While the NCAA didn’t allow us to have practices run by the coaches, we could have our own pickup games on the empty field. And we could wear our padding and helmets if we wanted to. We ignored the snow and ran our plays as if Coach Oakley and his staff were watching, because they probably were. Just not “officially.”
Logan called out the next play, and I was up with the other three linebackers at the line of scrimmage, not knowing what he planned on doing. He lived for trying to confuse me. It was my job to watch the offense and especially the quarterback. I had to figure out their play as soon as it was in motion and call out to the defense what was going on. If I messed up, if all of the linebackers failed to correctly and instantly read the play, it took just one mistake to let the ball through and miss the tackle.
The ball was snapped to Logan, and he moved into position. Unfortunately, the entire defensive line seemed to be surprised by what was going on and missed their blocks. Which made it so Logan could complete his long pass to Johnson and score a touchdown.
“Are you kidding me?” I screamed. “How hard is it to block your mother-funding-cotton-candy-licking blocks? O, Canada! We weren’t running a zone defense! That was man to man! Pay attention!”
The snow was limiting our visibility, but that was no excuse. I was about to unleash another tirade since our defense coach wasn’t there to tell me to calm down before I worked myself into a frenzy. Fortunately my roommate knew just how to get me to chill. Logan removed his helmet and walked over to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, big guy, sun’s getting real low.”
“I’m not the Incredible Hulk,” I muttered to him.
“Yeah, more like the Incredible Sulk. We should pack it up. Everybody’s tired.”
I was about to protest when I saw a familiar figure off on the sidelines.
It was my dad. He raised his hand to wave at me.
“Sure, that sounds like a good idea,” I told Logan, who seemed surprised at how quickly I’d given in. I couldn’t blame him; if not for my father on the sidelines, I would have demanded we keep going until the defense could get their heads out of their butts. Not to mention that our official off-season was fast approaching and we’d be forced to focus on strength training and conditioning and there wouldn’t be any more of these loosely structured practices. And we obviously needed all the help we could get.
But there were more important things going on.
Logan called out that the practice was over, and while everyone else went over to the locker room, I trotted over to the sidelines.
“Dad, what are you doing here?”
“There’s something important that I need to talk to you about. Do you have some free time?”
“Um, yeah. Let me go get changed. Can I meet you over at the Smithson building? We could grab something to eat.”
He nodded. “I’ll see you there.”
I jogged over to the locker room, wondering what could be bad enough that my dad would come out here in the middle of a snowstorm to talk to me. He could have just called or texted. Which meant it was something big.
For one awful minute, I wondered if he was going to tell me that he and Tricia were getting divorced. Not that I’d want him to go through that pain again, but if they broke up it would clear a path for me and Ember.
It was entirely selfish, and I felt bad as soon as I thought it.
I hurried and changed, not bothering to shower. I would do it later. My mind was coming up with terrible scenarios, each one worse than the last. I’d even worried that maybe Marley was hurt, but my father wouldn’t make me wait if that was it.
Just as I reached the locker room door, I heard, “Hey, Bash!”
Woodby came over, still wearing his gear. “Tomorrow night?”
“What about tomorrow night?” I asked.
“We still on for our double date?”
I had completely forgotten about it since my mind was somewhere else. “Yes. Tomorrow night.”
He held out his fist and I bumped it. “Cool. See you at the movie theater.”
I headed out of the locker room, pulling up my coat’s hood. I’d made plans for the four of us to go see a movie and then head over to a restaurant for dinner. I figured that if everything went badly, we’d spend the first part of the date sitting quietly in the dark, and then we could spend the second half discussing what we’d just watched so the conversation wouldn’t lapse into awkward silence. Built-in safety net.
I almost ran over Jess, who was obviously waiting for Logan. “Jess! How’s it going?”
She walked over to me and smacked me hard on the shoulder. “You’re a jerk,” she informed me.
“Ow! What did I do?” I asked in protest, rubbing my shoulder. For someone her size, she really packed a punch.
“You know what you did,” she said in that female way where no, I did not know what I had done, and she had no intention of telling me and planned on just being angry about it instead. I tried to think over what recent heinous crime I could have committed. Would she really be this mad about me putting Vaseline on the inside of Logan’s helmet? Even he had thought it was funny.
Then it struck me. “Did you talk to Ember? What did she say?”
Jess wagged her finger at me. “Don’t ask me if I talked to her or what she said. She’s my friend, and I’m not telling you anything.”
Logan chose that moment to arrive, just as surprised to see Jess reprimanding me as I was. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“I’m not telling you what she said, either,” she informed her boyfriend. “Because you’ll run off and tell him, and if he doesn’t already know what he did, he doesn’t deserve to.”
“I wouldn’t say anything!” Logan protested as she began to stalk off. “Jess!” He glared at me for getting him in trouble with his girlfriend and then followed after her.
Although she hadn’t said anything substantial, Jess wouldn’t be so riled up over Ember unless Ember had been riled up, too. Which meant that she wasn’t indifferent to me.
Ember might even be angry with me, despite what she’d said to the contrary. And if that was true . . . then what? She didn’t think of me as just a friend? Would just a friend make her new friend mad enough to smack me? A totally innocent and undeserving guy who didn’t do smackworthy things?
Huh. That put me in a good mood. A much better one than I’d been in just a few minutes ago. Maybe I was overthinking this thing with my dad. Maybe it was more good news.
I smelled the meat cooking on the grill as I approached the Smithson and wondered how many hamburgers I should order for my late afternoon snack. My dad was waiting by the south doors and opened one as soon as I arrived. He’d been watching for me?
I could see on his face that it wasn’t good news.
Suddenly I wasn’t hungry, and that never happened.
“Whatever it is, I need you to tell me. Because it can’t be any worse than the stuff I’m coming up with.”
His whole body sagged, and he suddenly looked years older. “Let’s go sit down first.”
We found a table, and I felt like my chest was going to explode if he didn’t explain himself soon.
He reached inside his coat and pulled out an envelope. He put it on the table and slid it over to me.
My mind tried to go to happy places. Maybe it was a recruitment letter from a Division 1 college. Or I had inherited a fortune from an unknown relative. Or he’d enrolled me in the Cheese of the Month club, and I could look forward to receiving twelve delicious different cheeses next year.
But I knew. Before he had even turned it over and I saw her handwriting, I knew.
It was a letter from my mother.
“She sent this as certified mail,” he said.
I looked at the envelope. It might as well have been filled with anthrax; that was how unexcited I was to see what was inside. “What is certified mail?”
“It’s a legal way of mailing things so that the sender knows the letter was delivered.�
�
Why did she need to know legally if the letter was received? Was this where he was going to tell me that she had died? I hadn’t felt afraid in a long time, but I was too scared to pick the letter up. “What does it say?”
“I don’t know. She sent one to Marley, too. I thought it would be better to have you open yours first and see what’s going on.”
My dad had some serious willpower. I couldn’t believe that he hadn’t opened it. If I’d gotten Marley’s letter, I probably would have opened it just so that I would know the content and could plan out the best way to protect her. I still didn’t want to open mine, though. But I had to. For Marley’s sake, if nothing else.
There was a green line along the top of the envelope that read certified. I reached under the flap to rip it open. I pulled out a single sheet of paper and a picture. I looked at the picture first, and it was like someone had thrown an anvil against my stomach. It was my mother, looking happy, healthy, and older. She was with a man and two small children who had the same bright-blond hair as Marley and me. The same hair as our mom.
I passed my dad the picture and opened the letter. I read it out loud. “Dear Ian, It’s been so long I’m not even sure what to say to you. I’m so sorry I left. It was wrong, and I regret walking out on you and Marley. I’m sober now, and I have been for the last seven years. I’ve met a wonderful man and have married again. You have a half brother and a half sister who want to get to know their big brother. I want to get to know you again. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me for everything I’ve done. I want to be a part of your life, but I understand if you don’t feel the same. So I’m leaving it up to you. I’ve written all my contact information down at the bottom; I really hope to hear from you. I never stopped loving you. Mom.”
Her email address, phone number, and home address were listed at the bottom. She was still in Washington State. I wondered how far away Ironwood was. Letting out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, I handed my father the letter, too. We sat in silence, both of us contemplating what a big deal this was.
What a big deal it would be for Marley, who had really missed our mother. She wasn’t old enough to remember how bad things got. How Mom would lie in bed all day every day. That I was the one who had to feed Marley and keep her safe. How when I was nine years old I swore to myself that I would never drink alcohol or abuse drugs because I would never be like my mom.
My dad had gotten sober when my mom became pregnant with me, because she didn’t want to use anything while she was pregnant, and he wanted to support her. He said he took one look at me and promised himself he’d never get high again. And he never had.
My mother went off everything again when she got pregnant with Marley, but that was the only good thing she ever did for either one of us. I didn’t know why my dad—an addict himself—could never see that my mom was still using. She lied to him and said she wasn’t. And he must have loved her so much that he was willing to believe her lies. Sometimes I wished he’d loved her a little less and us a little more.
I shook my head. I wasn’t being fair. My dad did the best he could, and that was all anyone could ask for. He was probably overwhelmed, too, trying to provide for us and keep our home and help my mother while maintaining his own sobriety. And he stayed. She abandoned us, and he stayed and loved us. That was enough to override everything else.
“What are you going to do?” my dad asked.
“I don’t know.” It was the only honest answer I could give him. It was too much all at once. Radio silence for ten years, and now she wanted to have a relationship with me? Had she never heard the words too little, too late? “I need to think about it. Figure out what I should do next. Could we maybe talk about something else?”
He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. “Sure. How’s school?”
“Fine. I mean, it’s school.”
“What about your social life? You dating anyone?”
“Not really.” And that included the daughters of people he was married to. “I mean, I do have a date planned soon. A double date, actually. With Ember.”
Somehow this news seemed to make him even more upset. “With Ember?”
I realized how that must have sounded. “She set me up with her friend, and I set her up with one of mine. We thought it might be less awkward if we hung out together.”
His relief was evident. “That’s good. It’s good for the two of you to get along. It will be easier on everyone. Tricia has some big plans for her survivor list coming up, and she’s hoping you’ll be part of it.”
“We’ll see.”
“We all miss you. We’d like you to be around more.”
Guilt gnawed on my insides. “I know, Dad. I’m just really busy with school and football.”
“Your cousins are coming up next weekend. They’re upset that they weren’t able to play our traditional Sebastian game of football on Thanksgiving.”
I grinned. “I didn’t know they were that excited for a beatdown. Do they not remember how everyone opposing me loses?”
“Just promise me nobody will break any bones this year.”
“I can make no such promise.” I knew for the last few years they’d held it at my Uncle Darren’s house, and it was kind of nice that they wanted to play at my home again, even if it was a couple of months late. I loved the Sebastian family annual Thanksgiving football game. Thanks to our genetic competitiveness, it was a game that didn’t follow the supposed “touch only” rules and quickly turned into thrown elbows and busted teeth and only one minor (okay, major) concussion.
Ember was just as competitive. I wondered if she was going to play. “Do you want me to bring Ember with me? I think she’d like it.”
“Maybe. We’ll see what Tricia thinks.” He patted his pants pockets, like he was looking for something. “Oh. I should probably warn you. Tricia’s dyed her hair bubblegum pink. It was on her list. Try not to stare when you see her.”
I had to laugh. “Seriously?”
My dad cracked a smile. “Yep. When she wears black high heels, she looks a little like a number two pencil.”
I laughed again, and it was good to laugh and not think about the fairly traumatic thing that had just happened to me.
“It’s good to see you happy,” my dad said when I calmed down.
“Are you happy?” He’d been so sad when my mom left. For a really long time. Even when things felt normal and like we were living our lives, I could tell he missed her. That was the main reason why I didn’t want to do anything that might mess up his relationship with Tricia. He deserved happiness more than anyone else I knew.
“I am. Very happy.”
“Good. I’m glad.” I was, considering what I had sacrificed to make that happen.
“I should probably get going. Greg Walker’s old Mustang is giving him troubles again, and I said I’d stop by and take a look at it.”
“Okay. Hey, before you go, what are you going to do about Marley’s letter?”
My dad took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I think she’s old enough to make the decision about your mom herself. I don’t want to keep her from her mother.”
“No, why would you want to do that? Especially considering that Mom’s done a fantastic job of it all by herself.”
In an uncharacteristic move, my dad reached across the table and put his hand on top of my arm. “At some point you have to forgive and move on. You can’t let your anger at your mom define your life.”
He got up and I stayed put. Was he right? How much of my life had I given over to a woman who had abandoned me when I was eleven years old?
I picked up my phone. I wanted to call Ember. To talk this out with her.
But I couldn’t. Another thing my mom had inadvertently caused by leaving us. Because it led to my dad marrying Tricia and making it so Ember had to be just a friend.
Years had passed, though. And I hadn’t found anyone in that entire time that I wanted to be serious w
ith. Was it because no one compared to Ember?
Or was it because my childhood experiences had led me to believe that no relationship was ever permanent? Especially the one I most wanted?
All that hope I’d felt when I ran into Jess was gone. Instead, I felt cursed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
EMBER
It was the day of our double date. A blind date for me since Bash hadn’t even bothered telling me his friend’s name so that I could stalk him on social media, like a normal person. Thankfully Bethany had emailed me her notes from class, which I thought was cool of her, given that Bash could have called off the date at the last minute (something I might or might not have been praying for all day) and I would still have what I wanted out of the bargain. Without paying the price. Instead I was going to have to go out with whatever rando Bash had chosen.
I was at home in my apartment lying on the bed in the room I shared with Ximena. Like always, she was off at the library because she said our place wasn’t “conducive” to studying. She wasn’t wrong.
Knowing I had nothing to wear and that my other roommate Deja would, I ventured out into the main living area. If Ximena was our resident bookworm and lover of all things academic, Deja was her total opposite. She never met a gathering she didn’t like or a boy who wasn’t interesting. She was our in-the-know fashionista and a whiz in the kitchen, where she was currently making something out of leftovers in the fridge that smelled divine. She played volleyball because it gave her unlimited access to college parties and college men, which were her two best events. But she fed me, which made her my favorite.
I’d only chosen to share a room with Ximena because she was never home. If she did come home, it was under the cover of darkness, long after I’d gone to bed. She would leave before I woke up. That was her story whenever I talked to her at practice or at training. I wasn’t sure whether or not I believed her. But it didn’t really matter since I basically had my own room.
Our final roommate, Molly, was like having a guy living with us. To say she was a slob would have been underselling it. For example, I don’t think she’d done a load of laundry the entire year. She didn’t seem to believe in it. Instead she believed in leaving her clothing on the floor long enough so that it somehow cycled from dirty to clean again. Showering also seemed to be somewhat optional. Things none of us had realized until we moved in with her. We loved her to death, she was our teammate, but Deja kept threatening to forcibly hold her down in a shower and to clean all her clothes while she was out. Molly would then yell about how Deja better not disrupt her system, and I usually left the apartment before things got uglier. Anyway, Molly spent much of her time playing whatever new game had come out on her Xbox and was the only girl I’d ever met who could eat and drink me under the table.
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