Chapter 30 Why?
Chapter thirty
Why?
Shepherd Kingsley
Owen walks in from the kitchen, a container of microwaved stir-fry in tow. He pauses in front of me, blocking the TV. I’m not missing much, considering they’ve been saying the same thing on repeat all morning. Or rather, asking the same question: Has Shepherd Kingsley lost his touch?
“Coach said not to watch ESPN.” Owen’s voice is monotone, as per usual.
“I’m not watching it right now because you’re in the way,” I deadpan.
“You’re being pathetic,” he says in the same way a bland professor reads a slide from the lecture.
“Appreciate the pep talk.”
“Wasn’t trying to give one,” he throws back, still not moving. “You know, the rest of us lost the game too. You’re not the only one who played yesterday.”
“I’m aware,” I grouse, and sink lower into the couch.
I’ve spent all morning in sweats with my hoodie over my head, ignoring the world as best as possible.
I can’t eat. Nothing sounds good. Certainly not the awful meal prep I used to tolerate.
Jasmine came in and ruined food for me. Not just food, though.
Everything is miserable without her. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I sent that text, and I miss her with a fierceness I didn’t anticipate.
“Have you talked to Jasmine?” he asks. He has no idea what happened between us.
“Why would I do that?”
He gives me a look that says you’re an idiot. And he’s right, but I’m also stubborn. So I’m going to sit here and be pathetic until it’s time to go over game tape, then I’m going to be the best quarterback this program has ever seen.
Second to your brother, my mind corrects, making me wince.
A knock at the door makes Owen and I both share a surprised look.
“I’ll get it,” he says, setting his food down on the coffee table before walking to the door.
I turn my attention back to the TV. They’re comparing my game stats to Carolina’s quarterback. They’re not as far apart as I would have thought, but mine are still worse.
“I’m guessing you’re not a big fan of emotions,” I hear Jasmine say.
I sit up, my hood falling back, and lean forward to look out the door. I can’t see around Owen’s lanky build, but I’m certain that was her.
“Uh…no?” Owen answers.
“You might want to leave,” she says as she pushes past him.
My eyes rake over her. It hasn’t been long since I’ve seen her, but it feels like a century.
Her curls are down and wild, brushing her shoulders which are covered by a gray Thrashers sweatshirt.
She’s wearing black shorts that show off her toned legs and white ankle socks that poke out of her sneakers.
If Owen thought I looked pathetic before, I can only imagine how I look now. The mere sight of her has my heart racing and my mouth dry.
“Did you drop your brain in a blender after you lost last night?” Jasmine asks, and I jerk back in surprise. The fire in her eyes is something I haven’t seen since the time when I rescheduled chess club.
“I—what?” I stutter, incapable of forming words when she’s this gorgeous and angry. She should have to pick one or the other. It’s not fighting fair.
“I’m just wondering, since you decided to break up our friendship over text. That seems like something a guy who threw his brain in a small appliance would do.”
Owen snorts as he grabs his keys out of the bowl. I shoot him a glare, but he doesn’t see it because he’s headed toward the door. No doubt he agrees with Jasmine.
I stand up and hold out a hand like I’m Chris Pratt and she’s a raptor. “I’m sorry. That was a jerk thing to do. I should have met with you in person.”
Her glare doesn’t let up. “Yes, you should have. To talk things through. So I could help you.”
I sigh. “Jasmine, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You saw how I did out there—”
“I know, you lost. So what?”
I huff. “Are you serious? I told you how important it was for me to win.”
“Yeah, you told me a lot of things. And I told you stuff too. Things I’d never told anyone else—” Her voice breaks. Some of the fight leaves her eyes as they begin to shimmer with tears.
I take a step toward her, but she takes one back.
“No. Don’t come near me. Not until we have this out.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” I ask.
She nods, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I’m fighting you for you, Shepherd Kingsley. Don’t bother trying to stop me because I’m not giving up. That’s a promise,” she echoes the end of my speech from last night.
I push my hands into my hair. “You don’t understand. I have to win. I can’t make another mistake. Football has to be the only focus.”
“Why?” She drills the word into my heart.
“We talked about this; I can’t fail. I can’t be second to him.” I turn away from her and pace to the other side of the living room.
“Why?” she repeats.
Anxiety turns my stomach and climbs up my throat.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Yes, you do,” Jasmine says, her voice calmer than before. “Tell me.”
The pain builds within me like fire consuming a house from the innermost room. The heat increases, rising and rising until finally the admission bursts out of me.
“Because that’s how I’ll get them to see me!” The words tear through my throat as I spin around to face her. “If I can beat him. If it’s my name on their television screens and radios and social media feeds. Then they’ll notice me.”
“Who?” she asks softly.
I wrack my brain for an answer to her question. It was one I’d never asked myself before. For years, all that’s driven me is instinct. I was good at football, and people paid attention to Jason because he was good at football. They looked at me when I started to match up to him.
When he went to college and got on TV, it was the first time my parents talked about football beyond asking if I needed new cleats.
They wouldn’t really watch the sport, but they put it on in the background while they cleaned up or made dinner.
When people asked about Jason, they’d smile and say that’s our boy.
Realization carves through me.
“My parents,” I choke out, voice shaking along with my hands.
How had I gone so long not seeing it? This whole time I thought I didn’t care about them not showing up, not bothering to understand. In reality, it’s what I’ve been chasing after for years.
“Shepherd.” Jasmine’s soft whisper almost breaks me entirely. “You have to know that’s not going to work. They aren’t going to change just because you became famous.”
“You don’t know that,” I say with a shake of my head. “It would make them proud of me.”
She gives me a sad smile and takes a step toward me. “Did it work for Jason? He has everything you want, doesn’t he? And you told me they still only come if Willow coerces them.”
“No, I’m going to be better, and then they’ll see.” I can hear the panic in my voice. What do I have if I don’t have this goal? I can’t give up now. This is my life. I’ve been going after it for so long I haven’t built anything else.
Jasmine draws closer. I look down at her, my muscles aching, begging me to wrap my arms around her.
“I know it hurts that they aren’t good parents, but why do you feel you have to go after their attention so much? It’s killing you.”
“Because I need someone to care about me!” I shout. “If my own parents won’t, then who will?”
“Me!” she yells back, and shoves my chest. “I will. That’s why I’m here, Shepherd.
I don’t want anything from you. I don’t care if you quit football tomorrow.
I just want you to be happy. And not happy because you won, or because you’re a Heisman-winner, or because you’re a chess prodigy.
I want you no-strings-attached happy because I care about you as a person. ”
“Why?” I ask, unable to believe she’s telling the truth. How could she? She has a huge family who loves her and parents who loved her before they passed. Why would she make room for me in her life?
“Are you seriously questioning me right now?” She shoves my chest again. “You’re the most arrogant, pompous man I’ve ever met, and you’re questioning why I would care about you?”
“You do realize how that sounds, right?” I ask, a touch of humor coming back to me.
She glares and pushes me again. She hasn’t moved me once, but it seems to be making her feel better.
“Ugh,” she huffs. “I meant that you’re so pompous you shouldn’t need someone to tell you good things about yourself.
But fine. You’re handsome, thoughtful, and a great teacher, even if I hate that you’re better at chess than me.
You make me laugh all the time, and until you put your brain in a lost-and-found box yesterday, you were a great friend who I trusted would be there for me when I needed you.
” She draws in a breath. I wish I was capable of that, but I think I lost the ability to breathe halfway through her speech.
“You make me feel at home. There. Are you happy? Now do you believe me?”
A grin stretches my lips. “You think I’m handsome?”
“That’s what you took from all I said?” she shrieks and makes to shove me again.
I grab her wrists. “Would you stop that?” I chuckle.
She jerks against my grip. “Why should I?”
Her gaze lifts from where I’ve trapped her against me. Her gorgeous green eyes are rimmed red, and I hate myself for being the cause of that. But there’s also a fire in them that heats my blood in a way only she ever has. Nothing, not even football, has made me feel like this woman has.
She’s challenged me, gotten me to open up, and made me laugh until my sides hurt.
I was walking down what I thought was the only path, and she yanked me off course and showed me there was a whole world to explore.
A world of homemade pasta, giggles, and hugs that feel like home.
All of it far better than what I had before.
“Because it’s making it really difficult for me to kiss you.”