Chapter 19
Nineteen
Tyson
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Or why you came back early? Or why you’ve been moping around my kitchen all morning?” My mom presses me, while putting her hand on my upper back, rubbing back and forth—the way she’s done since I was a kid.
My mind is a blender, going from one thing to the next, but all surrounding one person: Blair.
Part of me wondered if getting permission to skip practice and change my flight to get here a day early was a tad dramatic.
Possibly? Probably. The thought crossed my mind when I was talking to the coaching staff but I needed to get out of there.
I needed to get home. To the place that’s predictable and comfortable. Blair won’t miss Thanksgiving and I just needed some time with my family. Needed to get my head on straight.
It’s a snowy Monday in Brindlewick, Michigan.
Fat snowflakes fall, making tall piles outside the windows.
This is my favorite kind of weather, as long as I don’t have to play football in it.
Mom mulls cider on the stove and it’s the smell I most associate with home.
Michigan weather is a bit unpredictable, but you can typically count on it being ridiculously cold for seven to nine months out of the year.
That means Mom is always making something warm to drink.
She stirs the pot of cider, her other hand still rubbing my back, and I lean on the counter next to her. This is our place. We’ve had many heart-to-hearts in the same exact spot. As much as I don’t want to get into it, I feel my wall chipping, brick by brick, and I know I’m about to spill my guts.
And that’s what I do. Over a mug of steaming cider, I tell her everything.
The night at my place when Blair talked about kissing me.
How weird things got after. Our almost kiss on the balcony at the Halloween party.
Her crying after the game. The kiss in the elevator.
And the gut punch of how she kept something like her dad calling from me but told someone random on our team.
My mom has always been the best listener.
She lets me vent, almost losing my breath in the process, and doesn’t ask a single question until I’ve got it all out on the table.
Her blue eyes feel like they’re looking through me, picking up all the details I forgot to say.
She’s always had a knack for seeing us like this.
She takes a sip of her own cider, laughing to herself, and says, “You think you’re so slick. So good at keeping secrets. I’ve known you’ve loved her since that very first Thanksgiving where you used my credit card to buy a flight for a friend.”
“Well, not sure it matters now,” I groan, letting the steam of cinnamon and apple hit my nose.
“Tyson, I also know that she loves you. Why you can’t tell this about each other is baffling to me.” She exhales and then rubs her temples before locking her eyes on mine. “What did we tell you whenever you were complaining about how hard football was. How the extra training was torture?”
I take a deep breath, thinking of all the times my parents encouraged me, even when I wanted to quit. “If it’s worth having, you better be ready to fight for it.”
“That’s right.” She grabs my forearm and shakes it with her hand. “I thought you were smart enough to know that it applies to everything. Not just football.”
I tilt my head, looking down at the granite counter, my fingers tracing the lines of charcoal gray on the cream stone—the way I’ve done ever since I was a kid.
She grabs additional mulling spices, ready for her second batch, and pours them in the pan. She stirs them with a wooden spoon and asks, “Do you think Blair is worth it?”
I pivot and catch her eyes with mine, quickly, and she already knows my answer.
“Then why are you running from the fight?”
I take a deep breath, stretching my lungs into my rib cage, before sighing out through my mouth—my shoulders following suit.
“Why now? Why would she want this now? And does she really think of me like that? I don’t seem like—” My brain tries to find the right word but lands on the closest. “Enough.”
“Enough? Tyson. When you’re ready, you’re going to make someone extremely happy—you know you have this way of making everyone feel special. That’s hard to find. Don’t doubt yourself like that.”
I nod, and look down at my fingers, following the patterns of the granite.
“And why wouldn’t she tell me about her dad?”
“Sweetie, those aren’t questions I can answer. But you know who can? The woman you’ve loved for a decade, whether you want to admit it or not. Talk to her. Be honest. At least for the sake of your friendship.”
Did I fuck up by leaving her in the city? Not saying anything and hopping on the first flight? Who knows. Maybe she won’t even show up? The idea of her skipping the holiday because I left her behind brings a cold sweat to my forehead.
Fuck. I’m a mess.
“I’m going to take a walk,” I say while grabbing my scarf that hangs on the back of the chair. I know it’s just the two of us—my dad is working and my brothers aren’t supposed to be here until tonight and tomorrow morning.
“Took you long enough. We walked out there a few weeks ago. Everything is still perfect. Waiting for you.” She winks at me.
“Also, don’t be afraid to stop by that cafe in town, Daylight Coffee, for a latte on your way back.
The vanilla latte has no business being that good. And tell Skyler I said hello.”
I’m putting on my coat and all the things that will keep me warm on a walk which is just under a mile when the sense of home starts to envelop me.
My time in the NFL has had me living in two massive cities and while I enjoy the idea of great food and getting anything you want when you want it, I miss small town living.
Not that I want a farm or anything like that, I just want a space that’s my own.
No more doormen and penthouses and black cars taking me somewhere.
The amazing thing about Brindlewick is there are a few coffee shops, not four on a block.
You get to know the owners, they know you, and you get to chit chat about what they’re working on.
It’s about community—building relationships—and that’s something I’m going to need when I'm not playing football anymore.
The snow is deeper than this morning when I arrived and I love the feeling of the chilled air filling my lungs, biting my skin.
Each minute that passes I feel more and more myself, the version I like the best. I know how important it is for me to come back here, whenever I can.
I grew up in the lower peninsula, maybe forty-five minutes from Traverse City and only a ten minute drive from my parents’ house to the lake.
The sound of crunching snow is music to my ears as I soak it in. The brightness of the landscape, the untouched and fresh snow ahead of me, and the pit in my stomach that doesn’t feel like it could swallow me whole.
Honestly, why does it feel like I was this close with Blair, only to have it fall further away? Why does it hurt more having kissed her? Why did I leave her like that? Is all this even worth it? The questions don’t stop as I continue to walk.
Then I see it. My own secret I’ve been keeping.
Our family cabin is first—the one where we spent endless summer days and fall nights. But then everything behind it? All ten acres of land?
That’s all mine.