Chapter 20 #5
I pulled into my parents' driveway and shut off the engine, but I didn't immediately get out.
Instead, I rested both hands on the steering wheel and stared through the windshield as I tried to gather myself.
I hadn't cried.
Not yet.
I wasn't sure if that was because I still believed there had to be an explanation or because I was too numb to let myself feel anything.
After taking one slow breath and then another, I climbed out of the car and walked toward the front door.
Before I had the chance to knock, the door swung open.
"Mars!" my mother exclaimed, her face instantly lighting up with the same warm smile that had greeted me my entire life. "Well, this is a wonderful surprise."
I forced a smile that I hoped looked more convincing than it felt.
"I thought I'd stop by before dinner."
"I'm so glad you did."
She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around me, and held me for a second longer than usual.
For just that brief moment, I let myself melt into the hug.
No matter how old I became, my mother's embrace still had a way of making the rest of the world disappear.
She pulled back and smiled.
"Come inside. Your father has been asking about you all day."
I followed her into the house, and the familiar scent immediately wrapped itself around me like a favorite blanket.
The rich aroma of garlic and butter drifted from the kitchen, mingling with fresh herbs and something slow-cooking on the stove.
Soft jazz played through the speakers in the family room, family photographs lined the hallway exactly where they had been for years, and the grandfather clock near the staircase ticked steadily as though time had never moved at all.
Everything about the house felt familiar.
Everything felt safe.
For the first time since leaving the salon, I felt my shoulders relax ever so slightly.
I hadn't come looking for answers.
I had come home because, somewhere deep inside, I still believed that home was the one place where broken things didn't have to stay broken forever.
It wrapped around me in a way that made the knot in my chest loosen just slightly.
“Look who decided to show up,” my dad called from the living room.
I walked in to find him standing up from his recliner.
“Hey sweetheart.”
He pulled me into a quick hug before stepping back and studying my face.
“You alright?”
“Yeah,” I said quickly.
“Just needed to get out of the house for a bit.”
He nodded, accepting that answer without pushing further.
“Good timing,” he said, gesturing toward the couch. “Game’s about to start.”
Of course it was.
I settled onto the couch beside my dad with a small bowl of popcorn balanced on my lap while my mom moved around the kitchen, humming softly as she finished dinner.
The familiar sounds of cabinet doors opening and silverware clinking against plates usually made me feel at ease.
Tonight they barely registered.
My dad picked up the remote and turned the television toward the football pregame show.
The stadium immediately filled the screen with bright lights stretching high above the field, thousands of fans waving towels, and commentators raising their voices over the roar of the crowd.
Normally I loved game day.
I loved the excitement, the energy, and the way the entire city seemed to rally around one team for a few hours every Sunday.
Tonight, all I felt was the knot sitting heavily in the pit of my stomach.
I looked down at the popcorn in my lap and told myself I wasn't going to overthink anything until I had actually spoken to Jalen.
The promise lasted less than a minute.
The broadcast cut to the Texans' sideline.
There he was.
Jalen stood near the bench with his helmet tucked beneath one arm while one of the coaches talked through the opening script for the game.
Even through the television, I recognized the look on his face immediately.
He looked focused.
Determined.
There was also something else there that I couldn't quite name.
He kept glancing toward the tunnel, absentmindedly adjusting the strap on his glove before looking back toward the field.
It wasn't like him.
My dad leaned forward slightly.
"There he is."
I forced a small smile.
"Yeah."
He nodded toward the television.
"That's your guy right there."
The words caught me off guard.
I swallowed before answering.
"Yeah."
My dad smiled proudly as though he had known Jalen his entire career.
"He has one of the prettiest throwing motions I've ever seen. I've been watching that kid since his rookie season, and I knew back then he was going to be special."
I nodded quietly, pretending to focus on the game while my thoughts remained somewhere else entirely.
The whistle blew, and the game began.
The opening drive moved down the field quickly.
Jalen completed a short pass over the middle before connecting on another throw near the sideline.
From the outside, everything looked normal.
He was making the right reads.
He was moving the offense.
The commentators praised his decision-making, but something about him felt different to me.
His movements seemed just a little rushed.
He looked toward the sideline more often than usual, and every time the camera caught him between plays, he looked distracted for a split second before forcing his attention back to the game.
I couldn't explain why I noticed.
I just did.
Halfway through the first quarter, he overthrew a receiver on a pass I had seen him complete dozens of times before.
The receiver stretched as far as he could, but the ball sailed just beyond his fingertips.
My dad frowned.
"Hmm."
I looked over.
"What?"
He kept his eyes on the television.
"He's playing tight tonight."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
He reached for another handful of popcorn without taking his eyes off the screen.
"Watch his feet."
I did.
The next snap came a few moments later, and for the first time since I'd met Jalen, I noticed exactly what my dad was talking about.
His footwork looked rushed.
His shoulders weren't as relaxed before the snap, and instead of trusting the pocket, he seemed almost impatient to get rid of the football.
It was subtle.
Most people probably wouldn't have noticed.
My dad did.
"He has something on his mind," my father said quietly.
"You don't miss throws like that unless your head is somewhere else."
I stared at the television, unable to look away.
The second quarter started, and the offense took the field again.
Jalen settled behind center, surveyed the defense, and barked out the cadence before the ball was snapped.
The pocket collapsed almost immediately.
He stepped to his right to avoid the pressure and fired a pass toward the sideline.
The throw sailed just a little too far in front of the receiver, bouncing harmlessly out of bounds.
My dad frowned.
"That's unusual."
I nodded, but I couldn't find the words to respond.
I had watched enough of Jalen's games to know that throw was one he completed almost every time.
A few plays later, the Texans found themselves facing another long down.
Jalen took the snap, scanned the field, and climbed into the pocket just as one of his offensive linemen was pushed backward.
The defender slipped through the gap much faster than anyone expected.
Jalen tried to pull the ball back and reset his grip before throwing.
He never had the chance.
The defender's hand struck the football just as Jalen brought his arm forward, knocking it loose before the pass could leave his hand.
The ball bounced wildly across the turf.
For one terrible second, everyone stood frozen before players from both teams dove toward it.
The stadium erupted.
Some fans screamed in frustration while others buried their faces in their hands.
My dad leaned forward on the edge of the couch and let out a disappointed sigh.
"Come on, son."
The words hit me harder than they should have.
I stared at the television while a replay showed the ball slipping from Jalen's grasp.
Normally he protected the football better than almost anyone in the league.
Mistakes like that weren't part of his game.
I felt the familiar sting building behind my eyes and quickly blinked it away before either of my parents noticed.
My mom walked into the living room carrying dinner just as the Texans' defense forced a stop and gave the offense another chance.
"Dinner's ready," she said.
Neither my dad nor I moved.
"Just a minute," he answered without taking his eyes off the television.
The third quarter began, and the atmosphere inside the stadium felt noticeably different.
The energy that had filled the crowd before kickoff had been replaced by nervous anticipation.
Every possession suddenly carried more weight.
I watched Jalen jog back onto the field, and for just a second the camera zoomed in on his face.
He looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Mentally.
His jaw was tight, and as he settled behind the line of scrimmage, I noticed him rubbing his hands together before calling for the snap.
The gesture was subtle, but I had never seen him do it before.
"He doesn't look like himself," my dad said quietly.
I couldn't argue with him.
The ball was snapped.
Jalen dropped back, scanning from left to right as receivers broke into their routes.
The offensive line held for only a heartbeat before the pocket collapsed around him.
A defensive end broke free off the edge while another defender pushed straight through the middle, leaving Jalen with nowhere to step.
I instinctively leaned forward on the couch.
"Watch out," I whispered under my breath, even though I knew he couldn't hear me.
He tried to escape, but the defender wrapped both arms around his waist before another hit arrived from the blind side.
The collision sent both players crashing to the ground, and the stadium fell eerily quiet for the briefest moment.
Jalen didn't get up right away.
My heart stopped.
Two defenders closed in from opposite sides so quickly that Jalen barely had time to plant his feet before they drove into him with full force.
The collision echoed through the stadium, and I flinched instinctively as his body disappeared beneath the weight of both players.
My heart stopped.