“They rushed him to the hospital with second- and third-degree burns, his face all but melted off.” Bruiser stopped for a moment, breathing as if he’d just done wind sprints. “He almost died. The doctors induced a coma, did so many operations I lost count. After nine months, they finally released him.
“Three months later, on the anniversary of the accident, we got into a huge fight. He told me he hated me because every time he looked at me he saw the person he once was. He said I cheated him out of his life. He went into Mom’s bedroom and shut the door. She kept a pistol under the bed. I’ll never forget the sound of that gunshot.
“I ran in there, expecting him to start laughing, teasing me for being such a wuss, but he was on the floor and his blood was everywhere.” Bruiser gripped her hand so tightly that it hurt, but Mac didn’t care. Pain and sadness shone in his eyes, along with something else. Relief? Relief that he’d finally gotten this childhood secret off his chest?
“So you’ve been living his life for him?”
Bruiser looked up and nodded. No tears, no anguish, just sorrow and uncertainty.
“I’m so sorry.” Mac put her hand on his arm, and he leaned his head on her shoulder. He’d told her his deepest pain and it meant the world to her.
“You can see why I’ve kept it quiet all these years. I felt responsible.”
“But you weren’t. It was an accident. He made the decision. He blamed you because he was hurting and had to lash out at someone. You’d proven you’d be by his side no matter what, so he knew you’d be there, despite the abuse he heaped on you. Shanna said your parents couldn’t stand seeing their imperfect son and that they laid a major guilt trip on you.”
“Yeah, they did. Brice couldn’t deal with his friends shrinking away at the sight of him, strangers staring at him and pointing. None of it. And he didn’t have support at home. I tried but I was just a kid. Our mom was a single mother by then and ill-equipped, monetarily and emotionally.”
“Guilt is a powerful motivator. I should know. You can’t keep blaming yourself. Cut Bruce—the child—some slack. While you’re at it, the adult Bruiser should cut himself some slack too. You’re a special person, Bruiser; let the world see it, let them have the privilege of knowing what a generous, caring man you are.”
Bruiser shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”
“It’s time to put Brice to rest and move on.”
Bruiser’s eyebrows climbed at her suggestion, and she knew exactly what he was thinking—that she should talk.
“And you?” He nailed her with his stormy-sea eyes. “I’m willing to take a risk, make some changes, and create a better person out of tragedy. I just trusted you with my most painful secret, and you aren’t offering anything in return.”
“My situation isn’t the same.”
“The guilt is the same, Mac; whether you admit it or not, you’re living your life out of guilt, just like I was.” Bruiser tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“If we could just get an answer to what happened, then Dad and I could both get on with our lives.”
“I don’t want to live with you gone every evening and every weekend, putting yourself in danger, chasing after the next rumor or hunch or tip.”
“I don’t expect you to wait. I just need a little time to figure this all out.”
“Where do we go from here?” Bruiser asked.
“I don’t know. I want to keep seeing you.” Mac studied him, really looked at him. There was something there, something permanent and lasting, a promise in his eyes she’d only dreamed of, yet she was blowing him off.
Tonight if he’d said I love you, she would have followed him to the ends of the earth, but declarations of love had to be given freely, and neither of them were quite there yet.
Instead, he made love to her so sweetly and tenderly that she couldn’t deny the obvious.
Bruiser loved her.
Mac loved Bruiser.
What hell did a woman do with that information?
* * * * *
The Steelheads won the next game on Sunday Night Football, and Bruiser ran for his third consecutive hundred-yard game. He invited Elliot to attend, but Elliot’s uncle wouldn’t let him go. Sunday was for worship, not watching grown men play a violent game.
On Tuesday evening, Bruiser and Mac picked up Elliot, the first time Bruiser had been able to carve out the time in over a week.
The kid was reverting to past behaviors, not wanting to go out in public, pulling into himself, and avoiding contact with strangers.
Bruiser hated to see the changes and knew it came from Elliot’s overbearing, self-righteous uncle and judgmental aunt, not to mention the cousins. The good work the mental health and hospital staff had done to improve Elliot’s confidence and attitude was unraveling right before Bruiser’s eyes, and he intended on doing what he could to sew the ragged edges of Elliot’s confidence back together.
Elliot loved to bowl, so Bruiser and Mac took him bowling. Brice had hated bowling, but Bruiser liked it, so this was a step in the right direction for all of them. Bruiser was working on taking Mac’s words to heart. He’d done a lot of thinking about his life and knew she was right. He couldn’t shrug off years of guilt just like that, but he’d chip away at it a little at a time doing things Bruiser would do, not things Brice would do.
After they picked their bowling balls, they sat down on the plastic chairs and Elliot took the scorer’s desk.
“People are staring at me.” Elliot pulled his Steelheads’ baseball cap down farther until you could barely see his eyes.
“No, Elliot, they’re staring at Bruiser. He’s a big celebrity around these parts. Remember?” Mac tugged on his sleeve and smiled at him.
“Oh, yeah. You’re right.” He grinned his toothy grin. “Can I
