The guilt of the day thinking about Beau and now my rejection to my fiancé finally have me hitting my limits. Turning my back to Mason, I let the silent tears fall and wet my pillowcase. I shouldn’t be this afraid to give my fiancé that part of me, but I need to be sure. That commitment in front of God that we’re end game.
I once thought Beau was my forever and words can’t describe the hell I went through when he left. Only two other people know the extent of how broken I was by the time my senior year started. So, if I’m going to give myself to someone again, in that way, it will be to my husband—to my true future.
But, if Mason is my true future, I need to be honest with him. We can’t build a marriage on lies. Before we get married, I’ll tell him about Beau—I’ll tell him everything. And after he hears my deepest, darkest secrets, if he wants to call off the wedding I’ll understand. I’m broken in ways I’ll never heal from. No woman should have to go through what I did, let alone as a seventeen-year-old. I’m hoping Mason will be understanding, but the fear that he won’t be is what’s kept me quiet for so long.
Pulling into the parking lot of my old high school, I park in a visitor’s space instead of driving through the drop-off line. It’s been years since I drove Sawyer to school, and even though she’s grown up, a wave of nostalgia washes over me as I glance at her in the passenger seat. In a lot of ways, she feels like my little girl, though we’re siblings. I was thirteen the day she was born. She was placed in my arms first—even before my Nana. It was a humbling experience to hold the baby that I felt like I willed into survival. My dad had finally done everything in his drunken power to end the pregnancy as my mother’s lifeless body was brought in the night of the accident.
“You do know I’m a little old to be walked into school, right?” she says as she unfastens her seatbelt.
“I know, I just wanted to walk the field.”
“Beau, there’s only five minutes till the bell. Can’t you wait until I’m in class?” she pleads. And because I love her—and can’t say no to the puppy dog face she’s giving me—I agree to give her ten minutes before I make my way to the back of the school.
Sitting in my car, I watch all the kids walking into the building without a care. These halls becoming a place of camaraderie and learning I never felt a part of. When I look at this school, all I see is pain. For two of the four years I was in school here, I fought my growing feelings for Callie Williams and the other two I spent giving into them. All this place reminds me of is her.
Waiting in my car, I hear the first bell ring and the students loitering begin to filter in through the front doors. I can remember there being so many days where I rushed in just as the tardy bell rang. At the end, most teachers would give me a break. Nana hadn’t been doing well and it fell on me to walk Sawyer to school and make sure she was ready for the day.
Just as the tardy bell rings now, I step out of my SUV and walk the perimeter of the school to the football field behind. Many of the same teachers I had back in the day are still here teaching my sister. And as great as some of them were, I’m not in the mood to play catch up. The fake people in this town like to chat like we’re old friends, when in actuality they treated me worse than the gum on the bottom of their shoes. It’s incredible what fame can do to your outlook on life.
Rounding the back corner of the school, the green monster comes into view. I gave my all every time I stepped on that field. Not that it ever did me any good—I didn’t even play my senior year. If I hadn’t been so damn good, Coach Morris would have cut me before I even finished freshman tryouts.
Not that I blamed the man. Sins of your father and all. My dad really did a number on this town. Not only did he kill his wife and threaten the life of their unborn daughter, but he also paralyzed the wife of the beloved high school football coach. Coach Morris never let me forget it was my father who caused his family so much pain. Never did he stop to think about the pain left in the shards of my own family. We were the poor kids of the man who kills people. We were nothing—less than nothing to some.
When Deacon became my friend, I thought it would be my saving grace. Surely, everyone would accept me since I was friends with the preacher's grandkid. WRONG! Even when I started dating Callie, everyone was expecting me to fuck it up. I was never good enough for this town—never good enough for her. Leaving Callie was the hardest thing I ever did. It was the right thing to do. The town would make sure she landed on her feet. It’s the only thing that made my actions bearable back then.
As the ticket booth becomes more clear with each step, there’s a new plaque adorning the brick exterior. I’ve either never noticed it before, or it wasn’t there when I played. Moving closer, I see my name in big bold letters across the top. The plaque is about me and my successes in football due to my training here with the Trojans.
It feels like a lie. I’m who I am despite this place not because of it. I was surprised as hell when Notre Dame came with its offer even with me being out a whole season.
Though, I’m pretty sure I know who sang my praises to help push that along. The first man to ever believe in me. Pastor Earl—Callie’s granddad. Him and I still keep in contact, but it’s been a few months since we touched base. After I finish here, I reckon I should go pay him a visit.
It had only been three months since I broke up with Callie and half-way through the first semester of my freshman year when I found the connection between the school provost and the dear old preacher-man who helped change my life.
When I was called into the provost’s office, I thought maybe I wasn’t doing as well as I thought. I remember holding my phone in my hands, palms sweating and voice cracking. But all the aging man wanted to do was see how my advisor was doing. Turns out they knew each other from their time playing football in college. I knew then it was Earl who pushed my admission here. What had me sweating was the fact I would have to talk to Callie’s granddad to thank him. Thank him and ask him, why?
Did he want me out of the way so Callie and I could never work out? Had this been his plan all along? I didn’t know but I needed to find out. I shake my head at my crazy thinking back then. Placing my palm on the plaque, I move past it to walk to the fifty-yard line thinking about that first conversation with Earl, solidifying our line of communication.
“Pastor Earl,” the old man answers. He usually answers the same way—Is this my hellraiser— and I’m almost hurt he doesn’t until I remember I got a new number.
“Pastor Earl, it’s me—it’s Beau,” I choke.
“My hellraiser, I was wondering when I’d hear from you,” his formal tone turns much more fatherly than professional.
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. I was trying to—hell,I mean heck, I don’t know. I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me. But I caught up with your friend here, Provost Kennedy.”
“He’s a good man, and so are you, son. I know things didn’t work out with you and Callie and I’m not going to go into detail about how upset that makes me.” His confession confuses me. I thought maybe he sent me so far away to break us up.
“Sir?”