Chapter Six
Becca
Dumping clean clothes from the laundry basket onto the dining room table, I start the task of folding. My house is spotless, and this is the last thing I have left to distract myself.
The physical activity hasn’t done anything to silence the words playing on repeat since Jacob’s partial admission last night. I have a million questions, and am relieved and annoyed that John picked that moment to sit down.
The truth is, I honestly don’t know how to process any of it, and I’m not even sure it matters. Jacob and I were a thing decades ago, and both of our lives are very different now. But seeing him again is bringing up feelings I buried.
Not to mention, questions I had long since given up on getting answers to are now back.
“Does any of it really matter?” I mumble to myself. “It was a lifetime ago, I was a different person.”
My hand grabs a piece of clothing, and as I start to fold it, the hood gets in the way.
When I look down at Caleb’s old Hurricanes sweatshirt, I pause before drawing it to my face and inhaling.
There was a time that a warm spice and a woodsy scent would’ve been all over this, but that time is long past.
Now it smells like laundry detergent, fabric softener, and Steven.
A burning sensation spreads across my chest. Even after a year, there are still moments when I long to hear his voice or see his smile. Feel his arms wrapped around me again.
What would Caleb have said if I told him the truth about Jacob? I mean, he knew Jacob and John and were best friends growing up, so he was aware I knew him, but I kept what he meant to me to myself, and I’m not even sure why.
My history with Jacob was easier not to talk about, and by the time I had met Caleb, I had left the life I thought I would be living with him behind.
Besides, no one called him Jacob; it was either J.T. or Jake. It was like they were talking about completely different people from the person that I had once loved.
Pulling the sweatshirt from my face, I swallow past the tightness gripping my throat and focus on how it feels to fold the heavy cloth.
I loved Caleb, adored him. He was everything I could’ve wanted and more, yet I can’t deny that I kept Jacob from him for a reason.
He still had a piece of me. The back of my eyes burn admitting the truth to myself, the guilt that lays behind it fills me.
A buzzing pulls my attention to the counter, and I see Miles' handsome face lighting up the screen. Clearing my throat and blowing out a ginormous breath, I answer the phone.
“Hey, honey, what’s up?” Holding the phone between my cheek and shoulder, my voice a little shaky, I go back to folding the sweatshirt this time without a trip down memory lane.
“Hey, Mom. You okay?”
“I’m fine, sweetie. Just folding laundry,” I tell the half-truth. It’s not the first time that I’ve gotten emotional when folding laundry, but this time it’s more than just missing my husband.
“You sure?” Miles' voice holds an edge of uncertainty. This middle son of mine is way too intuitive for his own good.
Forcing myself to even out my voice, I respond. “I’m sure. What’s up?”
“Just calling to see if Steven started working with that new coach?” I hear voices in the background. Miles' voice gets muffled, and I know he covered the microphone. He’s just like his dad. The corner of my mouth lifts. Everyone at school knows him.
“Did you call your brother and ask?” I grab a t-shirt from the pile.
“I haven’t had time, plus you know how much I prefer talking to you.”
“You mean checking in on me?”
“Well, yeah. That too. But you usually give me more information than Steven. I swear, when I call him, it’s like talking to a caveman who swallowed a dictionary but refuses to use it.”
A full smile spreads. “Maybe if you didn’t lecture him on what he needs to work on, he’d be willing to say more.”
Three beeps sound, and then the car engine starts before I hear the phone being switched over to Bluetooth. “Is it my fault I’m usually right?”
“No, but you could bite your tongue sometimes. It might just change the conversations you have with those you want to help.” I can all but hear my middle child rolling his eyes at me.
This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation.
“Yes. Steven’s new coach started working with him yesterday. ”
“Is he having him focus on his breakout route?” I can’t stop the chuckle from coming out. “See, I knew that was part of his issue. Maybe I should be coaching him.”
“How about you just focus on school work and your play.” All of my sons have played sports successfully and will most likely end up as professional athletes.
Miles got a scholarship to several different schools for football as a quarterback, and Wyatt got one for baseball.
Steven has scouts watching him, and he still has another year left.
Wyatt and Miles received multiple offers from schools all over the United States, but when Caleb got sick, they both chose a school in Colorado. “Speaking of, how is it going?”
“It’s going. Matheson is still starting.” Miles has never liked being second, but Matheson is a senior, and Miles will get his chance next season.
“Next year, it’s all you.”
“Who’s the coach working with Steven?” He blows by my response, a clicking sound echoes, and I hear him shift the car into park.
My pulse accelerates, and my throat tightens. “Uncle John’s friend…Jake.”
“Are you telling me J.T. ‘The Jet’ Thornton is helping my gremlin of a little brother? Okay, that just isn’t fair. Why does he get to have all the fun?”
“I’m not so sure he would say he’s having fun.” An image of Steven’s exhausted body skating off the ice last night pops up. “He’s getting the workout of his life.”
“Yeah! From Dad’s favorite player!” My stomach flips at Miles' comment. “When is he practicing again?”
“I’m pretty sure they’ll be hitting the ice after Steven practices with the team.”
“Tonight?!” Miles' voice hops up an octave, and I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. “I’m calling Wyatt, and we’ll be there!”
“Don’t you have stuff—”
“Nothing more exciting than meeting J.T. and watching Steven get beat up.” I shake my head, laughter bubbling up. The boys have always been competitive, but they love watching each other when doing drills. “And Mom?”
“Yes, Miles?”
“I miss Dad, too.”
My throat tightens as guilt moves through me at my son’s words. “I know, honey. I love you. Can’t wait to see you and Wyatt later.”
If only I were just missing Caleb, that would be so much easier.