“After we got the diagnosis, he made us promise not to tell anyone, and I haven’t, until you. It started off with little things. Falling down a lot, forgetting why he went to the store, not remembering phone numbers.” He’s looking at me, but he’s not. It’s almost like he’s being pulled back in time. “Then he started getting mean. My parents didn’t have me until after he retired. My dad wanted to be all in, not traveling or moving us around with trades. They wanted to be settled. He was at every single one of my football games, every school program. He was the best. But as he got older, his temper started getting shorter. My mom and I brushed it off in the beginning, but then news stories started coming out about other players committing suicide and getting diagnosed with all sorts of things.”
I step in closer, grabbing onto his hands, trying to give him any kind of comfort that I can. My dad died. Yeah. And it fucking sucked. But my dad was the same person until the day he died. I can’t even begin to imagine the horrors that come with watching the person you love disappear right in front of your eyes. And to suffer through all of this in silence? Hiding your pain from the entire world? It breaks my heart.
“My mom started reaching out to some of her friends from when my dad played and they were exchanging stories that resembled each other. One of them told her about the League sending her husband to see doctors. Neuromapping or whatever they call it.” He rolls his eyes and I watch as his anger rises. “You know, the League pays these doctors and we’re supposed to believe them? When they can’t even get around to reimbursing you for seeing them? And we were the lucky ones. My dad kept jobs. He had made enough of a name for himself to earn money talking about sports, working short hours that he could manage. But once he couldn’t work anymore, once things started going south, the money went fast and that measly pension the League gives him does nothing. And once he dies? My mom gets half of it. So I’m stuck working for this soulless corporation to provide for the family they should be paying. These men built this fucking league and now what? Now my dad can’t even go to the bathroom by himself. He can’t take walks without a nurse and my mom is stuck loving a man who disappeared a long time ago.”
Guilt slams into me with the force of a tsunami. All of the times I judged him, resented him for not including his dad in his efforts. The times where I thought he was selfish and an asshole and I threw my dad in his face and he said nothing. Nothing about how the sport that I loved so much with my dad is the sport that stole his away. And the company that I work for is the same one who abandoned them when they needed support the most.
“I’m so sorry you have to go through this.” I grab his face in my hands, hoping that he feels not only the sincerity of my words, but how grateful I am that he opened up to me. “I wish I could do something to make this better.”
“You already have.” He puts his hands on top of mine and places a kiss on my forehead. “You’ve been there for me in a way nobody else has and you’ve helped me find my voice in all of this.”
“I didn’t do anything, it’s all been you.” My stomach twists into knots and not for the first time, I feel dirty. Working for Mahler has me feeling gross.
But I can’t lay that on Quinton. Not now. Not when I see the weight he already has on his shoulders. And I can’t just up and quit with no plan either. I’ll figure it out. I still have a month. I can make this work.
Somehow.
Thirty-four
“Is that handsome quarterback you keep insisting isn’t your fella going to be here tonight?” Mrs. Rafter asks from the passenger seat of my car.
After the wonderful early dinner with Quinton’s mom and Angela—his dad was asleep the entire time, something Quinton reassured me was growing more and more normal for him—he dropped me off at home so he could get a quick workout in before eating again at Brynn’s dad’s. If I ever questioned if I had the dedication to be a professional athlete before, I now know the answer is a resounding no. Hell no.
Instead of working out, I just changed into my stretchy pants because priorities.
He offered to bring a change of clothes with him to the facility and pick me up right after, but I wanted to spend some time alone with Mrs. Rafter. Spending this morning with his family, seeing the strained smiles as their loved one was in the other room, slowly fading away, reminded me how important it is for me to cherish the people I love while I can. Plus, we still agreed on him coming back to my place after, so I’ll still end the night with the only kind of workout I want to participate in.
“Yes.” I put my old Camry in park behind the long line of luxury cars lining the street. “And I’m not insisting he isn’t anymore. He definitely is.”
“Oh good,” she says. There’s comfort in her voice that warms me from the inside. “Next time maybe you’ll listen to an old lady instead of thinking you know better.”
“I’ll never doubt you again.”
“That’s all I ask.” She opens her door and points to the ceramic pie dish that she has brought to every Thanksgiving we’ve spent together. “Do me a favor and grab the pie for me.”
“Only if it’s your bourbon pecan pie.” It’s the best
