The Bridge to a Better Life

by Ava Miles

  “The Grand Mountain Hotel took care of the food,” she heard herself saying. “I was only the executor.”

  When he didn’t say anything, she stole a glance at him. He was frowning.

  “I thought we were friends again,” he said in a soft voice, one she had to strain to hear over the racket from Grant and the guys.

  A pressure rose in her chest. “We are.” But how exactly could she backtrack to being friends with her ex-husband, particularly when she knew he wanted more?

  He turned his head and stared into her eyes. She met his gaze and didn’t blink since he didn’t. There was hurt there, yes, but determination too.

  “Guess who’s got Grant’s pants?” Jordan called out, emerging into view with a pair of tan shorts held high in his hands. “Too bad I can’t tweet this out.”

  She drew her gaze away from Blake to watch Jordan catapult over one of the deck chairs like he was jumping into the end zone on a quarterback sneak. Everyone had agreed their gatherings were to take place in a cone of silence. If other people saw them out and about and tweeted about it, well, that was another thing.

  “Do you want to hide Grant’s pants or should I?” Jordan asked them, shaking the article in his hand.

  Like she’d touch them. “If you’re going to hide them, you’d better do it quick,” Natalie said. “They’re coming back.”

  Sure enough, Grant was running toward the porch in nothing but his form-fitting black athletic shirt and a pair of navy underwear, his massive legs as big as tree trunks. The other guys were jogging behind him, laughing so hard they could barely keep up. Touchdown was now doing mad circles around his buddies. He was as out of control as the rest of them.

  “I’m going to cut you, Jordan!” Grant called out as Jordan darted into the house. “Sorry about my appearance, Natalie.”

  He didn’t blush—after all, these men were accustomed to using locker rooms—but he did cross his hands over his crotch. At least they’d only taken his pants. Sometimes the guys went a bit further.

  “Grant!” Blake shouted. “Go put on another pair of pants. We have women around.”

  “Shit. Right. Sorry again, Nat.”

  “I’ll…ah…finish setting up if you can referee these guys into shape,” she told Blake, heading inside. “Good luck with that.”

  It was hard not to admire the sheer perfection of Grant’s butt as he jogged into the house. Sure enough, her two female assistants stared at him as he came inside. Who could blame them? Grant was all muscle—every woman’s dream.

  As she’d expected, her staff already had the food laid out buffet style in the kitchen, just like the guys usually preferred. Thick cuts of ham and prime rib filled the room with a delicious savory scent, which mingled pleasantly with the aroma of her famous dill-infused sour cream potato salad. A mountain of cheese and fruit lay on the four platters her staff had brought in. And of course, her special cheese dip was showcased in the center of a chip bowl.

  Sam cocked his head at her as he grabbed a cube of Swiss cheese. “You’ve outdone yourself as usual.”

  She patted one of her assistants on the back. “Thanks for setting this up. Everything looks great. You guys can head out.”

  That earned her a forlorn look, but her helpers traipsed out the front, which was probably for the best. Through the windows, she could see Brody and Logan bent over at the waist, guffawing with abandon. And this was only the beginning. By Sunday night, everyone would be completely out of control in the best way possible. When they got together, they tended to devolve into the little boys they used to be at football camp.

  “Do you know what the Smuck award is on this trip?” she asked Sam.

  “No, but Jordan was in charge of it, and he says it’s a doozy.” He shook his head. “They’re already losing it.”

  “And you love every minute of it,” she said, tempted to grab a piece of smoked mozzarella from the platter. Smoked gouda was yummy, but smoked mozzarella was something else altogether.

  “Usually,” Sam said, coming to stand beside her. “Not when they stick lizards in my bed.”

  Yeah, she remembered that weekend at Logan’s cabin in Nevada. It was the reason she’d imposed the no-live-animals-or-insects-in-the-house rule for when she and Blake hosted.

  “How’s your mom?” she asked, thinking of how interconnected her life had been with Blake’s. She hadn’t just known these guys; she’d known their families. And Jordan’s girlfriend, Grace, had become a real friend. That had all disappeared, and she suddenly felt that loss keenly.

  “Mom’s great. Said to say hello if I saw you.” He paused. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I would see you.”

  Since she hadn’t planned to visit with them until Blake had asked her to help with the food, she only nodded. “I’m glad it worked out.”

  “Me too.” He popped another piece of cheese in his mouth.

  “So, what do you think about Blake retiring?” she ventured to ask, trying to appear casual by straightening one of the chafing pans.

  “I don’t think that’s the right question.”

  Busted. Leave it to Sam to cut to the chase. “Okay, why don’t you tell me what you think about what he’s done?”

  “You know as well as I do that he didn’t retire from football simply because Adam died.” Resting with his back against the kitchen island, he gave her his complete attention. “Natalie, you cut him open with a chainsaw when you left, and he’s never gotten over you.”

  She couldn’t repress a gasp. “Well…don’t mince words, Sam.”

  “You asked. After seeing everything he’s gone through lately, I’m going to give it to you straight.” His eyes locked with hers. “He would do anything for you—even give up football. If you don’t see that, and if you don’t value it, then you’re not as smart as I always thought you were.”

  His opinion had always meant a lot, but this level of honesty made her legs tremble. “So you think I should take him back?”

  He let out a long sigh. “Only if you love him like he loves you. Otherwise, give him the closure he needs to move on with his life. He’s a good man. Don’t muzzle him, Natalie, just because you’re scared.”

  “Scared? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even to her ears, it sounded like pure bravado.

  “After years of playing ball, I know when someone’s scared, and that’s what I see when I look at you.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I know you suffered a great loss when your friend died, but that wasn’t Blake’s fault. He only wanted to help you, and you were too scared to let him.”

  Her mouth parted at his insight. How much had Blake told him? “You don’t know anything.”

  “He grieved for Kim too, you know, and now with Adam…he needs our support, and he hasn’t been afraid to ask for it. The minute he asked for help with his football camp, we all rearranged our schedules to be there. And we’re here this weekend, just like we’ve been there a dozen other weekends since you left him.”

  She felt like slime, and it was becoming so normal, you’d think she’d be used to it by now. “I’m glad you guys have been there for him.”

  “Why haven’t you been?” His brow cocked in pure challenge. “You’re like one of the players on the team who distances himself from everyone else when he’s going through a tough time—on or off the field. I know those guys. You have the same desperate look in your eyes. There’s nothing wrong with needing someone when you’ve hit bottom, Natalie. The people who know when to ask for help are stronger than the ones who insist on standing alone. Does Blake look weak to you?”

  No, but he looked lonely and unsure and vulnerable, and seeing him like that sometimes scared her. She didn’t want anyone to think those things of her. Ever.

  “Your eyesight must be getting poor if you see anything desperate about me.” She rubbed the tightness around her diaphragm, scarcely able to breathe. “I’m not a football player, Sam. You’re comparing apples and oranges here.”

  “
No, I’m not. I’ve learned a football team is a microcosm of society, and I’ve pretty much seen it all after playing the sport for nearly thirty years.”

  “A microcosm of society? What have you been reading?”

  “The classics.” His hand squeezed her shoulder. “Natalie, I’ve always liked you. For a long time, I thought you were the best woman in the world for Blake. But I love him, and you’ve put him through hell. Don’t expect to erase all of that by showing up here with smiles and your cheese dip. The only thing that will do that is your honesty. I hope you’ll find the courage inside you to make the right choice.”

  Then he kissed her cheek and walked over to the patio door. “Hey! Enough caterwauling,” he called. “Let’s chow.”

  As the men hustled inside, Touchdown trailing behind them, she cleared her throat and tried to compose herself. The guys grabbed plates and started loading up on the food, and Grant reappeared fully clothed. He’d found a permanent marker somewhere and written on his shirt: No Pants=War.

  She stepped back and bumped into a tall, hard body. Even though all of these men had hard bodies, honed by their sport, she knew instantly it was Blake. Her bottom had always fit perfectly into the curve of his pelvis. Then there was his smell: man, leather, and spice.

  Feeling off balance, and not just from Sam’s comments, she turned around. His brown eyes searched her face.

  “Everything okay?”

  She forced a smile. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I saw you talking to Sam. You looked upset.”

  Upset was too tame a word. “I’m fine. I’ll leave you all to it. We’ll bring over brunch tomorrow, like we arranged.”

  He laid his hand on her forearm, and her skin puckered at that one simple touch. “Don’t let him bother you. He’s…loyal to me, that’s all.”

  All the guys were, but she respected Sam’s opinion the most. He had always been the voice of wisdom for their group. So his words had cut her down to size, and it had hurt, even if she’d deserved it.

  “Have fun.” She tried to walk by him, but he grabbed her hand.

  “Thanks, Nat.” The light in his eyes suggested he was talking about more than her role in preparing the food. Right now, she couldn’t deal with that. She could barely deal with her own pain and confusion. His overwhelmed her.

  “See you guys tomorrow.” She gave a lackluster wave as she backed up to the door. “If one of you lands in jail, do not call me.”

  They laughed as she let herself out. Touchdown didn’t follow her, which wasn’t a surprise. He adored Blake’s friends. Walking across the bridge back to her place in the silence, tracing the infinity symbols engraved in the wood, she remembered how Blake had described this construction.

  The bridge to a better life.

  As she reached her own house, part of her felt like she’d left her one and only chance behind her.

  Chapter 13

  All the guys stuffed their faces except for Blake. It was all too familiar. The taste of her cheese dip made him think of happier times, like her feeding it to him on a chip at one of their picnics or them serving it for their annual Fourth of July party. It was enough to make him lose his appetite.

  After they finished eating, he ran them through his thoughts about the camp. “Okay, let’s put it out there,” he said, standing in front of everyone in his den. “Besides meeting my brother, who has interacted with people with intellectual disabilities?”

  Only two people didn’t raise their hands: Brody and Logan. It was more than he’d thought. Good.

  “Zack,” he said, “why don’t you tell us about your experience?”

  His buddy sat up straighter on the couch. “The Make-A-Wish Foundation contacted me about Emily wanting to meet me. She was a huge New Orleans fan, and she’d just had a severe cardiac incident and wasn’t expected to make it. They asked if I could visit her at the hospital.” He looked down at the hands he’d joined prayer-like. “When I showed up, she looked so sick, but the smile she gave me…man, it chokes me up, thinking about it. She couldn’t talk a lot without tiring herself. Her breathing…”

  Yeah, Blake remembered how laborious Adam’s breathing had become after his first cardiac incident over a year ago. He’d even struggled to smile, and Adam had always found a reason to smile.

  “She complimented me on having a great arm and being a good team leader, and then she told me I was going to win a Super Bowl someday. She said she wished she could see it. I gave her one of my game balls and signed a few things. You know. Then I sat with her until she fell asleep. She died two days later.”

  Some of the guys had to clear the emotion out of their throats. All of them believed in giving back to their communities, and most of them had visited sick kids in the hospital at some point. A few also played pick-up games at the local community centers with kids from rough neighborhoods. Once they’d all recovered a bit, a couple of the other guys shared their stories, and any final concerns Blake had about stealing his guys away from Coach for the summer faded. He needed them, and not only because they were great camp leaders. They had heart.

  After everyone finished sharing, Blake ran them through the specifics of the arrangements for the camp. “We’ll be split up into different age groups. The first will be composed of kids ten to thirteen and the second fourteen to eighteen. You can sign up for whichever age group you’d rather coach. From there, we’ll slot the kids into various teams.”

  “Jordan should sign up to work with the youngsters since he’ll fit right in,” Grant said, tugging on his replacement pair of pants.

  Jordan still hadn’t coughed up the lineman’s shorts, and Blake suspected he would probably come across them in some wild location after all of them had left—like the freezer.

  “Har-de-har-har,” Jordan said. “But yes, I’ll happily take the youngsters. I’m not super fond of high schoolers. Talk about attitude.”

  “Then Brody should volunteer for that group,” Logan said. “He’s got plenty of attitude.”

  Blake knew the bantering would continue if he didn’t put a stop to it. He simply gave them the look. They shut up.

  “Breakfast will be served from seven fifteen until seven fifty-five. We’ll start warm-ups at eight and then go into drills a half hour later. I want to run drills for a few hours a day, before and after lunch. Then we’ll break into smaller groups. Defense and offense. Run some more drills, some specific plays. Then we’ll scrimmage until four when camp ends. After that, the kids will have some time to themselves before the evening activities start.”

  “Man, I miss those days,” Logan said, kicking out his feet. “Jordan and I used to row out onto the lake after practice and see who could stand in the canoe the longest while the other one rocked the boat.”

  “Of course I always won,” Jordan said, buffing his nails against his shirt like an idiot.

  “As I was saying,” Blake interrupted. “I want everyone to have fun. We’ll have campfires, movie nights, and a dance party since some of you like to strut your stuff.”

  Zack rose and gave them a preview of his moves, earning some obscene comments and the suggestion that he should join the Chippendales after retiring.

  “Let’s talk about the sport specifically,” Blake said when they died down. “It’s going to be a bit strange for us, since it’s flag football, so I want everyone to practice pulling the flag. It’s harder than you might think.”

  “Only for you primadonna QBs who don’t use your precious hands for anything other than throwing the pigskin.” Grant cracked his knuckles. “Some of us are used to using our hands to bring you pretty boys down.”

  Blake rolled his eyes. The non-QBs in the group always said the QBs weren’t as tough as they were. Well, they’d see about that once the Smuck competition rolled around.

  “To practice flag pulling, you can have someone play with you or you can even pull it from something stationary,” he said, continuing.

  “Or put it on your dog,” Hunter commente
d. “Zack’s St. Bernard would be perfect.”

  “Like hell. I’ll be playing with my girlfriend,” Zack said.

  “Is that what you call her?” Hunter shot back.

  “Guys.”

  That shut them up again, but they didn’t look the least bit sheepish. Not that he’d expected them to. “I also don’t want any swearing. Coach Garretty taught all of us you don’t need to use bad language with kids to be effective.”

  Everyone nodded. Coach had the oratory skills of a fire-and-brimstone preacher. His pulpit was one hundred yards of green grass. Coach could chew your butt like none other.

  “While I respect Coach, some of his other tactics may not be right for my camp.” My, he liked the sound of that. His camp.

  “Adam taught me there’s a fine line between encouraging someone with intellectual disabilities and letting them motivate themselves to greatness. I don’t want anyone pushing too hard or singling a kid out. This first camp is going to involve a lot of firsts for us. I’d rather err on the side of encouragement this time.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Sam said, and the others nodded their agreement.

  “But don’t pity them or mollycoddle them either. Adam always hated that.” He handed out two manuals to everyone. “What you have before you are the coach's flag football manual for kids with intellectual abilities and the official rule book. Read them. Study them. Brody.”

  “Hey, just because I barely made it through school doesn’t mean I don’t read,” he protested.

  “Man, you never read the game plan when we were at camp,” Zack said, giving him a look. “I had to cover your ass with Coach Garretty more times than I can count.”

  “I’m a professional athlete now, and I do my homework. Blake.”

  “Just saying.” He held up his hands. “That’s a pretty good overview for now. I’m working on a solid meal plan with a nutritionist who specializes in food for athletes with intellectual disabilities."

  “It had better involve some junk food, Blake,” Logan said. “That was the best part of camp. Chewing potato chips and shooting the breeze.”