Chapter 55
Decker
I was wrong. So damn wrong.
About so much.
There’s no comfort in that realization.
I rub at the tension gathered at the base of my skull and turn my head from side to side to ease the pain. The fabric of the hammock bunches as I shift. With a shrug of my shoulders, I rearrange myself again in a seemingly futile struggle to get comfortable.
“Oh. Sorry, brother.”
Kendrick.
I jackknife up to sitting so quickly I almost spin the entire hammock.
“Easy,” he chuckles, holding out a hand. “I didn’t realize you were out here. I’ll give you space.” Pivoting, he heads back to the door.
The urge to talk about what the fuck I’m supposed to do now is too strong to let him go. “Wait. K. Stay.”
He stops in his tracks and regards me over his shoulder, his brow furrowed.
Clearing my throat, I double down. “Please stay. I could use the company.”
Nodding, he approaches my end of the deck. “What are you doing out here anyway?”
Shifting in the hammock, still sitting upright with my legs dangling over one side, I sigh. “Feeling sorry for myself.”
He scoffs, then laughs. Like I’m a joke.
Anger burns hot in my veins, mixing with the self-loathing I’ve let consume me. “Is something about this situation funny to you?”
Towering over me, he rolls his lips and assesses me. “Yeah,” he admits. “Kind of.”
I grit my teeth, waiting for him to elaborate on how my misery and the situation I put us in could be humorous.
With a huff, he drags a chair across the deck. The way it scrapes against the composite surface sends a shudder through me. He spins it around, then straddles it, so close that I can see the golden flecks of warmth in his irises. He’s close enough that the disapproval coming off him is palpable.
“You’re Decker Crusade.”
As if I could fucking forget.
What I wouldn’t give to forget…
“What excuse could you possibly have to feel sorry for yourself? Bro, you’re laying on a hammock at your private cabin in the mountains. You’re the golden boy of Lake Chapel—the future prince of professional football. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone to take pity on you.”
I grind my molars at the scolding and will my indignation to remain at a low simmer. He’s not wrong. Yet so much of my life is out of my control these days. The reality of it isn’t even remotely aligned with what I want for my future.
At least not anymore.
“And if I don’t want to be the golden boy of anywhere or the future prince of anything?” I cross my arms and lift my chin. I look like a petulant child, I’m sure.
Kendrick, naturally, takes it in stride. With a nod, he considers me.
Few people in my life have known me as long as K.
He’s seen it all, and he’s stood by my side for years.
Our paths have always run mostly parallel, our lives routed on the same course.
We’ve been dreaming of going pro, with the hopes of eventually playing together again, since our days with the Little Dukes U-12 team.
“Want to know what I thought about during the nine hours I was locked up last month?” he hedges.
We share matching smirks. He didn’t even sit in a cell for a full day.
“I thought about how I stepped in for Locke and how, no matter the consequences, it was worth it. All of it. I had faith that you and Daddy Genius would figure it out and I wouldn’t be in there long—”
I cough out a shocked laugh, but Kendrick scowls, shutting me down before I can hound him for calling Kylian “Daddy” anything.
“Don’t ask,” he mutters. “Anyway, I came to terms with what was, and I decided I could accept whatever happened next, as long as it ended with her.”
Sighing, I scrub my hand down my face. “So you’re allowed to make sacrifices, but I’m not?”
He tsks. “A sacrifice is a choice you make for the greater good, Cap. It’s not stubborn, bullheaded, arbitrary action that benefits no one in the end.”
Balling my hands into fists in my lap, I glare, collecting my words, ready to argue my reasons yet again.
He doesn’t give me the chance. “Who are you helping by pushing her away? What sort of life do you envision for yourself these days, without her, without us? One where it’s your dad and Misty congratulating you after games?
One where there’s an occasional warm body and nameless face in your bed, but you fall asleep alone each night? ”
“Of course not.”
“Then what? I, for one, can’t imagine my life without that woman. But obviously, you can. So what does your version of the future look like? It must be good if you’re working so damn hard to preserve it.”
His words hang between us while I put myself through mental gymnastics trying to visualize what my future does entail if I stay on the current path.
I used to relish the idea of following in my father’s footsteps: fully stepping into the spotlight, carrying on the Crusade name in the world of professional football.
Now, when I consider the next six months, the next year, the next anything without her, all I taste is bitterness.
The draft. Training season. My first professional game. My first pro win.
None of it holds any appeal if I have to go it alone.
“If this isn’t what you want anymore, then figure it out. There’s always an alternative. An answer. An option that allows you to push reset and start over. People you know—people you love—have done it with a lot less certainty on their side.”
Josephine’s accusation from last night ricochets through me.
She called me a coward. She was right.
“What if it’s too late?” I groan, my heart sinking in my chest. So much is already in motion. My career is a freight train barreling toward the future. A future, I’m realizing, I don’t even want. Not without my boys by my side. Not without her.
Kendrick doesn’t give me an answer, and he doesn’t let me wallow in self-pity. Instead, he lobs another question my way.
Gripping the back of his chair, he leans forward and locks eyes with me. “What are you willing to give up to prove it?” He pauses, raising both eyebrows. “If it all went away tomorrow—football, the deals, the money—would we be enough? Would she be enough?”
“Yes,” I reply without a millisecond of hesitation.
“Then there’s your answer.”
I scoff. “That doesn’t solve anything.” I’m so fucking frustrated I could scream.
K holds up both hands. “You’re right. It doesn’t. But you don’t need to know the solution to have your answer. The solution is what we figure out together, Cap.”
Together.
She asked for together.
The gaping hole in my chest, the one I created when I ripped my own goddamn heart out and walked away from Josephine, suddenly doesn’t hurt quite so acutely.
I can give her that.
I can give her so much more.
If only I get my head out of my ass.
They’re right. I can’t handle everything on my own. I have to let them in, commit to the version of my life I want. Even if it looks nothing like the dreams I created long ago.
Kendrick rises to his feet. Looming over me once more, he stretches his arms overhead and jerks his head to the side until his neck cracks. “You want to run later?”
I nod absently, lost in thought.
He returns the chair to its place at the table and tips his chin once more. “How much money did your mom leave you?”
My lungs seize at the question.
My mom was wealthy in her own right. Long before my dad came into the picture. Honestly, I think he resented her for it. She didn’t need his money, and that meant he couldn’t use it against her. He got especially nasty when he found out she’d left me a trust he knew nothing about.
“Five million when she died. I’m sure it’s grown since then. You know I can’t touch that money, though. The trust is ironclad.”
Taking a step back to me, he crosses his arms over his chest. “What were the terms again?”
I let out a huff and roll my shoulders. He knows the terms. We used to talk about how we’d spend our twenty-fifth birthdays on a private island together. That dream didn’t keep as we got older, but it was our favorite fantasy to lean on during grueling workouts and two-a-days in the heat of summer.
The terms of the will are simple. Beautifully simple, in a way that’s symbolic of my mom’s love. Her will mentions nothing about football or my education. She designed the trust so I didn’t have to meet any sort of metrics to access it.
“I get the money when I turn twenty-five,” I remind him—more than three years from now—“or when I get married. Whichever comes first.”
He nods again and raises a hand. Then he walks into the house.