“Clearly, our parents have different priorities.” He rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “Mine have been planning my life since before I was born.”
“And you always do what they say?” I want to call bullshit again, because, come on. All kids rebel at some point. Even little ol’ me. Case in point, there’s a naked QB in my bed.
One who needs a friend to listen. And whatever else Austin and I are to each other, we are friends. A few months ago I never would’ve thought it possible, but somewhere along the way, between snarky exchanges, grueling practices, and secret hookups, I’ve come to count Austin as a friend.
“I don’t want to let them down. Especially my mom.” He swallows and his throat bobs. “She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was fourteen. She died the following year.”
“I’m so sorry, Austin.” If anything happened to my mom… I can’t even think about it.
His eyes remain fixed on the ceiling, but in the moonlight, I can see their glassy sheen and my heart breaks for him. Cracks wide open for the boy who lost his mother at such a young age and the man who would do anything to make her proud.
“My mom was my biggest fan. She had a lot of spirit, always yelling at the refs and raising hell on the sideline. And she was always the first to call me on my bullshit.” He pauses, a faraway look in his eyes. “You would’ve liked her.”
“She does sound like my kind of woman.” I brush a strand of sweat-slick hair back from his forehead, and he turns to face me, so I’m cupping his cheek in my hand. Austin doesn’t need my pity. He needs understanding. He needs acceptance. The kind that doesn't come with strings and conditions.
“Even when she was at her worst and could barely get out of bed, she never missed a game.” He clears his throat, for all the good it does. His voice is a low rasp when he continues, and I know he’s fighting for control. “The last thing she said to me was that she was proud of the man I was becoming and her greatest regret was that she wouldn’t be there to cheer me on the first time I came running out of the tunnel as an NFL quarterback.”
My eyes are stinging, and I’m afraid if I speak, the sob I’m holding back will be wrenched from my throat. How can I make him understand that her words don’t make playing somewhere other than Pittsburgh a failure? Is it even my place to try? I don’t know his mom, but if she’s even half the woman he’s described—and I know in my bones she is—she’d be proud as hell of all he’s accomplished, regardless of where he plays professional ball.
I scoot closer to Austin and wrap my arms around him, holding him tight in my embrace. When I can finally trust myself to speak, I choose my words carefully. “It sounds like your mom loved you very much.” I don’t believe for a minute his mom would be disappointed in him, but what I think doesn’t matter. Only Austin’s opinion matters. He’s the one who has to believe it. “It’s hard to imagine she could ever be disappointed in you. I think she’d want you to be happy—whether that’s in Pittsburgh or Chicago—but what does your heart say?”
Chapter Nineteen
Austin
“I’m about to own your sorry ass,” Parker says, eyes glued to the TV as his onscreen running back does a touchdown celebration. I bite my tongue and roll my shoulders. He’s not wrong. My head’s not in the game. Problem is, I can’t seem to focus on shit today.
I can’t stop thinking about Kennedy’s question. Would my mom have understood if I’d said I didn’t want to play in Pittsburgh? I’m not sure. My old man sure as hell wouldn’t understand. He can’t imagine a world where I wouldn’t want to follow in his footsteps. I get it. He had an amazing career in Pittsburgh, the fans love him, and the franchise treated him well. Doesn’t mean I want to live in his shadow, listening to the talking heads compare me to my old man week in and week out.
“I’m out,” Parker says, tossing his controller on the coffee table. “Shit’s no fun when you’re not even trying.” He turns to face me and there’s real concern in his eyes. “You want to talk about it?”
I snort. “Fuck no.” Even if I wanted to talk about it, I couldn’t. Not really. Parker’s one of my best friends, but we don’t exactly sit around braiding each other’s hair and talking about our feelings. Besides, I’ve been lying to the guys for weeks about my hookups with Kennedy, making excuses for my late nights and not carpooling to study hall. Plus, there’s the fact that she’d kill me if word got out that we’d been hooking up. Assuming Coach didn’t get his hands on me first.
Parker shrugs, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
“So, you offered hoping I’d say no?”
“It’s actions that matter, not intentions.”
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” I throw an empty water bottle at him. He deflects it with his right arm and it lands on the floor, rolling under the coffee table. “What if I would’ve said yes?”
“Then I would’ve listened,” he says, wiggling his fingers, “and rubbed your back.”
I’m about to tell him what he can do with his backrub when the front door bangs open and Coop rolls in, expression unreadable. He ignores Parker and tosses a rolled-up newspaper at me without saying a word. It lands in my lap.
“What’s with the theatrics?” I scoop
