#Score (33 page)

E
very time
I open my eyes, I squeeze them shut, hoping to just sleep until tomorrow. There’s no reason for me to get up today.

But now, I have to get up and take a leak, so that just throws my whole plan out the window. Once I’m up, there’s going to be one thing after another that aggravates the shit out of me, no matter how small it is. That’s just how this day goes for me. Every single goddamn year.

And I know this year isn’t going to be a game changer because as soon as I let my thoughts dissipate and fall asleep, my phone goes off like a foghorn right next to my face. And that can only mean one thing—Dad.

I open my eyes and contemplate whether I am really that desperate to sleep past everything and not turn off the sound blaring in my ear, because I know that if I silence my phone like a normal person would, he’ll only call back five more times. Some call it persistence. I call it Nathan Witter being a total and complete asshole, as usual.

I groan when I finally decide screw it, might as well answer the damn thing. “Yeah?”

“Good morning, Son. Surprised you’re still sleeping in this late. You haven’t gotten up yet?”

“No. I’m still trying to sleep.”

“I see,” he says with a thick layer of disapproval in his tone. “A good morning run ought to do you good.”

“That’s okay. I think I’ll pass.”

“Well, I just wanted to call and check in with you and see how everything is going in Carolina. Therapy’s going good? Have you been able to get much movement in your shoulder yet? Johnny’s been hounding me, obviously, wondering if you’ve made enough improvement to come back yet.”

I don’t know who my father thinks he’s kidding, because I know damn well Johnny Maine is not “hounding” my dad. If he was really
that
curious, he would call
me
and talk
my
ear off. Johnny Maine doesn’t go through a middle man when it comes to his favorite player. “Everything’s going as it’s supposed to. I’m still going to all of my sessions, and there’s better range of motion in my shoulder. There’s not as much stiffness in my other shoulder, so progress. Now the pain is just more localized where the muscle tear was. The incision from the surgery healed pretty well though.”

It’s exactly what he wants to hear, but even still, my father can’t be satisfied completely. “That’s good news. That’s what I want to hear. But you are getting in your cardio and your other exercises too, right? I just . . . I worry that if you’re not staying on top of your physical regimen, you’ll start getting flabby, out of shape. And we can’t have that. There’s no way we’ll be able to get you off the bench if that happens.”

It hits me like a ton of bricks. He has no fucking clue what day it is. And if he does, it’s clear to me that he doesn’t give a damn. The last few years, I’ve noticed that he’s been kind of slacking off on mentioning anything about Mom’s death, and okay, it might be normal for him. They were already divorced by the time she died anyway, but for someone who supposedly cares enough about me as he says he does, he sure as hell doesn’t act like it. Pretty much ever, in fact.

“Okay, Dad. I’ll make sure to get a run in today. I gotta go, though. The shower’s calling my name. I’ll talk at you later.”

I don’t give him a chance to answer, and I hang up the phone, not able to deal with any more of his shit for the day. I’ve got enough to handle on my own.

–

A
s much as
I hate to admit it, he was right, and I feel a little bit less tense after the run—soaked in my sweat, but less tense nonetheless. The shower helps ease some more tension, but I’m still strung up pretty tight.

I’ve just finished toweling dry my hair when there’s a small knock at the door. Unless it’s room service with a special order of food that I didn’t ask for, I don’t even want to bother.

“Elijah?” a soft voice barely makes it through the door, a voice that I would know anywhere. The shitty part is that I still don’t want to answer the door. I don’t want to confront Paige when I’m feeling like utter crap and moping around like a child. She doesn’t need to see me like this.

“Feeling kind of sick today. You might want to stay back.” Even I don’t buy that for one second.

She knocks again, this time more firmly. “Just open the door, please? Listen, I know . . . I know, okay? I just wanted to talk to you for a second.”

I look up at the ceiling, contemplating whether I’m actually going to do it, but deep down, I know the answer has been there the whole time.
Of course you’re going to let Paige in, because if she’s willing to bring her ass all the way out here knowing damn well how crabby you’ll be, then you can give her what she wants.

She shuts the door behind her once I’ve let her in. Her red hair is piled up on top of her head and she’s wearing a long, dark blue dress with a light cardigan over it. It’s kind of weird attire, considering she’s just hanging out here at the apartment, but whatever. I’m not exactly up-to-date on fashion.

“What’s up?”

“Here,” she says as she pulls a large, beautiful wreath of wildflowers out from the big paper bag she’s carrying. “I thought maybe you would like to take this to her.”

Her voice is soft, that feminine tenderness that Paige possesses slowly woven in through her words. My chest tightens just hearing it, because I know that she knows. And that’s enough for me.

“Thanks,” I breathe. My throat is tight because there really are no words. Paige just gets it, like no one else ever has. Now, it makes sense that she’s dressed the way she is.

Paige gives me a small, sad smile before turning to head back out the door, but I catch her wrist before she manages to make it all the way there. “Please don’t go. Can you stay with me?”

She bites her lip out of habit and nods. “If that’s what you want.”

I pull my leather jacket out and, take a deep breath before we go. Thank God for Paige driving, because I’m not really sure I can keep it together.

-

I
t’s quiet
. At least, on the outside, in the real world. Paige stares down at the gravestone that hasn’t been touched in ages, and all I can do is look at her. Because to look at my Mom’s gravestone for the first time in fifteen years is too much. I know it’s there. I can see it out of my peripheral, but looking at it dead-on—I just can’t.

Paige takes my hand in hers and squeezes it, gingerly leaning up against my good shoulder. The wind whips up leaves around us, and for the first time since I’ve been here, I realize the changing of the seasons has already taken place. It’s already the middle of October—where the hell has the time gone?

“Hi, Maureen. It’s Reba again. I brought someone I thought you might want to see.” I hear the hitch in her voice, and it dawns on me. She’s been here before. Maybe even several times before.

Do you know why the leaves turn color and fall?
It’s something my mom always asked me when I was a little kid, and every time, she would give me the same answer.
Because they love the tree so much that it makes them sad to see the tree strain from the weight of all the leaves. They give up themselves so that they may fall off and give the tree a break, letting it go so that it can be happy again.

I always thought it was a weird thing to say when I was young, but I get it now. She was kind of talking about herself and all the sacrifices she had to make to keep me happy. It’s not something I like to talk about, because even though I know it was her job as my mother to take care of me, I always felt like maybe I was giving her too much of a hard time, looking back.

The fact that I can’t tell her this—tell her how I finally understand—it pisses me off so much. Just like everything else in the world seems to do.

Because regardless of whether Paige is here or not, I’m still the same person, some asshole who has only worked hard at one thing in his life, something that really doesn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things. Something that he might not even really give a shit about deep down. It’s the only thing his father has ever given him, but life would’ve been so different if his mother could’ve given him so much more.

Hot tears stream down my face and mix with the cold chill in the air. I quickly wipe off my face, still embarrassed, even though I know I’m just with Paige. This is the first time I’ve spent this day with anyone else since then.

“Sometimes, I think about what life would’ve been like if she wasn’t gone. I wouldn’t be some stupid football player who got a free ride at college because he knows how to play a sport. I wouldn’t have gotten away with treating all sorts of different people like shit. Going through college girls like it didn’t matter. My mom would’ve seen to that. You know how she was, always talking about being good and doing good. Make your life mean something, don’t let others get you down, that sort of thing, right? You want to know what my father has said to me, what kind of good advice he likes to give out? I get gems from him like
Stay tough. No one likes to see a grown man cry
. Or
Make sure you run every day, because without cardio, you’ll get flabby
. Or how about this one?
Women are for talking. Football is for life
. Yeah, that’s pretty much been my life, I guess.”

I don’t know where it comes from, and I want to stop and not let all these words of hatred roll off my tongue in front of Paige. Because even though I know she gets it, it’s still a lot for anyone to take on. Even her. Not that this stops me or anything.

“I’m pretty sure he fucked up my relationship with the game, now that I’m thinking about it. One point in my life, I actually liked playing football, but my dad, ha. He just turned it into this giant, overwhelming thing. Like some sort of monster that sits on my chest everywhere I go. I even considered trying to get kicked off the team in college because I had enough, but I didn’t. I mean, I’ve never been able to fully function as a human being after this whole debacle here,” I say, pointing to my mother’s grave still not able to look at it. “So why pretend that I’m anything else than a dumb jock?”

Paige finally steps in, standing in front of me with tears in her eyes. “You are not a dumb jock, Elijah. Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

I ignore her comments because whatever she thinks of me, I just don’t see it. “You know, he didn’t even have the common decency as a person, much less my actual father, to even mention anything about the day? He called me first thing this morning, and all he was worried about was if I had gone out for a run. Un-fucking-believable. No, wait, it’s totally believable.”

That redheaded fury that I didn’t think Paige really possessed, I can see it burning in her eyes right now. “Your father is a huge waste of your time. I don’t know why you’re still listening to him when after all these years, he has always treated you like shit. Elijah, you deserve so much better than that, and you know it. But you let him say whatever he wants to say without any consequence. You have to stop doing that. Don’t let his words affect you, because they shouldn’t even matter to you any more.”

I shrug my shoulders. “It’s easier said than done. Believe me.”

“He’s always been a piece of shit. I remember your mom talking about how he was no good, and I remember how weird he was when I first met him. You are nothing like him, and you don’t need to—”

I laugh, because now, she’s just trying to say things I want to hear instead of the truth. “That’s bullshit, Paige. Unfortunately, I
am
my father. I am exactly what he wanted me to be. Every single part. And yes, I guess I’m just talking out of my ass here, but then again, maybe I’m being a total jerk by admitting that this ridiculously extravagant life of mine just isn’t good enough. I mean, I’m pretty much whining about making millions of dollars a year. Who does that kind of shit?”

She stands tall, pulling herself to her full height, and the wind catches her hair, making the sun behind her look as if she’s caught flame. “Goddammit, Elijah. Stop it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

“This isn’t me feeling sorry for myself. You don’t get it. No one expects anything from you, but everyone, they all expect
everything
from me. I have to give everybody 110% of myself every fucking time.”

She quickly turns away, and that’s when my stomach drops in on itself over how stupid I just sounded. Her eleven-year-old voice speaks back to me out of the corners of my mind.
No one expects me to do anything. I’m just a nothing. And no one expects anything from nothing.

I close my eyes, wishing I knew how to stop being a huge douche bag. “I’m sorry, Paige. I shouldn’t have said that.”

She wipes a stray tear from her face and clears her throat, laying the wreath at the base of my mother’s grave. “We miss you, Maureen. Mom. Ms. Simmons. And please, if you can, send a little love your son’s way. I think he needs it today.”

Her words are soft-spoken, and I can almost imagine my mom’s face looking down on us and smiling. She always did love Paige.

–

T
he car idles
as Paige stares straight ahead once we get back to the hotel, and I drop my head down, feeling as though it weighs a ton. "Please come back inside with me."

We’re both exhausted, not from the trip up the stairs to the very top because the elevator is out, but from life in general. It’s just one of those days where everything seems to cave in on itself. And even though I should push Paige back, shield her from the shitty part of me that is only bound to hurt her even more, I don’t. I’m too tired to even think that much.

She stays the night with me this time, and it takes me a while to finally warm back up to her, but I do, one tiny piece of me at a time. It’s always been a rule of thumb to never do anything pleasurable on this day for me, but I break it because Paige has already broken her own rules for me. So why not do the same for her?

Her soft, pale curves invade my every thought, invade all the space around me. And I love it, because they keep me centered. When my hands caress every bit of her, when I touch her in all the right spots and she softly sighs, moaning my name, I know that I can turn this day into something better.