Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Julie
M y phone pings, stealing my attention away from the documents I’m reviewing. I glance at the clock on my computer and see that it’s already after four. Picking up my phone, I smile when I see the message is from Asher.
Asher
Finished at the stadium. Just got home.
Me
How did it go?
About as bad as it possibly could have.
The text bubbles start jumping again as if he’s typing something else, but then they disappear. Shit . My stomach sinks and my fingers start tapping out a rhythm on my leg. It’s not until this moment that I realize there is a big part of me that was optimistic the doctor would tell Asher his shoulder is fixable, even though every logical instinct I have told me otherwise. I have trusts to review, and I’ve only been through half of the emails I missed while I was away, but nothing feels more urgent than getting to Asher.
Me
I’m leaving the office now. I’ll be there soon.
Asher
Don’t rush.
But I do rush. I shove some files into my bag, grab my laptop from my desk, and am out of my office thirty seconds later. I stop in the entry way to grab my coat from the closet and am shoving my arms into the sleeves when Hallie trots down the stairs.
“You’re leaving already? You really have changed.”
“I’m going to Asher’s. He had a rough day and I want to be there.”
Hallie’s face immediately turns sympathetic. “I hope everything is okay.”
I want to tell her everything. About Asher’s appointment with the doctor and the likelihood that he has played his last NFL game, and how the uncertainty of it all is making my stomach churn with an anxiety that has been largely absent for the past week or so. But none of this is mine to tell.
“I hope so too, Hal. I’m worried about him, and I don’t want him to be alone.”
Hallie puts her arms around me. “He’s lucky to have you, Jules.”
“Fuck yes, he is. I’m lucky too. He’s one of the best people I know.”
“I like seeing you like this. You’re still you, but you shine brighter.”
“He makes me feel like I can do anything. You understand, right? ”
Hallie smiles, glancing down at the ring on her finger, and I know she’s thinking of Ben. “I do.”
I give her another quick hug before picking my bag up from where I dumped it on the floor. “I have to go.”
“Text me later, okay? Just tell me how everything is.”
“I will,” I say, heading out and closing the door behind me.
Fifteen minutes later I’m pulling into Asher’s driveway. As I make my way to the house, I wonder if I should knock on the door or walk right in. Knocking feels weird but walking right in also doesn’t feel quite right and what a ridiculous thing to think about, but I guess I am who I am no matter what and there’s a kind of comfort in that. Asher saves me the trouble of deciding when he opens the door just as I’m approaching.
We stand there looking at each other for a beat. He looks exhausted, and I see immediately that it’s his eyes where his pain lies. His gorgeous sky-blue eyes are shattered and devastated, and there’s something else in them too that I don’t quite understand, and it breaks my heart to see him this way. This kind, funny, loving, laid-back man should never look this broken. I take two steps forward and put my arms around him right in the doorway of his house. He wraps his arms around my waist and holds tight, burying his face in my neck. I hear his rasping, shuddery breaths in my ear and his back heaves like he is trying desperately to hold himself together.
“Let it go, Ash,” I whisper in his ear. “It’s okay.”
As quickly as he grasped onto me, he pulls away, shaking his head. “I can’t. Not right now.”
He turns on his heel and walks back to the kitchen. I freeze for a second at his uncharacteristic withdrawal but then follow him. In the kitchen, he grabs a glass and fills it with ice, pressing against the Dr. Pepper dispenser. Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice the glass is full until it’s overflowing onto the counter.
“Shit,” he mutters, staring at the puddle that’s starting to stream onto the floor. Walking over to him, I gently grasp his arm, tugging him away from the mess. He comes willingly. I take him to the sunroom off the kitchen, guiding him to the couch.
“Sit, Ash, okay? I’ll handle the kitchen.”
I turn to walk back to the kitchen, but he grabs my hand to stop me, pulling me back towards him. He lifts my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to my knuckles, looking up at me through his lashes.
“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice gravelly, as if just pushing those words up through his throat is painful. I lean down and cup his face in my hands, kissing his forehead and both of his cheeks before smoothing his hair away from his face like my mom used to do to Ben and me when we were sad. It’s a gesture of comfort that seems to have the desired effect when Asher leans into my hands, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
“Always. Anything. I’ll be right back, okay?”
He nods, and I go back to the kitchen, cleaning up the spilled soda and filling a new glass. I carry it back to the sunroom and hand it to him before sitting sideways on the couch so I can face him, my legs tucked under me. He takes a long sip and sets the glass on the coffee table, turning so he can face me too, one leg on the floor and the other bent against the cushions. He’s not ready to break; I can see that. I understand that better than anyone. I’ll be here when he is, but for now, I ask him the question I would want someone to ask me if I had just been given life-altering news and wasn’t ready to deal with the emotional part of it .
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I keep my voice even, matter of fact, and I know it’s the right move because he takes a deep breath, dropping his head down, and starts to talk without making eye contact.
“There were so many tests. Blood work, range-of-motion, other ones I don’t know the names of. I met with a physical therapist, a trainer, the doctor, and my coach. When you’re a starting quarterback saying words like pain in my throwing arm , it makes everyone nervous, so they check everything. Then they brought me down for an MRI. There is actually an MRI machine right in the stadium. Makes for easier scans and results to diagnose injuries during and right after games. I went from the MRI right to the team doctor’s office, and even though I probably only had to wait for a few minutes, it felt like hours. When he came in, he started talking about how I was one of the most dedicated athletes he has ever known, and I couldn’t listen to any of that. I knew what was coming next and listening to everything he was saying to try and cushion the blow was fucking torture. I snapped at him. I hate that I did that. I never snap at anyone, but I felt like I was about to jump out of my skin. I told him to just say it. So, he did. He said…”
Asher cuts himself off suddenly, breathing hard. It kills me to see him like this, so I reach over and take his hand in mine, and he grips it like a lifeline, looking up at me for the first time since he started talking. His eyes are a little wild, panicky, like saying out loud what he is about to say will make it true. Make it real.
I nod at him, squeezing his hand. “Just say it fast.”
“I have arthritis in my shoulder. It’s bad. Really bad, and it’s not going to get better. I can’t play anymore. My football career is over.”
His words tumble out in a rush and then he sucks in a breath and rubs his free hand over his heart, as if speaking those words out loud broke it in half. And I understand now the look in his eyes when he met me at the door. Grief. Asher is grieving and he probably doesn’t even know it. And I didn’t know until this minute that it was possible to actually feel another person’s pain as if it were my own. Asher’s grief is a living, breathing thing, sitting right in this room with us.
In the face of this enormous shift, my lawyer brain is doing the thing it does when I get complicated information. Parsing through it. Breaking it down into its parts. Making a mental list of missing facts. Finding a solution. Making a plan. It’s habit. Instinct. As natural to me as breathing. Which is why my next words come out without me considering them first.
“So, what happens now?”
I know immediately it’s the absolute wrong thing to say. Asher looks at me blankly for a few seconds, then drops my hand and pushes up from the couch, pacing the length of the sunroom with his hands clasped behind his head. After a few lengths of the floor, he turns back to me.
“I don’t know. I have no idea what to do next. We didn’t get that far. As soon as the doctor told me I was done playing, I just left. I couldn’t be there anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. No one told me. I didn’t stick around long enough. My phone has been ringing a lot.” He gestures over to the kitchen island where I can see his phone lighting up with a call.
“I haven’t looked at it though. I guess I need to talk to my coach. And tell the team. Unless someone will do that for me. I don’t want to do it. Or maybe I do. I don’t fucking know. I need to tell…” He trails off, eyes glossing over.
“I need to tell my family.” His voice cracks on the last word and his breath hitches. He drops his head, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, no doubt to stem the flood of emotion trying to pour out of him.
“I can’t,” he says, shaking his head.
“You can’t what?” I ask gently, trying to break him out of his spiral.
“I can’t do this now. I’m not ready. I know you want to talk about what happens now, what the plan is. You’re so fucking good at making a plan, Juliette. But I can’t. Not yet. I’m not ready for a plan. I think…” He stops, collecting his thoughts.
“I think I need to be alone. I’m not good company tonight and I just…I think it would be better if I was by myself right now. The last thing I would ever want to do would be to snap at you like I snapped at the doctor or say or do anything to upset you. This is my worst nightmare, Juliette. I’ve been trying to avoid this exact thing for four years and now that it’s here…” He trails off again, face contorted in pain.
“I’ve never been here before. I don’t know what it’s going to look like while I process this. It’s not a good idea for anyone to be around me. Nobody could possibly understand how I feel right now. I barely understand how I feel right now.” His tone is exasperated. Lonely. He is all alone on this island of pain and grief without a single person who can relate.
“I need time to get myself right, and I want to protect you from that. Please.” He looks at me, his eyes pleading with me to understand.
I can feel my anxiety creep in at his withdrawal. My stomach clenching, my heart rate speeding up, my fingers reaching over to scratch at my wrist. But I take a deep breath of my own, determined to shove it down because I do understand. This isn’t personal. This doesn’t have anything to do with me, or Asher and me. He got the most devastating news of his life today, and he needs to deal with that in whatever way feels right to him. And if he needs a little space to do that, I’m going to give it to him. I’ll give him whatever he needs to get to the other side of this, to help him navigate it and figure out what comes next.
“Okay,” I say, standing from the couch and going to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding tight. His arms go around me too, and I feel him press a kiss to the side of my head. It’s a small gesture, but the relief it gives me is enormous. He’s going to be okay. I’ll make fucking sure of it.
“I love you, Hot Shot. You call me when you’re ready to talk.”
“I love you too, Juliette. So, so much.”
With a final squeeze of his waist I let him go, walking to the front door. He follows me, kissing my forehead before I walk out the door. When I get to my car, I turn around and see him still standing there in the doorway, backlit by the glow of the entryway light. He looks so alone framed in the doorway, his big house all around him. It feels wrong to leave him when every instinct I have is screaming at me that he needs company. And then I get an idea.
He might think there’s no one who could possibly understand what he’s going through, but that’s not actually true. He might not want my company right now, but I know someone who has been where Asher is. If Asher really wants to be alone, he can kick him out, but I suspect Asher doesn’t really want to be alone at all. He wants to be with someone who understands. And I don’t understand. Not really. Not the way he needs. But I can deliver him someone who does.
As soon as I slide into the car, I pull out my phone and bring up Jeremy’s contact. The phone starts ringing as I pull out of Asher’s driveway, and Jeremy picks up on the second ring.
“Hey Jules, what’s up?”
“Jer, I need your help.”
“Name it and I’m there.”