”

  Cilla snorted. “Got it. Chicken. But how are Pax and I doing that?”

  Elton squeezed her hands again. “You’re playing chicken, but the opposite way. You’re both running away from the other person, waiting to see who turns back first. Except … right now, you’re both still running. And you’re both miserable over it.”

  “I’m not—” Cilla started to say. At the dark looks from all three of her friends, she stopped. “Yeah. Maybe I’m slightly unhappy.”

  Adele snorted. “You’ve been a raging ball of anger for the past six years.”

  “Tell me how you really feel.” Cilla’s eyes burned.

  Now Adele got up and joined Elton, placing one hand on Cilla’s shoulder and the other on Elton’s. Her eyes were soft, which only made the emotion in Cilla’s t
hroat bubble up more.

  “Maybe we should have talked to you a long time ago instead of letting this fester,” said Adele.

  “This is starting to feel like an intervention,” Cilla said, trying to lighten the mood. When no one laughed, she looked from Adele to Elton to Easton. “Is this an intervention?”

  She was surprised when Easton answered. “Do you think that you need one?”

  Cilla lowered her chin to her chest, trying to focus on breathing. One minute passed. Then two. Still, her friends waited, Elton’s hands holding hers and Adele’s soft touch on her shoulder.

  “I need help,” Cilla finally managed to say. Just saying the words out loud filled her with relief.

  “What was that?” Elton cupped one hand to his ear. “I’m sorry. It sounded like you asked for help.”

  Cilla groaned at his joke and tried to pull her hands away from him again, but he held on even tighter, his eyes twinkling. She wanted to smack him. Or maybe roll over to the tree and start chucking ornaments at his head.

  “Seriously, though,” he said. “We’re here.”

  “Anything you need,” Easton said. Adele nodded.

  Looking down at her hands, still clasped in Elton’s, Cilla blew out a breath. “I think I need to take a trip to Dallas.”

  When no one spoke, she looked up to find the three of them all grinning. Elton gave her hands one last squeeze and then let go, standing and dropping an arm around Adele’s shoulders.

  “I’m glad you think so,” Elton said, laughter in his voice.

  “Because we had already planned to kidnap you and drive you there,” Adele said.

  “What?”

  Adele rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. “We’re tired of watching this eat you up inside. It’s clear that you two should be together. You have a lot to work through, but I think it will be pretty easy if you stop fighting so hard. We were planning a mild kidnapping to force the issue.”

  “Thanks for making our job a little easier.”

  Elton stood. “Let’s get going. Dallas is a four-hour drive.”

  “Shotgun!” Adele called, and Elton turned a megawatt grin her way.

  Cilla shook her head. “No.”

  “No to what?” Easton asked.

  Cilla’s hands trembled now that Elton wasn’t holding them steady. “If we drive, I might change my mind. It’s too much time to think. We can take my dad’s plane.”

  Their expressions were so shocked that she had to laugh. She couldn’t blame them. She had done her best, especially since the accident, not to make use of the perks that came with being a Worthington. That included using the private jet her father had at the small airfield in Katy. Her father had his pilot’s license, though he didn’t take his plane up as often as he used to.

  “Really? You’re calling in a favor from your dad? Are you sure?” Adele asked. Cilla could see the hope shining in her eyes that she tried to suppress.

  “Desperate times,” Cilla said with a shrug. “Plus, I think that this is probably the best gift I could give my parents right now. They’ll be thrilled. Shocked, but thrilled. I’ll call him now. Can y’all be ready in the next hour?”

  “Ten minutes!” Elton shouted. “Let’s get this woman in the air before she changes her mind. Again.”

  Now that she had her hands free, Cilla snagged an ornament from the tree and nailed Elton in the back. It felt as satisfying as she had imagined it would.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Even with the short flight, Cilla did change her mind mid-air. Several times. After they landed, when her father pressed a kiss to her temple and wished her luck, she almost asked him to fly them right back.

  “Maybe this is a mistake,” she said.

  “No,” her father said in a choked voice. “The mistake was mine, years ago, when I told Pax you were better off without him.”

  Though she really had forgiven her father, it still chilled her to hear those words. She touched his hand. “We’ve all made mistakes. It was also a mistake for Pax to listen to you, Daddy.”

  He sighed. “Yes. But give him grace. He was barely eighteen. I was a man. I’m sorry for the part I played in driving him away. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

  Cilla nodded, her throat too tight to let words escape. The emotional overwhelm of today threatened to make her back out of this crazy plan. But she kissed her father goodbye and then got into the front seat of the SUV they rented.

  She was still thinking about running as they made their way from the airport to Pax’s neighborhood. Elton was smart enough not to let her drive. He knew her well enough to identify her as a flight risk.

  What was her plan, exactly? Her father had flown straight home. They would drive the rental car back home after she talked to Pax. Tonight? Or tomorrow? They hadn’t even packed bags, just hopped in the car and left.

  This whole idea was ridiculous.

  “No, it’s perfect,” Adele said, patting her hand. Cilla hadn’t even realized that she’d spoken the words out loud.

  She twisted her hands in her lap. Elton blasted music, singing loudly while Easton and Adele complained just as loudly about his singing. She knew what they were doing. Distracting her. Or, attempting to. Not that her mind could wander far from Pax.

  Would he open the door with shock? Would he be closed off, waiting to hear her apology? Would he be so glad to see her that he swept her into his arms without a word? Playing the scenarios over and over again did not do good things to her mind. Cilla was equal parts terrified and excited.

  When they reached Pax’s neighborhood with its imposing iron gates, Cilla stiffened. “Too bad we don’t know the code. Guess we’ll have to go back to Katy.”

  Elton laughed and rolled down the window. Easton spoke up from the back seat. “It’s 5-9-9-1.”

  “How do you know that?” Cilla demanded, turning in her seat to glare.

  Easton shrugged. “I came to visit a year ago. Pax told me the code. And even if I didn’t have it, we could have just waited for the next car to come through. Or called Pax.”

  “No calling Pax.” Cilla needed this to be a surprise. She didn’t want him to have time to prepare a response or excuse.

  It only took another two turns before Elton pulled up into a circular driveway. “Whoa,” Adele said.

  Whoa was right. Pax’s house wasn’t as grand as half the houses in the neighborhood, but it was gorgeous. The cream stucco with rich wood and stone accents made the home look like it belonged in the Italian countryside. She had a whole Pinterest board dedicated to Tuscan-style homes, and this one could have fit right in with those. Even the landscaping was professional. Perfect.

  While Cilla ogled, Easton pulled her chair from the back of the SUV and put it together. Normally, she wouldn’t have let him. But right now, her hands shook so badly that she didn’t know if she could have done it.

  “Thanks,” she said as she transferred into the chair. Doing so from an unfamiliar vehicle was always a little awkward, but she managed just fine.

  Easton put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m proud of you,” he said in a quiet voice before getting back in the car. Elton—it had to be Elton—catcalled. She rolled her eyes even though her back was to the car.

  “You got this, girl!” Adele shouted from the window of the SUV.

  Heart thumping, she headed toward the house. Do I have this? She didn’t even know what her goal was.

  Peace, she realized. The goal was peace.

  Peace between her and Pax, and in all the areas of her life that had been unsettled for years. Already, she had a taste of it.

  There had been no miraculous sign or immediate change since her prayer the night before, but something had been shifting in her heart. Her white-knuckled grip on her bitterness and pain had started to loosen. Bit by bit. Enough that she could feel God working on her heart. It would be a process, but this felt like a massive first step.

  Cilla rolled to the house alone, appreciating th
e lack of steps. From the driveway to the front door, everything was completely level. When she reached the double doors, Cilla paused, trying to gather her courage. She could do this. Letting go. Apologizing. Forgiving. And whatever came next.

  Which she hoped with every bit of her heart was a future with Pax. Not continuing with what they had, and not exactly starting over either. Something new but familiar they would build together. If he was willing to forgive the massive emotional whiplash she’d given him and the way she had shut him out.

  First things first—she needed to knock.

  Cilla rapped her knuckles against the wood, trying to ignore whatever kinds of creatures were in her stomach as she waited. They felt like pterodactyls. Definitely not butterflies. Nothing gentle about them at all.

  Through the beveled glass inlays, Cilla could see glimpses of the home inside. Enough to know that there was no movement.

  Cilla reached for the doorbell and pressed it, hard. Once. Then twice. Disappointment and relief warred within her. She turned back to the SUV, throwing up her hands.

  “He’s not answering!” she called back to the car. “Guess we should go back home!”

  Easton called from the window, “There’s a keypad. The code is 8787.”

  Her heart felt like it was going to explode out of her chest. “What if he’s not home?”

  “Then we’ll wait,” Easton said.

  “I can’t just go in his house!”

  “Go!” all three of her friends shouted.

  “Fine,” she muttered, punching the code into the keypad next to the door. For a moment, nothing happened, and then the deadbolt slid back. Cilla took a breath and turned the knob. “Hello?” she called, rolling inside. “Pax?”

  It felt strange on so many levels seeing the inside of Pax’s house, and not just because he didn’t appear to be home. She knew they weren’t kids anymore, but this made it somehow very real just how much time had passed. Was this home a reflection of who Pax was now?