by K. K. Allen
When I got older, I became as resentful of the pigskin as I was fascinated by it. I no longer cared about the intricate stitching and inflation measurements. I cared about chucking the ball downfield as far as possible, wishing it would take my pain with it so I could finally forget. Because forgetting would be preferable to what I’ve put myself through all these years.
“My dad played ball professionally,” I confess. “Played until I was ten. He was in the prime of his NFL career when he suffered a season-ending ACL tear.”
I look up, gauging Zach’s reaction. No football player enjoys listening to stories of injuries on the field. Especially injuries that end careers. But Zach gives nothing away except patience.
“His contract was up by the time he recovered. Rumors spread that he would never play the same, and no one would give him a chance. That was it for him. A horrible end in the prime of his career.
“He got depressed. Fought with my mom constantly. Everything fell apart. They separated.” I shrug. “One day he was my world, and the next, he was gone.”
Taking a breath, I concentrate on my heart’s pacing. For so many years, it was just my mom, my sister, and me who knew about our father’s betrayal. No good would ever come from telling anyone about our heartbreak. So why am I letting Zach in, of all people?
A hand lands on my back. “That’s shitty. I’m sorry, Cakes. Where is he now?”
My nervous laughter doesn’t fool him. His hand drifts up my back to my neck, which he gives a quick squeeze, sending a buzz of comfort through me.
“It doesn’t matter. I haven’t spoken to him since I was fourteen. That was a long time ago.” Kicking at the rocks of the track, I shrug. “Sometimes I come out here to think—about my dad, my future … everything, really. It might sound stupid, but he was my hero. When it all went wrong, I was in major denial. How could the perfect family just … collapse—like it was built with rubber cement instead of the good stuff?” I smile, because as sad as it is, it’s honest, and I’d like to lighten the mood a bit. “I’m still mad at him, but that’s why this place is great. I feel connected to the good memories when I’m out here.”
“Have you tried talking to him since then?”
Shaking my head, I swallow the need to spew more hurt words.
“I don’t think you’re in denial at all. If you can’t understand his reasons for leaving, then how could you move on from it? Sounds like you need closure.”
I shudder. It’s not cold, but that word makes my stomach roll with discomfort. “What if I don’t want closure?”
My throat constricts. When I realize I’m leaning on Zach, I pull myself upright. The only support I’ve relied on for years is my own. Independence and self-reliance are my strong suits. That isn’t about to change today.
“I don’t know if this is inappropriate to ask, but I’m curious,” Zach starts. “Would I know of him? I’m assuming he played for Dallas.” He eyes me warily. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”
Dread swarms my stomach. Zach grew up in Dallas. He probably slipped out of the womb wearing a Cowboys jersey and had the active roster memorized before he could speak.
I must hesitate too long. Zach shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Cakes. It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have asked.”
A hall pass I very much appreciate. I’ve already told him too much.
It’s silent for a few moments as he runs a gentle hand up and down my back. A comforting touch; no more, no less. I don’t expect him to say anything now. No words could ever remedy the years of damage caused by the man I loved most in the world. A man I still love but may never understand.
“Injuries like your dad’s can shred lives. I get it. I’ve seen it. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Zach’s voice carries pure sincerity, making my chest swell with emotion.
There it is. The reason I feel like I can tell Zach almost anything. He gets it. He doesn’t judge. He understands enough now to let the rest of what I’m not telling him go.
I sigh. “When I look back on it all, I think about my mom and how awful she was to him when he was recovering. Every argument was about money. She just couldn’t stand the thought of not having it. I know it stressed him out. But at the same time, he knew what he was marrying into.” Amusement lifts my cheeks. “She happily retired from modeling after I was born. Marrying into the NFL, she didn’t have to worry about money, but of course that changes with an injury like my dad’s. Football salaries are meant to last a lifetime, and she felt short-changed. Suddenly there was all this resentment over her career ending, as if it was my dad’s fault. All she talked about was the supermodel she would have been if she hadn’t given up her dream because she relied on his to survive.
“I guess in a way it’s true, but to blame someone you love for a decision you both made?” I shiver. “I was twelve and knew she was wrong. I love her more than anything, but it doesn’t mean I have to agree with her decisions.”
“That’s a grown-up way to look at things at twelve years old.”
“What can I say? I have an old soul.” I laugh. “As much as I didn’t agree with the way my mom reacted to the accident, I do feel like it’s unfair to be angry at her when my dad’s the one who left us.”
“You beat yourself up a lot for how you feel,” Zach says, his voice coating me like a soft blanket. “Don’t do that. You’re allowed to be angry, sad, whatever it is. Even years later. It’s unfair to set rules on your feelings.”
“Yeah, over ten years later and I’m holding onto something I’ll never get back.” I hand him the football which he palms with one hand. “I used to love football, but it’s hard to watch now.
“That’s why you couldn’t go to my games?”
I nod. “It’s been a long time since I’ve watched a game from the bleachers.” Patting the bleacher step, I feel some weight lift from my chest. I didn’t realize how good it would feel to talk about all that. Maybe now he can respect the boundaries I’ve created—even though I kind of don’t want him to. It’s a painful conflict between attraction and fear.
Suddenly something changes in Zach’s expression. “I’d like to think something like that would never happen to me. Not just the injury, but the aftermath.” He shrugs. “I’ve had good mentors who taught me that football won’t last forever. I’ve always looked at the kitchen as not only my side gig, but my plan B too. Funny—I created it thinking that it was my mom’s dream, but … maybe it’s mine.”
By the time he’s done talking, he’s woven our fingers together. I don’t make a move to shake him off. Instead, I find myself relying on his comfort and strength. It feels good to let someone else carry the weight for once.
I want to believe Zachary is a better man than someone like my father. There’s no doubt in my mind that he is now. But things change. Life changes people, and once a person stops dreaming, they become unpredictable. It’s good that Zach has a plan B, but he hasn’t been put in that position, so how could he possibly know the outcome?
There’s something about him that draws me in, more than his good looks and charm. When we’re together I can almost forget that he’s the most eligible bachelor in Seattle who just signed a four-year extension that will make him far more money than anyone could ever need. It’s not about any of that for him. He makes his moments, and then he lives in them purposefully. It’s a beautiful thing.
Zach’s eyes lock on mine, and the corners of his lips turn up. He shifts and snakes his body through the crack in the bleachers, guiding his feet to the dirt below, then looks up at me with a full-on grin. “You comin’?”
This is … different.
I slide my hand across the worn wood and blue chipped paint of the bleacher steps. The last time I had a view like this, I was ten years old. I’ll never forget it…
My dad was running the track, and I was bored waiting for him and for the rain to let up. The bleacher steps were much like these, the old wooden style before safety inspec
tions forced the stadium owners to retrofit them. The stairs were slick from the rain and made for an awesome surfing platform. I skidded from one side to the other, ignoring my dad’s yells from the other side of the field. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him running for me. He must have had that parent intuition thing, because it was in that moment I slipped, whacked my head, and fell between the steps, down twelve feet or so. I remember the impact, the immediate shock of pain—and then nothing.
I woke up in a hospital bed with a concussion and two broken limbs, but the pain wasn’t the first thing I recognized. A nurse with raven black hair and pink bunny scrubs stood at the end of the bed talking to my father. Even groggy, I could see that she was comforting him. Why? My heart flew into panic mode. Something was wrong, but I didn’t feel it until I tried to scoot up in the bed. Everything in my body screamed, including me.
A shudder runs through me. There’s a reason I don’t relive that day. It’s too painful for so many reasons.
I inhale deeply and slip through the steps of the aging wooden structure—this time on purpose—and welcome Zach’s hold as he guides me down safely.
I can practically feel my heart pumping out my ears, but for the first time, it’s not because of his touch. The memory of me falling is more vivid than it’s ever been, but I don’t understand. Why now? I come to this field often. It’s become a safe place where I’m free to dwell on the past while still keeping my distance from it.
But now … Zach challenges my demons without even meaning to. And while he’s someone I know I could follow anywhere if circumstances were different, I’m painfully aware that circumstances are not different.
Straightening myself, I watch him peer through the slit in the steps and stare out at the field. It’s clear he’s about to tell me a secret of his own. I want to protest, leave this space that’s too close to a man I can’t have. But he listened to me. I owe him the same respect.
“Dreams are a funny thing,” he begins. “When I was young, dreaming felt safer than living. Fear ruled my world in more ways than one. Let’s just say … I ran a lot,” he chuckles. “Mostly from the punk that wanted to torture me, but not always. Sometimes I was my own worst enemy.”
He faces me and lifts his arms above his head, using his fingers to grip the underside of the bleacher step. With a crooked smile, he has my complete attention. Even in moments like this, when my wall is taller than me, he disarms me.
“You’ve heard my speech. The story of the relentless bully who tormented me beyond measure. I’ve talked openly about the garbage cans and rocks, and how I overcame it all once I made up my mind to put a stop to it, but that’s only part of it.”
I nod. Of course I remember the story. It had some of the guests in tears by the time Zach finished his speech at Heroes and Legends. There’s more to it?
He sighs. “Behind every bully there’s a story that never gets told. We’re so quick to judge their actions, and we in turn condemn and classify. And then we punish instead of guiding the abusers in the right direction. Don’t get me wrong; there should always be consequences for bad behavior, but putting a lid on a boiling pot will only guarantee an eventual eruption.
“The moment you take the time to pull back the curtain and evaluate the issues, you’ll find that there’s a root to the pain. A reason. And the younger you address it, the better chance the bully has to live a better life.”
The fact that he’s been bullied himself and has taken his time to think about the other side is oddly endearing.
Gripping the edge of the bleacher step tighter, the taut muscles in his arms react. “Football was what I dreamed of to escape it all. That dream gave me a purpose, a drive to go after the things I deserved in life. It gave me a reason to stop hiding. Eventually. But this…” He drops his arms and looks at me. “Under the bleachers of my old high school, before I even played football, I was finally able to feel safe, if only for moments at a time.”
I shiver. “From your bully?”
“Yes, but not just my bully.”
Everything is so quiet. I can hear his deep inhale and exhale. “The restaurant took a toll on my family. Like I told you, it was my mother’s passion, but for my father it was a burden. He was a businessman, so he thought he’d enjoy the marketing and finances, but our restaurant was small. We could have a packed house every night—which we pretty much did—but we’d only ever just make ends meet. My mother wanted to expand, but it would have taken another investment to do it. The disagreements were endless. My dad’s drinking never helped.
“He became the joke of the town. The drunk that would serve his patrons and then stumble down the street at midnight instead of making sure his family got home safe after closing. My friends’ parents didn’t want their kids near my family. The restaurant business started dying, and suddenly I was exiled from my peers without a lifeline. My parents were too consumed with their own issues to see how they were affecting my brother and me.”
My heart constricts. It doesn’t take much to see that Zach and I have led completely different lives. Still do. But there’s so much in his story I can relate to.
“This one boy started in on me when I was twelve. His dad had been let go from the restaurant because my parents couldn’t afford to pay him after a slow month. You know, his taunting was manageable. I did my best to ignore it. But when the physical violence came, that’s when the fear set in. Physically, I stood no chance back then.”
“And then you bulked up,” I tease, remembering the glitter of laughter that spread over the audience at Heroes and Legends when the tone of the speech turned from drama to comedy.
Zach smiles. “Something like that.” He looks around us at the structure we’re standing under. “One night, I decided to walk the twelve blocks from the restaurant to the high school stadium to watch the football game. I realized someone was following me and started running. I was like that Gump kid without the knee braces. Surprisingly faster than my enemy.
“There was no way into the stadium without stopping, and I knew he’d catch me by then, so I ran to the back where the fence came up against the woods and bleachers just like this one.” His eyes widen as my heart pounds in my chest. “And I shit you not, I heard him calling my name. Taunting me.”
With a shake of his head, Zach tears his eyes from mine. “I stumbled, only to fall right into a section of the fence that had been pried open by someone else.”
“How do you know?” My voice sounds strangled when I speak. There’s no way I’m hearing him right.
He shrugs. “The opening was perfectly disguised. No one would know it was there except for the person who made it. And me. It turned out to be the perfect place to watch the games. And man, did I dream of being out there on that field. A small-town hero, a boy who needed an escape from his life.” His smile dims.
He has to be talking about the same fence my dad cut open to get to me after I’d fallen.
“One night while hiding under the bleachers, I resolved that I didn’t want to hide anymore. My little brother looked up to me, and I couldn’t sit around and let a bully rule my life. I started spending my time at the gym instead, determined to bulk up and earn a spot on that field.
“Meanwhile, things at the restaurant got worse. My dad was overspending, there was a lawsuit over a bogus food poisoning claim … and then there was the accident.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat. It’s the first time he’s taken a pause since starting this story, and my chest tightens.
His dad’s accident is something that lingered with me after Zach and I parted ways last summer. The fact that he had to deal with the loss of a parent that young shreds my insides. I’m almost ashamed for having my own hang-ups with my father. My dad and I may not speak to each other, but at least he’s still alive.
My words dissolve at the tip of my tongue. I’m so sorry for your loss. What a horrible way to lose your father. At least he didn’t leave you by choice. None of those thing
s feel right to say.
I step forward and place a hand on his chest and tip my head down, offering silent condolences instead. Heat seeps from his body. Muscles ripple beneath my fingertips, causing me to step back as if I’ve been burned.
“After the accident, my anger just kept growing. I became irritable, unforgiving, reactive. I was already an emotional kid, and my father’s death turned that into something dark and ugly. Thank God I didn’t follow in his footsteps and start drinking.” He shudders. “I didn’t know what to do with myself. I just focused on my workouts and getting through one day one at a time.
“One night, I was running drills by myself on the field, angry that because of my father’s death I had missed tryouts. Pissed off that it was dark and soon I would have to drive downtown to pick my little brother up from his friend’s house. Pissed off at the world for anything and everything. That’s when my bully showed up again and had the audacity to offer his condolences.”
Zach’s laugh bleeds sarcasm. “The thing is, I knew he was being genuine. He hadn’t touched me in over one year, yet I was still resentful.” I watch Zach’s fists clench, although he’s still got a sideways smile on his face. “I hit him. Hard. And then I hit him again, as if he were just some punching bag that showed up in the middle of the field.
“He tried to fight back. Got a few swings in, but my rage was uncontrollable. The high school football coach broke us up. The next thing I knew, I was getting suspended from school and then handed a spot on the football team.”
A smile spreads on my face as I remember how I felt in a similar situation when I thought I was getting fired from BelleCurve.
“Didn’t quite make sense at the time, but Coach said he’d been watching me before that night. He saw the work I was putting in on the field. He also knew about my dad, so he had some sympathy. He knew my anger would be put to better use on the field. I owe that man my life.”
