The nostalgia squeezed his ribs, pressing into him with the weight that only memory can carry. He took a deep breath, relishing in the way it felt to hold Cilla in his arms. It had felt right back then. It still did.
Pax didn’t know what would happen at the end of the evening, the next morning, or in a few days when he returned home. That word felt wrong. Home wasn’t the house he’d built in Dallas. Home was right here, Cilla in his arms.
She sighed, her breath feathering over the skin at his neck and sending a shiver down the length of his back. “This is nice,” she said. Her lips brushed his neck as she spoke, and Pax could feel the touch rushing to his extremities, making the tips of his fingers and toes tingle. “I haven’t danced like this since … Before. Not since you. Why is it always you, Pax?”
“Us.” Pax nuzzled her hair, smelling that same magnolia scent. “It’s us, Cilla. You and me.”
Her hands wound their way into the short hair at the back of his neck as the band continued into another slow song. Pax would have to thank them later.
“Didn’t ‘us’ die six years ago? Is this just an echo of what we remember?”
Her question slid like a knife between his ribs, finding exactly the spot that hurt most and twisting there until he could hardly breathe.
It took him a moment to speak. When he did, there was no hesitation in his voice. “This isn’t an echo. Not for me. We could be something, Cilla. In it together. For life.”
At his words, her fingertips paused in their motion on the back of his head, gently tugging still at his hair. Her voice was choked with emotion. “What about all the stuff? All this—” Her voice tripped over the words, cutting out before returning. “—this stuff between us. The years. The ugliness. The pain. I don’t know what to do with it. Everything’s stuck inside me. Adele said I’m rotting—”
Pax pulled back as much as he could until his eyes held hers. He could see the unshed tears quivering on the edge of her lids.
“You are not rotting. You are so full of life. And so beautiful. There’s a lot to work through. I’m willing if you are.”
“I don’t even know how to start. Or where.” She shrugged helplessly, her gaze sliding away from him.
Pax leaned closer until his forehead touched hers. “Let’s start here. Will you forgive me for leaving? It didn’t matter what your father said, or how guilty I felt. I should have been there. I broke our promise to each other: in it together. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you again. Not ever.”
A tear spilled over and he watched it trace a path down the curve of her cheek, landing in the corner of her mouth as she smiled. “So, you’re planning to quit the team?”
“It was more like not leaving you in spirit. But I did get suspended. Officially. So, I might really and truly be staying.”
“Are you okay?”
She was missing the point. He shook his head. “Football doesn’t matter. You do.”
Cilla swallowed, and Pax could see her pulse fluttering at her throat. One hand left his hair and slid around to touch his chest, her palm flattening there, over his heart. “Tell me about the tattoo. Were you drunk?”
Pax smiled. “I don’t drink. And it took like five sessions to finish the thing. It was supposed to be color, but I didn’t want to sit anymore.”
“Did you design it?”
“I had someone design it. In case you weren’t sure, it’s for you.”
She rolled her eyes, but her mouth still held a smile. “Right. Because I’m a monster.”
“Nope. You just share a name. And strength. Plus, it would have been a little too obvious to put your face over my heart.”
She giggled. “Maybe just a little. And creepy.”
“So, no tattoo of your face?”
She cocked her head to the side, dragging her gaze over him. “Maybe somewhere no one will see it. I mean … wow. Okay. Maybe we should change the subject.”
Pax chuckled, and as a fast song came on again, he carried Cilla back to her chair. They danced through a few more fast songs, then found a table out of the way. Pax fixed them plates and waters. As soon as they stopped dancing, people approached them both, wanting to have Pax sign things or have photos taken. The only way to get a break from talking to people was dancing, so they spent most of the night on the floor.
When another set of slow songs came on later, Pax got to hold Cilla again. His chest brimmed with joy.
Cilla’s fingers tightened in his hair, reminding him of so many nights long ago when she would practically put him to sleep the same way. He closed his eyes, breathing her scent in deep. Though her weight was practically inconsequential, the beading on her dress bit into his palms. The sensations glued him to the moment, which stretched out as he leaned back a little to watch Cilla’s face.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he answered. Only everything. You are everything.
The music shifted to a faster song, breaking the moment between them. Pax and Cilla both laughed a little awkwardly. “Want to put me back in my chair, big guy? I mean, a girl could get used to being in your arms.”
Pax didn’t move. “Maybe you should get used to it.”
Her eyes scanned his face as though looking for something. Pax hoped that she found whatever it was that would make her believe his words, believe his intent, believe that they could push past their messy past. His mistakes. Her anger. The years apart.
“Maybe I will,” she whispered.
But as Pax carried her back to her wheelchair and set her down, he couldn’t stop himself from hearing the biggest word in what she’d said: Maybe.
He had given her the best words that he could, laid himself out in a way that left him feeling exposed and raw, but instead of giving him a promise, she had given him a maybe. Pax had already laid himself out there, making his intentions clear. Perhaps Cilla needed more of that. More honesty. More vulnerability. Promises of the future he hoped to have with her.
Dropping beside her so they were on eye level, Pax took her hands, hoping she didn’t notice the sweat starting in his palms. Taking a deep breath, he fixed his gaze on hers.
“What you said in the interview. About kids? I hadn’t let myself think of anything like that. Not after … the accident.” He worked his jaw, trying to loosen the tension suddenly forming there. “But when you said that, I could see it. You and me—a family. I mean, if you wanted that too. And if you don’t, you are enough for me. Just you. I want a future with you, Cilla. Whatever that looks like.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes and her features softened, as though his promise had unlocked the last layer of protection she wore over herself. Pax leaned forward, planning to seal this declaration with a kiss.
“Oh, good. There you are, Pax.” Anita’s voice hit him with the force of a hammer, shattering the moment completely.
Glancing at Cilla, the wall was already back in place, closing down her features. Sighing, Pax dropped her hands and stood. “Yes?”
“The board thought it would be nice to have you say a few words from up front.”
Pax frowned. “They didn’t mention this to me. I would have said no.”
Anita laughed nervously, glancing from Pax to Cilla. “It’s just that you’re the guest of honor, really. Maybe you could stand up there and be introduced at least.”
He was about to protest when Cilla answered for him. “Of course he will. Go ahead, honey.” Her words were anything but sweet, and Pax’s gut twisted.
“Great.” Anita grabbed Pax’s arm, tugging him toward the stage at the front of the room. “This will only take a minute.”
Pax shot a glance at Cilla over his shoulder as he let Anita lead him away. This isn’t over, his look told her.
But her cool expression said it all: Yes. Yes, it is.
By the time Anita had finished her quick remarks and introduced Pax to thunderous applause, Cilla had gone.
It’s only fair, Pax thought to himself bitterly. Now she’s the
one running away from me. Really, I deserve much worse. This doesn’t even compare to the way I left her.
But knowing he hurt her worse when he ditched her didn’t do a single thing to soften the pain wrapping around his chest like a vise.
Chapter Seventeen
Cilla typically woke on race days with adrenaline hitting her almost the moment she opened her eyes. Today, though, something else struck her. She lay in bed, pressing a hand over her chest as though to ease the tightness there, trying to breathe through the panic.
What did I do last night?
I let myself—and Pax—believe that we might be able to have a second chance.
Then I totally ditched him.
You know, typical night for me.
Closing her eyes, Cilla let herself drift back to dancing in Pax’s arms. The twinkling lights overhead, the music surrounding them, and the magic of so many memories twining with the present. For those few minutes, Cilla had almost felt like her Before self. Maybe she couldn’t move her hips or choose a rhythm with her feet. But in the moment, all she needed was Pax to lead her.
His strong arms, his tender touch, his masculine scent—they had all enveloped her. And for those two dances, Cilla had almost let herself believe in fairy tales and happy endings. Almost.
And that kiss!
She definitely didn’t know what got into her when she asked him to kiss her. Who was she kidding? What got into her was the burning desire to seal her lips to his. To feel that connection with him and to see if he felt that same desire that burned inside her.
And he totally did. She blamed that amazing, toe-curling, sigh-inducing kiss—the very best one of her life for the risky and stupid things the rest of the night.
Like consider a future that included Pax, featuring him in a starring role. All night, she silenced her objections, pushed away her hurt, and allowed herself to simply feel. She simply hadn’t expected to feel so much. Which only made it hurt more deeply when Pax brought up getting married and having kids, snapping her back to reality.
Her eyes snapped open, tracing over the familiar hairline crack in the ceiling. It had been growing for the past few years as she tracked its progress. Her parents almost never came in her room, and when they did, they certainly weren’t looking up or they would have had it fixed immediately.
At first, it had been a straight line, but in the past few months, a tiny new crack splintered off in a new direction. Like two paths. Two choices.
Cilla pressed her palms over her eyes, groaning.
I’m seeing metaphors in ceiling cracks. This is what it’s come to. How much lower can I get?
No. I don’t want the answer to that question.
Moping in bed wasn’t her thing. Not today. Not ever. She was made of steel. Nothing would slow her down or shake her.
Except the man who had completely melted her down to the core.
Cilla sat up and stretched. One at a time, she lifted and moved her legs over the side of the bed to maneuvered into her chair. She tried to picture her day-to-day through Pax’s eyes. That’s exactly what she needed to get past this. A hefty dose of reality.
He would wake up to this. Me getting into my chair. Not standing up and stretching. Not wrapping my legs around him, trying to keep him from getting out of bed. Just me, using my arms to drag myself to the side of the bed and work my way into my wheelchair.
Not so bad, really, but the bathroom was worse.
He might see me using my straight cath, she thought, going through her morning bathroom ritual with the disposable catheter she had to use over the toilet to empty her bladder.
If anything was unsexy, it would be watching the love of your life empty her bladder with a tube every four to six hours. Oh, and let’s not forget the very unsexy conversation where I’d have to explain how I need to empty my bladder before sex. Just in case. So I don’t urinate on him.
Cilla still remembered the way her cheeks burned when the doctor had told her this years ago. It had been her question, asking about sex and kids and all those details. She needed to know everything, even if it was never applicable to her life.
After the conversation with the doctor, she had shut herself in a unisex bathroom at the hospital and cried. One of the few times she remembered crying outside of a moving vehicle.
She and Pax never had sex before. They’d been waiting.
Now? Sex would be nothing like she had thought. Would the idea still be attractive to Pax?
Oh, but she didn’t need to worry about that anyway, since he’d left her.
The depth of his loss hit her harder in that moment than it had when she first woke up to find him gone, along with the use of her legs. That hospital bathroom had been her rock bottom. The pain was like a shotgun blast. She couldn’t pinpoint which of the tiny shells caused the most pain. It was all-consuming.
When Pax had talked about seeing a future with her the night before, it had transported her back to that breakdown in the bathroom. Pax might think he wanted a future with her, but he had no idea what that would actually entail.
Tossing the catheter in the trash, Cilla navigated to the sink. It was a custom countertop, lower in height and with no cabinets below. One of the many renovations and updates her parents had done to make the house more accessible for her. Everything had to change after the accident.
We couldn’t even have a normal house. Pax would be making concessions all over the place to be with me. She washed her hands vigorously, running the water much hotter than she needed to.
I’d have to explain all this to him. My daily routine. My special needs and requirements. He would have to see what it’s like when I shower. The awkwardness of getting dressed.
For years, Cilla had done all of these things. She had gotten so used to them that today, it felt important to remember them one by one. To consider them the way Pax would see them, the way he would see her.
And kids?
When he brought it up the night before, she hadn’t even been able to gather syllables together for a response. She should have known when she mentioned it in their interview that it would come back to bite her.
Though her doctor told her that it could be a possibility some years ago, she hadn’t let herself even imagine. She shut up the idea in a metal box, tied up with chains, dropped to the bottom of the ocean. She only mentioned it to that idiot interviewer because she got heated.
Now, Pax had planted that seed in her mind, where it sprouted cruel hope.
She faced off with her mirror. “I can’t have children. How would I chase after children? Pick them up? Not to mention the fact that I’m selfish. I would be a terrible mother. Legs or no legs. No.”
Cilla shook her head, as though shaking off the hope that still clung.
“Pax doesn’t want this. He doesn’t need this.”
She said these words out loud, again meeting her gaze in the mirror. It was not the look of a woman disappointed or a woman defeated.
No, the blazing in her eyes was the look of a woman who recognized and accepted the truth: Pax would not want to live this kind of life.
Maybe that was a half-truth.
Cilla didn’t want Pax to live this kind of life. That one was the full truth. Ugly. But true. If this week had any impact on Cilla, it was that she needed to face her truths, ugly or no. He needed another kind of woman. Not her.
“Pax doesn’t want me.”
It wasn’t only the physical considerations. After the accident, her sweetness had turned sour. What was it people always said about bitterness and anger? That it was like drinking poison hoping it would make other people sick. Well, Cilla drank all the poison down. Every last drop.
And what people said really was true. She could feel that bitter poison leaking from her heart out, eating her up bit by bit. It had been so long that she didn’t know how to stop the spread. Who was she even angry with? Pax? Her parents? Herself? God? Maybe all of them. Her feelings were too big for one focus. At this point, it was
a general rage.
As sick as it made her, it was also comfortable. Familiar. It’s who I am now, she thought, giving herself a last look in the mirror.
Words came to her mind, as they often did, from a verse she remembered hearing at church: Come to me all who are weary, and I will give you rest. My yoke is easy, and my burden is light. That might not have been the exact phrasing—she hadn’t cracked open her Bible since the accident. The truth of the words pricked her heart, but Cilla didn’t know how to find her way back. She didn’t know how to exchange the heavy burdens she had picked up for ones that were lighter.
Her hands trembled at the thought of letting go and panic bubbled in her chest. No, she couldn’t let go of this pain. Taking up an easy burden was a promise and a gift for someone else, not for someone like her.
As she got herself dressed for the day, packing a change of clothes for the race as well as her racing chair, Cilla repeated these truths to herself. This is who I am. Pax doesn’t want this new version of me. He deserves better.
They were more than a mantra. They were pieces of armor, each repeated phrase another bit of metal slipping over her body. Protecting her. Keeping Pax out. Caging herself in.
She had convinced herself. Now she just had to make him see and understand. Even if it killed her in the process.
Chapter Eighteen
When Pax picked up Jazz to drive her to the Wheels Up Winter Games, he didn’t even feel nervous about potentially seeing his mama as he pulled into the driveway. That’s how tied up his thoughts were in the night before. The magic parts where he thought he might have a chance with Cilla … and then the ending, that assured him he didn’t.
Or maybe he misunderstood? Maybe she left because there was an emergency, which also kept her from responding to any of his texts or calls. Right. He shook his head as he parked the truck and tapped the horn twice. Not a chance.
Pax wanted to give Cilla the benefit of the doubt, but the thing about their history was that he knew better. She had, of course, changed some over the past few years. Time plus the accident ensured that. But at her core, even before the accident, she had been a strong woman. A fighter. Stubborn. Passionate. When things got hard, she either dug her heels in and fought to the teeth or she took the other extreme. Not just backing down. Fleeing in the opposite direction.
Forgiving the Football Player Page 15
