Chapter 35 #2
I sat on the far corner of the couch, the same spot I used to sit on as a teenager, the cushion below me soft and worn in. I tucked my feet underneath me before taking a small sip of the whiskey.
I held back a cough as it burned its way down my throat. Fuck, that was strong. My dad chuckled from his spot on the other side of the couch, sipping his own without any reaction.
I drank more before holding it in my lap, feeling it warm my belly.
“Not that I don’t love my daughter dropping by,” he said, shifting so he was facing me, “but you don’t usually show up asking for hard liquor. Want to talk about it?”
I let out a small breath, staring down at my glass. “What, I can’t come see my dad without it being a whole thing?”
He didn’t respond, just sat there waiting for me to continue.
I exhaled again, shoulders dropping. “I just…had a rough week. I didn’t skate well, and then I made it worse.” I paused again. “I said something I shouldn’t have.”
“Does it have something to do with a certain quarterback that’s been moping around my field all week?”
When I glanced up, he raised his glass to his mouth with a lifted eyebrow.
“A little,” I mumbled. “I was upset about not skating well, and I might have taken it out on him.”
“I see. I take it that’s why you ignored my messages and calls?” he asked over the rim of his glass.
I winced. “Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t respond.”
“I get it. Not doing as well as you wanted is hard.” If anyone understood where I was coming from, it was my dad. “You didn’t place first. That happens. No one’s perfect the first time they step out there.”
“I can handle not winning,” I said, shaking my head, once again about to voice my fear. “I just… I don’t want to go out there and have you see me fail. Like all of this was for nothing.” My voice cracked. “Like I’ve disappointed you.”
My dad gave up a lot to raise me on his own.
Gave up a football career. Moved us here so I could train.
Paid the ungodly amount for new skates, outfits, and to have Marcy coach me.
One of the reasons I pushed myself so hard to be the best was so none of that went to waste.
So all of the sacrifices my dad made were worth something.
“You could never disappoint me, Emmie.” He sat his drink down, shaking his head like the idea didn’t even make sense. “Do you hear yourself? You’ve already done more than I ever dreamed for you.”
He shifted closer on the couch, reaching for my hand. “I don’t care about placements. I don’t care about medals.” His grip tightened slightly. “I care that you’re out there doing what you love. That you’re happy.”
His voice softened, a small quiver to it. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
My throat tightened, and my vision blurred. Not trusting that a sob wouldn’t break free, I quickly closed the space between us, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
“I love you, Em Bear,” he said against my head.
“I love you, too, Dad.”
For the first time in a week, the pressure in my chest eased.
“You know, you can come out and watch the game instead of peeking around your door frame every few minutes,” Erin called from her spot on the couch, the TV showing the Titans’ football game.
Ever since I got home from seeing Marcy, I’d been peeking around my door to see bits and pieces of the game. Even if things between Mateo and I were over, I was still going to watch him play and root for him to win.
My chest ached at the thought of not being in the stands. I should be there right now, but instead, I decided to be a complete bitch and ruin the best thing to ever happen to me.
Sighing, I finally came out of my room and plopped down beside her. “I swear you have eyes in the back of your head.”
“Of course I do. I know all.” She shoved a handful of Cheetos in her mouth, eyes glued to the TV to watch her two men play.
“If you know all, then how come you didn’t know that Foot Man was taking secret photos of your feet and selling them online until you caught him in the middle of the night painting your toes—four months into the relationship?” I asked.
“Emmie!”
I dodged the flying Cheeto with a cackle.
“We vowed to never, ever bring that up again!” She threw another one. I caught it and shoved it in my mouth.
I shrugged. “Still think you should have gotten all that money he earned.”
“Me too,” she mumbled.
I turned to the screen, the opposing team trying to score against the Titans’ defense. Mateo wasn’t on the field, but my eyes searched for his jersey number regardless.
“How are they playing?” I asked, trying to pretend I was asking about the team instead of Mateo.
“They seem to be playing okay. A little off, though.” Erin paused, glancing at me. “Or do you want the update on one player in particular?”
“Has he been…okay?” I asked, softly.
“He’s okay,” Erin said slowly. “Just…not playing like he usually does.”
She was trying to downplay it, but her words still hit me right in the chest. Even my own dad hinted at Mateo not being himself this last week.
With a tight chest, I turned back to the TV as the Titans’ offense came onto the field. Instantly, my eyes found number eleven. The camera followed him as he jogged onto the field, helmet dangling from his fingers.
The sight of him made me suck in a breath. It had only been seven days since I saw him, but it felt like ages. The camera panned to his face for just a second before he slipped his helmet on. It was enough for me to catch the bags under his eyes and the scruffy beard on his face.
I stuffed my hands under my knees, nails digging into the fabric of the couch. I leaned forward as Mateo got in position, squatting with his hands extended.
Anxiety coiled in my stomach. Please, let him play well. Let them win.
The commenters were saying something about Mateo and the team, but it all blurred as I stared at the screen.
“Come on,” I whispered.
I held my breath as Mateo lifted his foot and slammed it to the ground, the ball shot straight into his waiting hands. I waited for him to move, to cock his arm back and throw the ball to Jake running down the field…but he didn’t. He just stood there as if in a daze.
“Run.” I sat up straighter. “Mateo, run.”
He moved a few steps to the side, but it wasn’t enough. A big body came barreling toward him, no defense near to protect him.
One second, Mateo was standing, the next, he was slammed into the ground.
I swore I heard the thud of his body through the screen.
The clock stopped, players moving on the field…except for one—Mateo.
I didn’t so much as breathe as I stared at his body lying there. It took a moment for them to notice he wasn’t getting up. Perry ran up and dropped to his knees beside him as the on-field medics ran out.
“That was a brutal hit.”
“Boone is still on the ground as the medics check to see what’s wrong.”
“I hope he can get up from that.”
The commenters voices were like a stab to my gut.
“Get up.” But he wasn’t. I could only make out his feet and legs moving, barely.
When I saw my dad making his way onto the field, I knew it was serious.
I shot to my feet, only one thought in my head. I needed to get to him.
Before Erin could say a word, I ran for the door, grabbed my keys, and left.