Forgiving the Football Player

by Emma St Clair

  “I’m in trouble with my team. Now the league too, I guess. Bad behavior on the field. Fines, all that. Now the fighting. They sent me here to do some community service and PR stuff. I probably won’t get my contract renewed.”

  It was the first time he’d really said the words out loud, though the threat had been made to him a few times. Before, it had been just that—a threat. Now, Pax realized how real it was. The thought terrified him more than he wanted to admit. Without the escape football had provided, what would he have left?

  “You think showing up at home for a week and doing some good works will help ease your guilty conscience?”

  “I didn’t say that. This is all PR stuff. Optics. Makes me—and the franchise—look better. That’s all.”

  “Sure.” Easton nodded. “I get that. But you know that you actually could deal with everything. You could go and talk to her, you know. Can’t make it right. But you could stop living like your life ended that night six years ago.”

  The words stung, but Pax was glad for them. Even after the fight, he wanted—no needed—to feel pain. His life hadn’t ended six years ago. That would have been easier. No, that night, Pax should have died. He should have been the one driving the car, not Cilla. It was his fault for fighting. She said he might have a concussion and shouldn’t get behind the wheel. It should have been his spine that severed, him in that hospital bed instead of his beautiful Cilla.

  There, under the harsh glare of the hospital, her body held in traction, he wished more than anything that it had been him. Only, it wasn’t. She was the one who suffered for his poor choices and his mistakes. He should have died instead of Cilla having to live this way.

  “Why’d you leave?”

  “It was the best thing for her. She didn’t need someone like me in her life, screwing things up more than I did.”

  Pax knew that his words were true. He knew them six years ago too. And if he hadn’t been sure, Cilla’s dad let him know in no uncertain terms at the hospital that Pax should leave and never come back. You don’t deserve her, Mr. Worthington had said, his words confirming Pax’s own fears and insecurities. Her parents hadn’t liked him before, but the venom in her father’s words spread through him like poison.

  “No.” Easton shook his head. “She needed you. Your love, your support.”

  “She didn’t want someone like me, screwing things up for her even more.”

  “You don’t know what she wanted! Because you left her, Paxton. When she woke up, do you think she cried that she couldn’t use her legs anymore? That she would spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair? No, she cried because you were gone, Pax. You.”

  Easton walked to the door and spun to face Pax, his whole face hard. With his bone structure, he looked skeletal, fierce. “Your big mistake you think you’re paying for is not driving that night. But the accident wasn’t your fault. But leaving? That’s something I don’t know how she can forgive.”

  Pax’s head hung low, staring down at his boots. “She shouldn’t forgive me. I don’t deserve it.”

  “Maybe you don’t. But you should still ask. You need to man up. Tell her what you did was wrong. Admit to being a young, dumb coward who ran away. Maybe if you ask, she’ll finally be able to let go.”

  “Of her anger?”

  Easton made a sound in his throat. “No, man. To let go of you.”

  Long after the sounds of E’s boots faded over the barn floor and began crunching over gravel back to the house, Pax sat on the bench. The words snaked around his mind.

  His face throbbed, even down to his teeth. As he stood, he realized that his left eye was completely closed now. Pax still held the limp bag of frozen peas in his hand, forgotten and now completely thawed out and useless.

  Chapter Four

  Cilla should have known better than to hope that her parents would be gone. They were both at the table when she went into the kitchen. Why wasn’t her father at work? He basically lived for it. Why wasn’t her mother at tennis? Or one of her various committees? Her full-time job was volunteering, tennis, and arranging flowers for their church. Oh, and brunch. Let’s not forget bunch.

  “Priscilla! How lovely to see you for breakfast!” her mother said. “Would you like some eggs? Or a waffle? I can make waffles.”

  “I’ll just have cereal. I’m going into the office today, remember?”

  “I’ll get it,” her mother said, jumping up. She was wearing her tennis skirt, so Cilla hadn’t been totally wrong.

  “Mama, it’s fine.” But her mother had already hustled out her favorite cereal and milk. Even after they paid a fortune to have the kitchen counters lowered and the space made more accessible, her mother still hated to let Cilla do anything herself.

  Sighing, Cilla rolled to the table where her father sat with what she guessed was a business book. Or maybe another biography of a president. Cilla lifted the book to see the cover. He pulled it away and closed it, facedown.

  “Morning, Starlight.”

  “Morning, Daddy.” Despite her anger with her father, that nickname always softened her. Didn’t take long for the anger to snap right back. It always stayed close, resting right below her skin. She didn’t want to be angry with her parents all the time. But like she was always telling people, she wasn’t a nice person.

  “Are you sure you want to be involved in that organization?”

  And there it was. “You mean, the charity that helps kids get the wheelchairs they need and can’t afford? You’re right. It’s a waste of my time and degree. I should get a real job.”

  Her mother set the cereal bowl in front of her. She had somehow found the time to chop fresh strawberry slices, just as she had when Cilla was a child. “Thank you, Mama.”

  Her father started up again as she took her first bite of cereal. “I just think you could find a better use for your MBA. Volunteer there, sure. Give back in your free time. But you’re working as a low-level employee in a cubicle.”

  “It’s not about having a corner office. That organization, Daddy, provides wheelchairs for kids who aren’t as blessed as I am.”

  Wheels Up did more than offset the cost of better or more specialized chairs. They helped get ramps built and advocated for accessibility. They hosted fundraisers and fun events like the Winter Games that upcoming weekend. But she chose her words to hit her father in the gut. She was right and didn’t miss the way he flinched when she said “blessed.”

  “Did you see that Pax is back in town?” her mother said, her voice so bright and hopeful that Cilla dropped her spoon. It clattered against her bowl.

  Her head whipped up to her mother, whose expression withered under Cilla’s gaze. “I did.”

  “Maybe we should invite him to dinner?”

  The walls of the kitchen seemed to close in on Cilla. She had to remind herself to breathe. “He wasn’t good enough for you in high school, but he is now? Right. I forgot. You’re his number one fans now. Sure. I’ll invite him. Make sure you wear his jerseys and have your foam fingers ready. I’m going to my job now. Have a good day.”

  And with that, Cilla left her parents gaping after her, not bothering to put away her half-eaten cereal. Her mother would do it for her anyway, so what was the point?

  The only people Cilla cried in front of were strangers who didn’t notice. Because most people didn’t look beyond their car windows. They were watching traffic lights and talking on phones, but they were not looking at Cilla. She spent a good twenty minutes crying and driving before going to the Wheels Up office. Angry crying, to be clear. But there was always at least a little sadness below the anger.

  Even before she lost the use of her legs, the car was the place she cried. If she hadn’t been able to drive, years’ worth of tears would have been bottled up inside. She had half a mind to stop by the twins’ house to yell at them in person but didn’t think she could pull it together. And if Pax wasn’t staying with his mom, which she seriously doubted he would, he would probably be with the twi
ns.

  Then there was the other thing. She had recently decided that she needed to stop leaning on them so much for comfort and for friendship. Easton in particular. After he built a wheelchair ramp at his house, she had to admit something she had been trying to ignore: Easton might have been in love with her.

  She wished she could love him back. But other than the issue of Adele’s giant crush on Easton, Cilla’s heart belonged to Pax. It was trampled, crushed, and a little bit blackened these days, but the dang organ still kept on beating for the man.

  All the more reason to keep driving. She went north, then west, then circled back when her sobs finally subsided. She’d still be early for work. But she had so much to do still before the big event. She could use the quiet time in the office.

  Especially if Pax came in this week. He’d founded Wheels Up, after all. Cilla wasn’t supposed to know that, but the twins had let it slip. Pax was a silent partner and few people knew that it was his funding that started the charity. The fact that he started it at all left Cilla feeling conflicted. Maybe he did it simply to ease his guilty conscience for leaving her. Maybe he really did care. Whatever his reasons and however she felt about them, Wheels Up did good work. Cilla tried to focus on that.

  Pax had no reason to come in this week, but her miserable, busted heart equally wished he would and dreaded that he might.

  Chapter Five

  When Pax woke in the morning, it was to immediate pain. This was nothing like how he felt the day after a game. Even if he had hard hits, normally he would report to the training center where he’d spend the day on massage tables and alternating between hot tubs and cool tubs. Ice, Epsom salts, cupping, even acupuncture. He never turned down any treatment that would help his muscles recover faster. He liked pain. But to keep playing game after game, he had to recover.

  Today he was a whole different kind of sore. The best thing he had would be over-the-counter painkillers. Groaning, Pax got to his feet and headed downstairs to the kitchen. He needed to find his phone charger, some coffee, and some pain relievers. Not necessarily in that order.

  “Your eye looks better,” Elton said when Pax walked into the kitchen. “Coffee? Omelet?”

  “Both. You are way too cheerful for the morning,” Pax said.

  “Hate to tell you, but it’s almost noon.” Elton smiled and set a plate with an omelet and a mug of coffee in front of Pax at the table.

  “You cook now?” Pax realized that Elton had on an apron. It was black with a tuxedo design on the front. Underneath, he wore workout clothes that still looked damp.

  “I can do lots of things. So, what’s on the agenda today for our little lost boy come home?”

  “Ibuprofen? And water?”

  Elton gave a little bow. “At your service.”

  Within a minute, Pax had a glass of ice water and a bottle of pills. He took a bite of the omelet, which was surprisingly delicious, then palmed a few pills and chased them down with water. “Thank you. For all this. Are you sure you made this? Because it’s really delicious. The Elton I knew didn’t know the difference between a saucepan and a skillet.”

  El made a tsking sound and then sat down in the chair across from Pax with his coffee. “This is what happens when you leave town, Pax. We all grow up.”

  “And get girlfriends? I’m glad you finally found someone that you’re willing to listen to. She sure sounded fiery.”

  Elton’s easy face tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “That’s what Easton said. But I’ve never known you to let any woman talk to you like that. So, spill. Who is she?”

  “Like, I said. A lot of things change.” As quickly as Elton had joined him, he got up, dumping the coffee. He tossed Pax a bag of frozen peas. “Ice your face, you animal. I’m headed out but make yourself at home. E’s out in the back barn.”

  The house was quiet after Elton’s Hummer rumbled away. Too quiet. Pax finished his omelet and sat with the bag of frozen peas on his face, wondering how soon Lawrence would call and be on his case. As long as his phone was charging, he could ignore it.

  Gravel popped as a car came down the drive. Footsteps thudded on the porch and a voice called out, “Easton?” Pax didn’t immediately recognize the voice, but he wouldn’t have forgotten the face. “Pax?”

  Getting to his feet, Pax dropped the peas to the table. “Hey, Sy. Long time since I’ve seen you off the field.” They gave each other a quick bro hug before Pax slumped back in his chair, playing with the bag of peas. His head hurt too badly for him to process how he felt about another blast from the past.

  Back in the day, they’d played together at Katy High School, but now they were rivals. No need to rub it in that Dallas had recently beaten the Rebels, Sy’s team. The day of the game, they had barely been able to nod hello. Not that they would have done much more.

  Even in high school, they had both been good friends with Elton and Easton, but never close with each other. Pax liked to think that it wasn’t because his mom was an addict with a revolving door of men, while Sy had two doctors for parents. But maybe that’s all it took back then.

  Now, it felt like the setup for an awkward heart-to-heart at the twins’ kitchen table. One Pax didn’t intend on having. When he ran into people from high school, he was never sure just how much they knew about Cilla’s accident and Pax leaving. Maybe because it had been summer, with everyone disappearing for jobs and colleges, news of the accident had stayed pretty quiet. Or maybe it was because Cilla’s parents used their money to keep it that way. He never really believed that though. They couldn’t stand Pax in high school and he knew they wouldn’t have missed a chance to publicly skewer him.

  Not that he needed them to. He’d done that to himself.

  “Where are Elton and Easton? And what brought you back in town?” Sy asked.

  “E’s in the barn and El—who knows. Out somewhere. As for why I’m here, not really sure, to be honest.” Not the full truth. Really, not even half of one. But he wasn’t about to start spilling his guts. “You?”

  Sy grunted and sat down. “Same. Are you staying here?”

  Pax nodded. From the flash of disappointment he caught, Sy must have had the same idea about crashing with the twins. If Pax were nicer, he could offer to give up his room. Or sleep on the couch. He could even go stay with his mom.

  Not gonna happen.

  “Who gave you the shiner?” Sy asked.

  “Didn’t catch his name.”

  Sy shook his head. “Fight night? Really, man?”

  Pax managed to bite back a remark about not needing another coach, manager, PR guy, or parent. “It’s all over the internet if you want a play-by-play.”

  “Uh-oh. Guess the league knows?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sorry, man.” That, at least, sounded genuine.

  Pax shrugged it off. “My choice. I’ll deal with the consequences.”

  Sy stood and stretched. “I’m going to join E out in the barn. Good to see you. I’m sure I’ll see you around if you’re here for a while.”

  “I’m here for the week.”

  Sy headed out to the barn, while Pax finished his coffee and loaded his plate in the dishwasher. Elton arrived back home not twenty minutes later.

  “That was fast,” Pax said.

  Elton looked, for once, shifty. “Just dropping something at the post office. We should talk. Sit down.”

  Pax sat, feeling like he would have preferred doing whatever Lawrence had tasked him with to having so many conversations first thing. Even if now it was well past noon.

  “Look, you need to know that when you see Cilla—”

  “Not planning to see her.”

  Pax could practically hear Elton’s eye roll. “Like I said, when you see her, she isn’t as okay as she’ll seem. You of all people should be able to recognize the signs of a good liar, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. In case yours is still stuck up your—”

  �
��What’s that supposed to mean?” Pax’s voice sounded more like a growl than anything. Elton knew his bark had bite, but he didn’t so much as flinch.

  “You broke her.”

  Pax clutched the edge of the tabletop, feeling like the wood might splinter beneath the crushing weight of his guilt and grief. “I know I broke her. The accident was my fault. She never should have been behind the wheel.”

  “Pax.” Elton touched his arm lightly, but Pax still jerked at the contact. “I don’t mean physically. Cilla’s amazing. She’s made the best of this. You should see her race.”

  “She races?” Pax could suddenly picture the way she looked back in the day, sprinting down the track toward hurdles, her body lifting elegantly over them.

  “Heck yeah, she does. You’ll see Saturday at the event your charity is putting on.”

  The twins were the only ones Pax had told about his involvement at Wheels Up. He hadn’t thought much about them knowing, or about the idea that Cilla might be involved as well. Guess that’s what Elton meant when he said he would see Cilla.

  “What are you saying? She’s broken. She’s not broken. Pick one.”

  “I’m saying you broke her spirit. Not in the accident—again, not your fault—but leaving. You left her at the most vulnerable time of her life. Not a word of apology or explanation. It destroyed her. But not everyone sees it. They see a sweet, brave girl who has faced down incredible odds. A fighter.”

  “She is all those things.”

  “I agree. But she’s also hurting inside. Deeply. No one sees that. Because she’s buried it so far that I’m not sure she can even see it. Maybe sometimes they look at her and just see the chair. That’s the reality. But it’s there. E and I, we've seen it. We can’t fix it. It’s not like you can either. But you caused the break. You need to address it. And be careful how you do.”