Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
There’s something about stepping on a football field that makes all the chaos inside me go quiet. It’s been this way my whole life, although it seems the older I get, the more of a mess my head becomes, and the more I need the reprieve I find on the field.
After Sydney died, I wasn’t sure if I should keep playing. Gabe, Dom, and Ty were the ones who convinced me to get back on the field. I’d told myself I’d give it a handful of games before I decided what I’d do. The first game back after her death felt like an out-of-body experience. My body knew what to do, and I essentially went on autopilot. It wasn’t my best game, but it wasn’t my worst either. The second time, my head cleared and I took all the grief—the pain, the anger, the loss—and let it fuel me. I played harder, stronger, faster than I ever had before. It only took those two games to learn that I could channel my grief instead of letting it eat me alive like it had been.
It doesn’t mean it’s not still there when I’m off the field, but playing football allows me to expend the worst of it instead of being buried by it. It allows me to be my best self—or the post-Sydney version of myself—for my daughter.
Three years later and it still gives me the same feeling. Only tonight feels a little different because Kaylee gets to be here to watch me play, which isn’t something she’s gotten to do very often.
It was Meredith’s idea to help with the separation anxiety, and after our talk the other night, I wanted to show her I was open to her suggestions. To show her I wasn’t the closed off asshole I’d been when she started two weeks ago.
Meredith isn’t quite what I expected, but I think she might be exactly what I need. I’ll admit, I was surprised when she confronted me. I was also impressed as hell. It’s been a long time since someone called me out. I can’t think of a single time it’s happened since Sydney’s death. Everyone’s always careful with me, whether they mean to be or not. Even my brothers—the other members of the Fierce Four—started treating me differently after Sydney died. We’ve joked that it’s because I’m the “dad” of the group, but that’s not true anymore now that Ty has his own daughter.
I don’t think they do it on purpose, and it never really bothered me before. Not until Meredith. Now I’m seeing all the ways that I’ve shut people out—ways I wasn’t conscious of until now.
But Meredith hasn’t just called me out, she’s also offered quiet comfort with her presence like she did that night under the stars. She’s given me something I didn’t realize I was missing—having someone to share my burdens with, without any of the judgment or sad looks I get from friends and family. Everyone thinks I should move on from Sydney and put myself out there again, but Meredith seems to understand without any pressure of what she thinks I “should” do.
She’s a breath of fresh air when I didn’t realize I’d been suffocating.
“You good?” Gabe asks me as we sit on the sidelines watching our offense get a first down.
“Do you think I’ve been more closed off since Syd?” I ask, glancing at him.
He arches a brow. “Is this a trick question?”
I pinch my lips together and face the field. Gabe twists his body, resting his arm on the back of the bench. “You’re serious.” His brows furrow. “What made you ask?”
I’ve never lied to him, and I’m not going to start now. “My new nanny called me out, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what she said and how right she was.”
He grabs his chest and bursts into laughter. “Man, I never thought it would be your nanny.”
I twist my head and arch a brow, which makes his laughter slowly subside. He pats me on the back. “You’ve been grieving, Romel. There’s no time limit on grief. We’ve let you handle it however you needed to. Honestly, we thought it would eventually be Kay that pulled you out of it.”
“Out of grief?”
“Well, just out of that layer of grief. Not to sound like Shrek or anything, but in my experience, grief is like an onion.” Gabe lost his dad when he was thirteen, so he knows about grief, and he’s one of my best friends which is why I let him continue, even if I already think this is a ridiculous analogy.
“There’s the first layer right after the loss. It’s the darkest and hardest to get through—essentially that’s the core of the onion that no one can get to without the outer layers being removed. But only you can move through those layers. No one can force you from one to the next, but maybe someone says something or you hear a song and it gives you a sense of closure that allows you to move out to the next layer. Or time. Sometimes you just need time to move out of that first layer, but the length of time can be different for everyone. For you, it was clear you moved out of that core layer when you really took over caring for Kay. You stayed in that second layer though for a long time. Then over the last year or so, you’ve moved on to the third layer—you socialized a bit more, started smiling a little bit, but you were still under more layers of grief. And now you’ve moved out to the next layer, and of all the people to push you, it was your new nanny.” He shakes his head, then grins at me. “Is she hot?”
I push his arm and he bursts into laughter. “That’s not even funny. You know there’s no one else for me but Syd.”
He sobers. “You’re only twenty-seven, man. You really think Syd would’ve wanted you to be alone for the rest of your life?”
“I’m not alone. I’ve got Kay.”
He shakes his head, getting sad. “You know it’s not the same. Your child will always have a piece of your heart, but the love you have for a partner is different. And even if you’re still in denial, deep down you know Sydney would’ve never wanted you to be single for the rest of your life. She’d want you to fall in love and find someone who will love Kaylee as much as she did.”
“No woman could ever love her as much as her own mother,” I say, my chest getting tight at the thought. Falling in love with someone else is never going to be on the table for me. No one will love me or Kay as much as Sydney did, and I’ll never disrespect her by filling her place with a woman who doesn’t belong there.
“You sure about that? There are plenty of kids out there who’ve been adopted or found great foster parents who loved them better than their birth parents did.”
I glare at him. “My situation’s not the same and you know it. Sydney died for Kay. There’s no greater sacrifice she could make to prove her love for our daughter.”
Gabe rolls his lips between his teeth like he wants to say more but is biting it back. Thankfully, a whistle blows and we look out to the field to see our team needs another first down or it will be our turn. We both watch silently as the opposing team’s defense holds back our forward progress. Gabe and I grab our helmets while Ty and Dom get into their own positions, along with the rest of our defensive line.
Before play starts, I do something I never do and look up at the stands where I know Meredith and Kaylee are sitting. Meredith has Kay in her arms, both of them smiling wide and cheering. My breathing gets shallow as my heart rate picks up. I shake my head, hoping I can shake off the unsettled feeling that I’ve never felt on the field before and then focus on the play.