Chapter Twenty-Three #3
Helen’s eyes closed, and when her fist clenched at her side, Marcee didn’t doubt she’d strike her.
“I’m sorry,” Marcee started, hands shaking at her sides before she shoved them in her pockets. “I tried. You know I tried.” She looked to Bill, who hadn’t said anything since Helen shut him down. “You know I haven’t stopped trying since that first intervention that blew up in our faces.”
“You tried,” Helen said, opening her eyes, ignoring the man beside her or anything Marcee had said except those two words. “You tried? Running her into the ground to win a damn soccer game is trying?”
“Helen, you know that’s not true.” Bill finally took a step forward, face ashen and pinched with pain.
“My daughter lost consciousness on that field!” she shrieked, hands flying to her chest, as if she experienced the very same pain Cassidy did on the field. “What if her heart had stopped?”
Marcee stepped away, hands curling into fists inside her pockets.
Spots danced across her vision, and she tried to concentrate on the sound of the heart monitor, the whoosh of the air conditioning as it blew into the room, but all it did was propel her back in time to her own hospitalization and the stark terror on her mother’s face as she finally woke up.
And if she looked past that, she was sitting next to Eli’s bed, seconds away from bolting.
“Why didn’t you do more?” Helen cried, her voice cracking. “Why didn’t you help my little girl?”
“I did,” Marcee whispered, struggling to find her voice.
She knew Helen was yelling at herself as much as her, but the devastation in the mother’s voice was too much.
She cleared her throat, searching deep for the right words.
“I do regret playing her tonight, even the last three games, honestly. But you took her to a doctor and had her cleared. I was not the only one who continued to let her play. That’s something we’ll all have to live with.
” There was too much emotion filling the room.
They would never have a productive conversation here, so it was best to just leave.
The doctors would advise Cope’s parents and maybe, just maybe, the severity of the situation would sink in.
As she turned to leave, she paused in the doorway and addressed Bill. “Please let her know her coaches were here checking on her and that her team is behind her. They dedicated their win to her tonight.”
Marcee waited until she was out of the hospital and away from prying eyes to let the tears fall.
If she could get to her car, she could fall apart.
Through the haze of stress, she couldn’t remember where she’d parked, so she hit the alarm button on her key fob and followed the horn until she was on the right level to find Ronaldo.
With Remy waiting beside it.
Marcee rushed into his arms, sinking into his warmth and scent as if coming home. He took the keys from her and turned off the alarm, stashing them in his pocket.
“I’m here,” he muttered, holding on to her. Holding her together. “Tell me.”
She opened her mouth, but only a sob came out and she sank to the concrete, taking Remy with her. He gathered her into his lap, right there in the middle of the parking garage on the ground, and rubbed her back, cheek pressed against the top of her head.
“There are things in your life you have to reckon with,” he began, voice quiet as if telling a bedtime story.
“There are things in your life you must apologize for. That’s the case for anyone.
You’re not alone in making imperfect decisions, love.
” His hand made comforting, sweeping passes across her back.
“But your past did not put that girl in the hospital tonight. You tried. You reached out and offered your help, over and over again.”
“I shouldn’t have let her play,” she cried, shoulders shaking. “I should’ve said to hell with Wilkes and benched her until her parents got her real help. Her mother blames me. Fuck. Maybe she’s right.”
Remy lifted her away from his chest until she looked up at him.
“Listen to me, Marcee Ackerman. You’re not her parent.
You are her coach, and you did what you could do within those confines.
They’re riddled with guilt because they are her parents and should’ve put a stop to it, and they don’t want to feel the shame.
If there’s one thing I know, it’s easier to blame someone else for something than to blame yourself or a person you love. ”
And she knew he’d been on the receiving end, like her. Marcee reached up, cupping his face and marveling in the swell of love cresting in her chest.
“I’m a hot mess.”
He chuckled, smoothing hair off her forehead and offering her his sleeve to wipe her nose. “We all are, love.”
Everything with him felt so right, but at the same time, as if it could go wrong at any second. It was exhilarating and terrifying.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen with Cope. I don’t know if she’ll be able to play again.” She shuddered, thinking of her future and what could happen. “I don’t know if we can go far without her.”
“You have a good team. They’ll rally for her.”
“If they don’t, I’m in trouble,” she replied. “And if they do, I’m still in trouble because it means we’ll face off against you. I can’t win.” Every avenue was bleak, no matter how much sunshine she brought with her, and in that moment, there wasn’t a speck of light to be found.
Shame washed over her at the thought of winning or losing. How could she even care about it when that little girl was in a hospital bed?
Tears stuck to her eyelashes, and she blinked them away, trying to soak in the beautiful man in front of her—the only light she could see.
“What are we going to do, Remy?”
It was a loaded gun he disarmed with his gentle reply.
“Love each other.”