I unpacked the groceries, flinging boxes and packages on the counters to put them away quickly. My ears buzzed, panic-inducing thoughts swirling in my head.
“This is what you get for me?” On crutches, she hobbled into the kitchen.
I shoved the food into her barren fridge. Half-empty bottle of olives and room service ketchup bottles rolled around on the shelves. “Sorry, let me move this prime rib and Caesar salad aside to make room for the groceries I paid for with my own money.”
“I’m not in elementary school. What’s with all the lunch meat?”
“It’s better than what you left me with growing up.” I snapped, inching closer to the edge.
A dismissive snort was her only reply. “You were fine. All you had to do was run to LJ’s house and everything would be taken care of.”
The muscles in my neck tensed, anger seeping into my veins and ears ringing. I slammed the fridge shut, contents rattling inside. “Maybe I wanted my mother to take care of me.”
“You were more than capable.” Another blow-off.
“I was a child.”
“Your father went off and lived his life, doing whatever the hell he wanted. Why shouldn’t I have been able to do the same thing?”
Bringing up these old feelings was picking at the oozing stitches I’d pretended were fully healed. “Sorry I was such an inconvenience.”
“No need to be dramatic.”
My cheeks heated. What was the point of trying to change anything about her? “Do you need anything else before I go?”
Her voice softened. “You’re leaving already? We’ve barely had a chance to talk.”
I bit my tongue so the ‘why the hell would I want to stay?’ and a reminder of how much convincing it had taken to get me here didn’t fly out of my mouth.
Laundry loaded, a bed made up on the living room couch, and an elementary school sandwich later, she’d exhausted every possible way to keep me in the house.
Checking the time, I wouldn’t make it back to the house before the combine. Shit.
Leaving my mom in the kitchen, I walked to the living room and flicked on the TV and sat on the coffee table.
Commentary was layered over the distant sounds of the nearly empty stadium where players lined up for drills, sprints and showing off all their skills and power to the teams watching.
“Up next, we have the linebackers. There’s a lot of talent, and of course the competition is always fierce.”
Eight other guys went through the motions, their names and times flashing on the bottom of the screen.
My mom rattled around the house, clinking bottles and grumbling. If she fell trying to get a drink, I’d be tempted to leave her.
LJ’s name flashed up on the screen. Even with the dark cloud hanging over my head right now, pride flared in my chest seeing that and hearing the announcers go over all he’d done in the past four seasons. Normally, I’d be jumping up and down and cheering at the screen. I wanted this so badly for him, more than I’d ever wanted anything for me. Because I loved him.
I gripped the edge of the table and held my breath.
The drills began like they had for the other players. His times flashed onto the screen, compared to the other guys. He wasn’t first in any, but he was consistently in the top three, while other guys bounced around in the rankings.
A final shrill whistle and he finished. He jogged to the sidelines with sweat pouring down his face. Winded and intense, he stepped up next to the sideline reporter like all the other players before him.
Although I could see him on the screen, I still checked my phone like he’d message me at this exact moment.
“Those were outstanding times out there. How are you feeling about the draft?”
LJ’s face and cheeks were splotchy red as he dragged a towel over his neck. “Feeling as good as any of the guys out here. There’s a lot of tough competition, and I just hope I proved myself out on the field.”
“You killed it, L.” I shouted at the screen. Pride glowed in my chest, shiny and bright.
He’d worked so hard. He hadn’t played up the sideline silliness like he normally did. No grinning or winking. He was stone faced, serious.
I folded in on myself with my arms around my waist, staring at him, larger than life on the screen. An ominous cloud of desolation hung in the air.
“There’s a lot on the line and school is wrapping up for you. Are you looking forward to graduation?”
He dragged a towel down his face, schooling his face even as he sucked in air by the lungful. The light pads he wore rose and fell with every breath.
“Yes and no. There’s a lot to leave behind, but I’m ready to start a fresh new chapter.”
“I’m sure there are a lot of teams out there who’d be interested in helping you with that.”
“I hope so. I’m ready to work hard and do my part on whatever team I’m on.”
“We’ve got the draft coming up in April. Who’ll be coming with you on draft night? A girlfriend happy to see you go pro?”
“No, no girlfriend for me.” There wasn’t a chuckle or a cracked smile. Nothing. Shaking his head, droplets of sweat rained down around him. “My parents will be there. I’m going to make them proud.”
I stopped, stalling, and watched him move on to the next question. Choking on air, my lungs burned and the room tilted, my vision blurring and dimming. I didn’t know what I’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.
“Looks like you let that one get away.” Mom crutched over from the living room entryway to the couch. “Too bad. He’ll be swimming in football groupies by the end of the semester. Hell, there are probably a few there ready to bag themselves a pro player before he signs his check.”
“He’s not like that,” I snapped.
“Neither was your father, but all that time on the road, he forgot who was waiting for him at home. Time it. By the time he gets back here, he’ll be knee-deep in coeds who will do whatever the hell he wants.”
I stared at the screen long after they’d switched to the next position drills.
My skin felt burnt and blistered.
“And his dad’s probably sick again. You should’ve gotten in there while you could. Your welcome mat will be rolled up as soon as the chemo starts up again. Unless maybe they want to take that handy bone marrow again. Charge them this time. He’ll have the money.” She waved her arm in the direction of the screen LJ was no longer on.
Without another word, I left the house, got in the car that smelled like LJ, and drove the well-worn path back to The Brothel. Tears burned at the edges of my eyelids, but I blinked them back. My chest hurt with a deep and heavy hurt, like I was losing a part of myself.
On the drive back, my head throbbed, shoved full of all the insecurities and fears about crossing the line with LJ. Across the bridge, the throbbing against my skull turned to pounding and hammering. I kept my hands ten and two, making it an uneventful drive, except for the pit stop five minutes from the doorstep where I pulled off to the side of the road. I fell out of the car to my hands and knees and puked what remained of the sandwich I’d scarfed down before I left for the hospital.
Sitting against the side of the car, I wiped my mouth and gathered myself with long shaky breaths. I dragged the air into my lungs, climbed back into the car, and made it back to the house.