“Oh, you dear angel,” an older woman said to her one day while Cilla was shopping at the mall.
“I’m hardly an angel,” Cilla had shot back, laughing a little. The woman looked like she’d been slapped.
She wasn’t an angel before and definitely wasn’t one now. Especially now. She had never known the ugly power of anger or just how deep within her it could go until Pax left her. Even if she never let it rise to the surface where people could see, it sat there, bubbling. It was boiling now.
Cilla drew herself up to full height. She’d read about how taking a warrior’s posture could help channel your strength. If Pax was back, she would need every bit of strength she had and every weapon in her arsenal. Mostly to fight a war within herself. Because, as impossible as it was, the tiny flutter of hope came alive in her chest: What if he came back for me?
In a firm, cheerful voice, Cilla said, “Well, I’m glad he came back for a visit. Maybe we’ll see him around. It’s probably a good thing for him to come home now and again.”
The pause spoke louder than Adele’s next word. “Cilla? That you? I seem to have lost my friend. Or she’s been body-snatched.”
“Stop being dramatic. I’m just over it, that’s all.”
“Over … what? The love of your life? Over your anger that he left you?”
“I’m not angry. You’re just projecting your own anger onto me.”
“You better believe I’m angry with Pax. He never should have left you. He should have been there for you, Cilla. And just because he comes waltzing into town, diving right back into his old life and old habits, that doesn’t mean you have to forgive him.”
Her warrior’s posture forgotten, Cilla sank down in her chair. She could feel the tears burning again and she hated them. “I did forgive him.”
Cilla wanted the words to be true. For years, she had told herself they were true, repeated them in her head and even sometimes out loud, like saying it would make it true. Name it and claim it, like those TV preachers were always saying.
But the flame of anger in her chest mixed with a wave of despair that would have knocked her from her feet had she been able to stand. She hadn’t forgiven Pax. And she also missed him, terribly. She would give almost anything to have him back.
Adele made what Cilla’s mother would have called a most unladylike sound. “You wanna try that lie again? Didn’t quite take the first time.”
“You’re blowing all this way out of proportion, Adele. He came home. So what? He has a tattoo. So what? I’m happy for him. So what?”
The words started out sweet and controlled, but by that last part, they came out a little screechy. Cilla smoothed her palm down her pajama bottoms. Every time she watched anything touch her legs, no matter how long it had been, a part of her expected to feel it. She never did. The nerves there weren’t injured. They had been severed. Gone. Just like Pax. Feeling especially masochistic tonight, she jabbed her fingernail down into her leg. Nothing.
Adele sighed into the phone. “You can lie all you want to me, to everyone, even to yourself. I’m your best friend. And I know you love him, even if he’s made some beyond poor choices. Call me a romantic, but I still have hope. I could forgive him, if he really showed how sorry he was for leaving. If he tried to make it right. And if I could, I bet you could too.”
“I already forgave him. It’s done. And that’s the last I’ll say on it. Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some twins who need to get an earful from me.”
Chapter Three
“What were you thinking, Pax? This is a nightmare. Your timing could literally not be worse.”
Lawrence, the team media handler, had been shouting at Pax for several minutes now. All Pax could think about at the moment was how badly his face ached. And how terrible a name Lawrence was. It didn’t even have any good nicknames. Law? Larry? It was almost as bad as the twins’ parents giving their identical boys names so similar.
Easton tossed Pax a bag of frozen peas from across the kitchen. Pax tossed it right back with a glare. Sighing, E put the bag back in the freezer and put on a pot of coffee. Never mind that it was nearing midnight. Elton still sat fuming in the dining room, counting the money. The take wasn’t bad, but El had bet on Pax.
People should have learned by now never to bet on him. Pax figured if anyone would have learned that, it was his best friends.
Pax realized that Lawrence was waiting for a response of some kind. “The upside is that this will detract from all the press about our team being in the toilet.”
There was a pause. “That’s not funny.”
“Wasn’t trying to be.”
“Look—the reality is that you’re going to face some consequences for this. I don’t know about the league or the team. You’ll for sure be fined. You might be suspended for the season. Could be worse. I had a plan laid out for you. Easy stuff. One interview, max. You show up at your charity, have your photo taken, the end. Now, we’re talking big-time.”
“Wouldn’t the best thing be to stay out of the press?”
“Nope. Not a chance. You’re going to live in the spotlight, Paxton. It’s your new home. Plus, twenty hours of community service.”
Pax groaned. He didn’t know how he was going to manage that in a week. His plan had been basically to hide out here with the twins other than what Lawrence made him do. “Twenty hours? We only have a week off.”
“Six days now. Lucky for you, your little charity has a big event Saturday. They’ll have plenty for you to do. And having you show your face there will help raise lots of money. Like you care about that.”
He did care, actually. But he wasn’t about to let Lawrence know that. Even if he wanted to tear into him right now.
“This is not a huge sacrifice here, Pax. You’ve hurt the team, hurt the franchise, and you’re only hurting yourself. Do community service. Be visible. I’d tell you to have a change of heart, but that sounds like a waste of breath.” Lawrence paused. “I’ll be in touch with details on interviews and stories. There will be multiple. We can’t spin the fight club story or make it go away. But we can literally dump as much goodness as we can on top of it.”
Pax grunted. Among his other annoying traits, Lawrence didn’t seem to understand the definition of the word “literally.” Elton stormed into the room and pulled out the chair across from Pax, scraping it across the floor. His eyes stared holes in Pax as he waited for him to get off the phone.
“And, Pax?” Lawrence said. “You’ll need to smile in at least some of the photos.” With that, Lawrence hung up.
Pax set the phone on the table and crossed his arms, turning his attention to Elton. Behind him, Easton leaned against the counter, sipping coffee. Who drank coffee at this hour? Pax didn’t even know what hour it was, but it had to be close to midnight if not beyond.
“What was that out there?”
Pax lifted a shoulder but didn’t answer Elton’s question.
Elton gripped the table and leaned forward. “You don’t lose fights.”
“I seem to remember someone telling me earlier tonight that losing is exactly what I do.”
“No, I said your team had been losing.” Groaning, Elton flopped back in the chair, his anger settling into something more like exhaustion. He rubbed his hands over his face.
From his spot at the counter, Easton spoke. “You feel better now?”
Elton turned his glare on his brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Easton took a sip of coffee and crossed his long legs in front of him. His worn jeans had holes in the knees, Pax realized. Elton’s dark-washed jeans looked like they still had the tags on them. “You couldn’t tell he threw that fight?” Easton asked.
Elton turned slowly back around to Pax, who schooled his face. Didn’t matter though. These two knew him better than almost anyone in the world, even his teammates. He could tell that it was true with just a look.
“Why?” The word was spoken so quietly that if they hadn’t been
sitting right in front of him, Pax would have thought that it was Easton, not Elton. He didn’t know Elton had the ability to whisper.
“Because he’s punishing himself,” Easton said. “Has been for six years. You saw the tattoo, right? Or maybe you don’t know your Greek mythology like you should. It’s not a random dragon on his chest. That one has a name: Scylla.”
Pax swallowed down the lump that had suddenly expanded in his throat. A shocked expression crossed Elton’s face, quickly replaced by tight-lipped understanding. He placed his head down flat on the kitchen table and banged it a couple of times, like he could dislodge everything he’d just heard. Their mother always kept a red-and-white checked tablecloth on this table. The kind that had some kind of plastic finish, so it could be wiped clean with a damp cloth. Pax wished everything was that easy.
Elton jerked up and met Pax’s gaze with a fiery expression. “Really, man?”
Pax only shrugged. No sense in confirming what they all knew to be true.
Elton’s phone buzzed, and he looked down at it. His whole body went still. Pax was glad for the reprieve. He hated how easily Easton saw right through his mask.
For years, Pax had hidden aspects of his past from the public eye, and even from his teammates. It helped that he kept his middle name as his professional name, dropping his deadbeat dad’s and passing over his mom’s. His coach, his teammates, and the public were all oblivious to what he had gone through growing up, and what he had done.
But two hours home and everything was peeling right back, exposing the very things he had tried to bury then and was still trying to bury now.
“Hello, darlin.” Elton’s voice was all smooth honey, but a female voice started shouting from the other end. Elton met Pax’s gaze for a moment, then looked away.
Easton pushed off the counter, his jaw clenching. He walked out the back door, letting the screen slam behind him. That sound was so familiar that Pax’s arms broke out in goose bumps. He must have heard that door slam that same way a thousand times growing up.
Drumming his fingers on the table, Elton continued to let the woman on the other end of the phone yell at him. Pax couldn’t help the smile that crept up his face. Had Elton finally settled down? He never thought he’d see the day. Or maybe it was just the latest woman to realize that Elton would never settle down. Whoever she was, Pax had to give her credit. He’d never seen Elton sit still for such a tongue lashing. Except with his mom.
“Yep. I know. Mm-hm.”
Pax got to his feet, surprised at how sore his body was. His face ached, sending waves of pain radiating from the neck down. His knuckles were bloody, but not too bad. It was getting hard to see out of his left eye though. As he passed the fridge, he grabbed the bag of frozen peas Easton had tried to give him earlier. He was used to the pain after a game but had forgotten how it felt recovering after a fight.
Outside, the air was more silent than he had heard in a long time. The light pollution from Houston kept him from seeing many stars. But his home in Dallas was surrounded by glass and concrete and noise, a far cry from these pastures and planned communities and quiet. Pax felt a weight in him drop away as he breathed in the scent of freshly mown grass and, somewhere nearby, cattle or horses.
“How’s the eye?” Easton’s voice startled him. Pax glanced left where his friend leaned up against one of the porch rails.
“Been better. Been worse.”
With a start, Pax realized that behind Easton was a wheelchair ramp. He walked over and put his hands on the rails, looking down. The ramp led down to a paved sidewalk and two paved parking spots just off the gravel drive. He hadn’t noticed on the way in because he had parked on the opposite side of the house, where the main driveway curved back to the barn.
“You build this?” Pax asked. Easton grunted an affirmative. “The porch swings too?”
“Yep. Easton West Handmade.”
“East and West?”
“Easton West. Little play on words there. That’s my business now. Come on. I’ll show you my setup.”
Easton loped down the ramp and Pax followed. As he passed by the windows, he could see Elton still at the kitchen table. He had his head in his hands, the phone at his ear.
Walking down the ramp shouldn’t bother him, but it set his teeth on edge. Was there a particular reason Easton had put this ramp in? Or, rather, a particular person? Pax didn’t have the right to show up and ask those kinds of questions. But he knew they would bother him until he asked.
“I get the feeling you don’t like Elton’s girl,” he said instead.
“Elton doesn’t have a girl.”
“Sure sounded like it. Can’t think of anybody but your mama who could get him to shut up.”
Easton smiled. “Mama did have that way about her.”
“I miss her. Nowhere near as much as you, I’m sure. I’m still so sorry.”
“Thanks. Me too.”
The unfairness of it all still stung. A car accident that claimed both their parents’ lives, one of those fifteen-car pileups on the highway. Caught between two semis, their death had been instant. The caskets remained closed. Pax hated thinking about it. Not only because of the senseless loss, but because when he thought of accidents, he could still remember the sound of screeching metal and a burnt rubber smell. Darkness, pain, and Cilla’s sobs.
He and Easton didn’t say anything else, just took long strides away from the house. One of the things Pax appreciated about E was that he didn’t talk just for talking’s sake. But now that they were alone with so many years between them, Pax felt an urge to fill up the space. He scanned through his thoughts for something to say. Finding nothing, he just followed Easton on a path out past the barn. Easton whistled. Through the dark, Pax heard the thud-thud-thud of hooves.
A giant dark horse met them at the rail to the pasture, slowing to a trot and bobbing his head. He—Pax somehow knew it was a he—stopped a few feet ahead of them and pawed at the ground impatiently. When they reached him, Easton put a hand on the horse’s neck and it gave a low whicker. Pax hadn’t been around horses in a long time. That sound transported him, as so many things on this farm had tonight.
“This is Neph.”
Pax had never ridden much but had been pretty used to horses back in the day. He held out a flat palm to the horse, who nuzzled him with his velvety lips, probably looking for a treat. Finding none, his ears flicked back and forth. Pax patted him on his thick neck. Neph pulled away and cantered away from the fence, only to come back a moment later, trotting with them toward a second, newer barn almost edged up at the back of their property line.
Easton nodded his head at Neph. “He’s mad you don’t have a sugar cube or apple.”
“Well, if someone had warned me, I would have come prepared.”
Pax caught the hint of a smile on Easton’s face. They reached the barn, which was less traditional, more of a big metal shed. Easton pulled a halter from a hook and went to the pasture gate where Neph stepped nervously. Pax had enough sense to hang back, leaning on the fence a distance away.
“Saa, saa, Neph.” The click of the gate had Neph jumping back, prancing on his hooves. This was maybe the most skittish horse Pax had ever seen. He was honestly surprised that he let Pax touch him. He hadn’t realized how big the horse was until E stepped into the pasture, shoulders relaxed even though the horse looked ready to run or charge. “Easy, boy. Easy. Saa.”
These soft words spoken to ease the horse drew Pax back into a memory. To a time where that sound was almost his daily soundtrack. The background noise to his high school life when he spent as much time at the twins’ house as his own. After football practice, he came here to get a home-cooked meal, not home. Did homework in the old barn while the twins messed around with their horses.
The gate clicked again. Pax looked up to watch Easton lead Neph by the halter through the open doors of the barn. The halter had turned Neph into a different creature and he demurely walked beside Easton.
> Pax still kept a ways back, not wanting to risk spooking the horse or getting a kick to the chest. Watching Easton with animals felt like a primal thing, not unlike the fighting from earlier, though this was a thing of beauty. Before he led Neph into the stall, E paused in front of the horse. Under the lights of the barn, the horse’s coat was a rich black of a crow’s wing. In a movement that shocked Pax, the big horse leaned down and pressed the front of his head to Easton’s chest. They stayed like that for a moment, and E whispered in the horse’s ear.
Then his hooves clopped forward into the stall, and E rolled the door shut, removing the halter as Neph leaned over the door of the stall. The horse looked at Pax when he approached, flapping his lips and bobbing his head like he was saying hello. Then he disappeared inside.
“What’s his story?”
“Came to me a while back with a broken leg.”
“I thought a broken leg meant putting a horse down,” Pax said. He hadn’t even noticed a limp.
“Usually does. I’ve got a good vet.” And Easton probably had a lot to do with it. He had a magic way of fixing broken things. Without so much as turning his head back to Pax, Easton spoke again. “You want to talk about why you’re here? First, come on back. You’ll want to know where the gym is if you’re staying. It’s just past my shop.”
Pax was once again thankful that Easton seemed to completely understand him. He needed a moment to answer that question. Without comment, E walked past a large room that had woodworking tools and a half-finished farmhouse table. At the back of the barn, there was a wide-open space with weight racks, a couple of benches, and some other basic equipment. “You’ll find El out here most mornings. I’m sure he’d love a spotter. I’m not much use.”
Pax bit back the urge to ask why not. And why Easton had gotten himself so skinny.
“When’d you build this place?”
“About a year after.”
He didn’t need to say after what. Pax nodded and sank down on the nearest weight bench. Easton hung back, leaning on the wall. He seemed to do a lot of that now, leaning. The harsh look in his eyes and the bitter edge—that wasn’t the man Pax knew. Only with Neph had Easton really softened. Pax would ask, but first he had to pay his dues.
Forgiving the Football Player Page 3
