“Yes, you did.”
He tried to shove her from his lap. He wouldn’t let his anger out on a woman. He used punching bags. But she resisted his pressure, setting her hands on his shoulders and forcing him to look her in the eye.
“Listen.” Her voice low, laced with strength. “I may be overstepping my bounds. I know what Joey did tonight was stupid and reckless, but he had the sense not to drive himself. He may not have been aware the driver was intoxicated. No matter what kind of spiral Joey is spinning he would never intentionally hurt anyone. But I think Macy would have.”
With the strength of twenty years of football training, he shifted Tessa to sit on the floor. He brushed unseen wrinkles from his pants, reached for his jacket and phone. His hand was on the door handle, aching to slam the heavy metal sheeting open.
“Don’t run away from this, Ryland,” Tessa said.
He closed the five foot gap between them in two steps. “I don’t run away. That’s your MO, lady. I stick. I stick by my best friend regardless of his choices. I stick in a marriage that used up all its love to create the perfect little girl. I stick by my wife’s memory of perfection so my daughter won’t have to know who her mother really was. I stick, Tessa. You run.” He backed her against the wall. “You ran away from high school. Hiding in libraries, backstage, and coffee shops. You ran so fast and far from Gibson’s Run, you ended up below sea level. You ran away from a job you loved because you faced one obstacle. You are the runner. Not me.”
“I know I am. So trust me when I say—one runner to another—you are running so fast you don’t even feel your feet moving.” Stroking his cheek with her soft palm, his pulse sizzled through his skin. “You need to address the pain of Macy before you see Joey tomorrow, or you may say something you can’t take back. Anger has a way of feeding anger like oxygen to a fire. Let me help you let it all go.” She linked her fingers through his and tugged him toward the couch.
Sitting knee to knee with Tessa he released her hand. He swirled his fingers through the plush gray fabric hoping she would start. Say something. Anything to clarify his emotions masquerading as a ping pong ball.
“Why did you say Joey was selfish?”
With a shrug he lifted his gaze. She was a beauty. But she had a strength hovering under the surface encouraging him to flay open the barely healed wounds from his last Macy laced conversation. “He should have been at the wedding. If he’d followed through with his responsibilities he wouldn’t have been in the position to have to make a decision.”
“Coulda, shoulda, woulda. Three great words of ‘if only’. We can’t play the what-if game, Ryland. We have to focus on what happened—facts will clarify your feelings. Why did you say Joey is selfish?”
“He…” Ryland closed his eyes and rested his head against the pillowed top roll of the sofa. “When everything isn’t coming up Joe, he chooses avoidance over acceptance.”
“And that’s wrong. But most of us chose a similar path at some point in our lives.”
“Not me. From the time I could walk, my father instilled the need to own my mistakes. Face my problems. Life becomes complicated when you lie to yourself.”
“True. But most of us don’t have the discipline of a Jessup. We need a little grace.”
He stared at the vaulted ceiling. “I’ve given JT pass after pass. When he missed Emma’s baptism to meet his girl of the moment. When he was a day late to my wedding. When he bagged college because he couldn’t make it to class.” Shifting his head to the right, he stared into Tessa’s bright green eyes. “When he chased after the one girl he knew I’ve been in love with since I saw her on the playground.” A flush of pink stained her cheeks and stirred a yearning deep in his spirit.
“OK. Let’s say you’ve shown him ample opportunities to get his life right. Why are you angry with him?”
“As I said, he’s selfish. He doesn’t take ownership. Avoidance instead of acceptance.”
“Why is that bad? Who else did the same thing?”
Thump. An unseen fist smacked his gut. He wasn’t angry at Joe. “Macy.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “Macy spent our whole life together avoiding reality. She wanted a bigger house. A bigger car. A bigger star. She wouldn’t accept the life I offered her. She threw it away like day old bread and went in search of…I don’t even know, but her selfishness left my daughter without a mother and future questions with no answers. And who can I tell, huh? My mom, who never wanted me to marry Macy? Or how about her parents, who’ve built a shrine in their living room to their only daughter? I can’t tell anyone. My wife—the mother of my child—chose Everett Tanner, my teammate, over me.”
“Everett Tanner the quarterback? That was who you found…”
“She spit in the face of God and our family to feed her ego. My wife hated me so much she drove her car into a ravine rather than stay married to me. How could she choose anyone or anything above Emma?” Breathe. Breathing is good, Jessup. Every limb felt like jelly. If he stood he would just collapse into a pile of limp on the floor.
The smooth length of Tessa’s fingers wrapped around his clenched fist. His breath slowed to steady.
“I don’t know the whys of Macy’s choices,” Tessa said. “but you’ll never be free of the weight of them if you don’t let go of the anger you’re shoving into compartments in your mind. Every time someone disappoints, you’ll be right back in this pit. You’re stronger and braver than Macy’s decisions.”
“I thought I had let it go. I really did.”
“Healing is a process. It requires discipline and recognition. One day—hopefully before Emma does something really teenager-esque like miss curfew, go to a party, or take your car without permission—you’ll have healed. And you’ll be able to be plain old disappointed in Emma without bringing old hurts into it.”
He nodded. Unclenching his fist, he laced his fingers with hers. “But to be clear, Emma will never do anything wrong. My daughter is perfect, and will not even think about disobeying me. Including not dating until she’s thirty.”
“Now that we’ve covered projection, would you like to discuss denial?”
With a chuckle he hauled her into his arms resting her back against his chest. Her head tucked neatly under his chin, he pressed a light kiss to her temple. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” She snuggled into his embrace.
“How did you become so insightful?”
“Years of wading through other people’s history has a tendency to create a need to recognize when the truth is being hidden behind a wall. The walls come in varying shades—grief, anger, regret, and so on—but rarely is the wall the destination. A good story is about digging beneath the layers.”
“Thank you for not letting me brick in my wall.”
“Anytime.”
He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath.
“Ryland?” Tessa’s voice barely a murmur above the street din.
“Mmhmm…”
“What will we do about Joey?”
29
The elevator doors swooshed open. Tessa stepped across the threshold and was hit with the pungent aroma of disinfectant mixed with body fluids. The sting in her nose drowned the subtle fragrance of the petite glass bowl filled with gardenias she carried. Glancing at the numbered signs for guidance, she walked down the narrow hall toward Joey’s room. The click of her low heels against the tiled hall hardly registered against the clamor of a dozen new imagined scenarios regarding Joey.
She was happy she’d reduced the number from the hundreds of possible outcomes she weighed in the last five hours. On her three mile walk, she’d vetted options including Joey making a run for the border, charming his way out of the hospital and into another drunken car ride, or his elopement with the mysterious driver from last night’s joyride. She assumed the driver was female. The only logical reason for Joey to ride in a car driven by an intoxicated driver was she was…well, a she.
After a long discussion, neither she
nor Ryland were aligned on what would happen when Joey was confronted. They both agreed, regardless of the outcome, Joey needed all of the support the two of them could rally. Part of the support menu included her and Ryland arriving separately at the hospital. Even if Joey’s feelings toward her were barely present, they didn’t want to allow him the opportunity to deflect. Instead of meeting Ryland at his hotel, she followed her normal Sunday routine in New Orleans. Read. Walk. Coffee. Shower. Church.
The normalcy of the morning refreshed her worn spirit. Worshiping amidst the comfort of a familiar setting with friends who were her family in the city centered her heart on God. Discerning His will regarding Joey’s situation would require all of her spiritual fortitude and a few of her PK tricks. Scanning the room numbers, she weaved between medical carts, gurneys and the pool of doctors on rounds. His room number beckoned twenty steps in the distance.
The hall seemed to narrow, tilting to the left.
Her legs locked. The burning simmer in her stomach rumbled, threatening volcanic eruption. Resting her back flush to the wall, she closed her eyes. Holy God, how did we get here? Help Joey get the help he needs to be the wonderful man You created him to be. Please don’t allow my selfishness to interfere with Your will. If this isn’t Your will. If you desire some other path for Ryland and me…and Joey, I pray that Your will be done Father. Amen. She opened her eyes.
The hall straightened. Nurses bustled. Sunlight softened the austere floor.
With a quick knock, she entered Joey’s room on a muffled response. “Oh, Joey.” Tears sprang to her eyes.
Stretched across the bed, one long lean leg was encased in a series of straps and metal from ankle to hip. His right arm rested cross body in a sling and the faint beginnings of a purple and gold smudge spread across his beautiful jaw.
“You should see the other guy.” His voice was muffled through swollen lips adorned with a jagged split.
Setting the stout vase of gardenias, impulsively purchased in the gift shop, on the window ledge, she perched on the vinyl covered chair beside his bed. Avoiding the myriad of beeping boxes and dangling IV drips, she lightly cupped her hands around his unbound arm. “Why were you in New Orleans? I thought you were in Florida? Do you want to tell me what happened?” She kept her voice soft and low.
He tilted his bandaged head into the stack of pillows supporting his injured body. “I came in a day early. Take a break from my big brother’s nagging. But didn’t want to bother you. Thought you’d be busy doing wedding stuff. I’m sorry I missed the wedding. I bet that little firecracker was a gorgeous bride. But she probably couldn’t hold a candle to my tantalizing Tessa.”
“Lily Mae was lovely.”
Shifting his gaze from the ceiling to connect with hers, he lifted the corner of his cracked lip. “Modest much?”
She remained silent.
The twinkle on the surface faded, revealing etched pain mirroring his injuries. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I forgive you.” She squeezed his left hand. An unnoticed tear trickled from the corner of his eye.
The drape of hushed peace fell around them.
“Tessa, would you pray with me?”
She swallowed against the growing lump. “Of course. Always.” Lacing her fingers through his, she sandwiched his hand. “Would you like to start?”
“Lord,” Joey started. “In all of this mess, I know I’m wrong. Please forgive me. Please...”
She sensed his exhaustion was overwhelming his will. With a squeeze of his hand, she interceded. “Father, we trust in Your will. I lift up Joey to You and Your care. I pray, Father, forgive him. And help him to forgive himself. We love You, Lord. Thank You for loving us more. In Your Son’s Holy Name. Amen.”
“Amen.” The resonant voice seeped into her spirit. She twisted on the chair.
Ryland was leaning against the doorframe, barely inside the room, but his presence quivered and revived better than a steaming cup of chicory coffee. A smile stretched her lips. Every prickling sense urged her to jump into his arms in a single leap, but his gaze cautioned.
“Glad to see you’ve finally woken from your beauty sleep, JT.” He closed the brief distance to Joey’s bedside in a stride. “From the look of you, a few dozen more hours should get you back to pretty boy form.”
“It’s a burden only some of us can bear.”
“Have you two had a chance to chat?” Ryland asked.
“A little, but more than enough,” Tessa responded.
“JT, Sean’s in the cafeteria. I think he finally was able to track down Mac. Do you want me to go and get him?”
Joey’s shook his head. “I need to talk to you.” Glancing to Tessa, his lips tightened to a straight line. “Both of you.”
Ryland tugged a chair near the bed, the scrape of the legs echoing against the barren walls.
Joey glanced from Ryland back to Tessa, releasing a sigh. “I screwed up. I’ve been screwing up for months—maybe years. I know you know about the PED’s and the uppers. I know you know about the car, and the drunk girl. You know all of my recent dirty laundry. But my biggest mess isn’t what happened last night, or bailing on the wedding, or even trying to salvage my career in the stupidest better-living-through-chemistry way possible. The biggest mess I made was inserting myself between the two of you.”
“Rys, I know you’ve been in love with T.T. since we were six. My ill-fated attempt at fashion gift-giving advice caused a rift back then. Six weeks ago, I jumped in when I should have been the best wingman on the planet. I’m sorry.”
Ryland nodded, keeping his focus on Joey.
“My sweet Tessa,” Joey said, reaching for her hand. “I’ve been trying to fulfill some whacked high school bucket list by dating you. From the time you were thirteen—man those long braids killed me—I wanted to find a way for you to notice me. Took thirteen years, but here we are.”
She clasped her free hand around their linked fingers. Tenderness poured through her.
“But you weren’t mine. Not then. Not now. God has been drawing you and this lug head together since the day He brought your dad to our church. Gibson’s Run needed the Tarringtons. But I have a feeling, that the Tarringtons needed Gibson’s Run too.”
He rested her hand atop Ryland’s wide thick fingers.
“You two belong with each other. I knew it the moment Rys left the coffee shop instead of listening to us sing. And I saw it in your eyes, Tessa, the instant you knew he was in the room today.”
The burn of salty tears slipped down her cheeks and across her lips. She leaned forward and pressed the barest of kisses on an unbruised cheek. “How’d you get to be so observant?”
“Lots of time on the IR, watching the stands from the dugout. Darlin’, everything you ever needed to know can be learned through baseball.”
“Noted.”
Ryland’s face was blank, Coach Jessup firmly in place. “Don’t use this noble gesture as an excuse, JT.”
“What are you implying?” Joey sat as straight as his broken body would allow.
“I’m saying you’re pulling a JT. You’re being overly generous, kind, shifting the focus off yourself and on to someone else–or in our case someones. Magnanimous doesn’t look good on you, Joe.”
“Ryland!” Tessa hissed.
“No Tess, let him finish,” Joey said. “He obviously has something to share.”
Ryland shot up from the chair.
Tessa’s hand fell from his.
“JT, this is a pattern. You mess up and turn contrite.” Ryland began pacing the tiny width between the bed and the white wall. “You’ve been allowed to smooth over every mistake with charm. But not this time. Not this time, JT. Today you have to take ownership of your actions. You have to see what your choices cost you. You’ll lose everything if you don’t make a complete one eighty. Do you understand?”
Tessa swiveled her gaze between Ryland and Joey, but she didn’t need to look Joey in the eye to know how Ryland’s speech wa
s impacting him. “Ryland, enough,” Tessa whispered. “I think half the hospital heard you.”
“But did he?”
“I heard you.” Sean said from the open door. “And you’re right.” Sean turned his focus to Joey. ”Sprout, you have to take responsibility for this situation. The whole situation. From last spring through last night.”
Joey tensed.
Tears bubbled in Tessa’s chest. An awkward joke rested on her tongue, aching to cut the heavy tension. But she remained silent. She only knew the Joey of her teenage crush and the man who wooed her these past few weeks. These men—one a brother of blood, the other a brother of choice—knew the demons Joey was fighting and what weapons they needed to destroy them.
Sean stepped to the end of the bed beside Ryland. Tall and lean, a shadow of Ryland’s muscled football frame, but both equally oozed intimidation.
“I spoke with Mac. He has a facility his team uses to help rehab players.”
“I don’t need rehab for one stupid night.” Joey huffed.
“It’s primarily for physical rehab. Have you looked at your body?”
“Trust me, I feel it. But I don’t need some fancy rehab facility. I’ll just go to Florida and work with the team doctors and trainers.”
“That’s not an option. Charlie called me last night. He’ll be here late this afternoon.” Sean stepped forward and clutched his hands to the footboard. “The team is suspending you. They’re listing you as IR. They don’t want the spin during Spring Training. But based on your long track record of screw ups, they’ve invoked the morals clause in your contract.”
“They can’t do that.” Joey argued.
“They have every right. According to Charlie, they warned you last summer after the lake party you had one strike left. Last night you struck out.”
Joey tilted his gaze to the ceiling, kneading the small space between his neck and shoulders with his left hand.
“Sprout…Joe,”—Sean moved to the open side of the bed. His voice low—”this is bad. I’ll not sugarcoat it, but you can crawl out of it.”
Life on the Porcelain Edge Page 21
