It didn’t work.
“I’m sorry.” She swiped at her eyes and turned away from him.
“Don’t apologize. Tears mean we had someone to love,” Christian said.
Maizie met his liquid blue eyes. “Is that why you were crying?”
Christian raked a hand through his hair. “Yes.” He said so softly Maizie almost missed it. “My dad.”
Her heart dropped to her feet. “I’m so sorry.”
“He was killed almost two years ago,” he said, staring down at the ground.
That night in the barn.She had accused him of never knowing such a loss. She was an awful person.
“Christian, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Maizie stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm.
He looked at it then at her. “How could you?” he chuckled dryly.
She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. She watched him fight the emotions bubbling up inside of him. He was much better at controlling himself than she was.
“Here.” She placed a ball in his hands. “Show me your skills.”
Christian twisted it in his hands, looking at the ball as if it were a foreign object. He was clearly a good basketball player. That had been evident during their game. If basketball meant to him what dance meant to her, maybe it could help him work through his pain.
He took a deep breath, then sent the ball flying through the air. Without hardly looking he managed to swish it from beyond the three.
“Again.” Maizie retrieved the ball then tossed it back to him.
Christian gave her a confused look but shot it anyway. Maizie kept rebounding, and he kept shooting. Eventually, he started moving. Driving into the basket, shooting a trick shot or a pump fake. Maizie was silent as she watched him pour his soul into the game. He took the ball just to the right of the middle three-point line and shot it again and again. Chasing down every shot he missed and throwing right back into the hoop.
“Gee, what did that ball do to you?” Maizie asked from the sidelines. She had given up rebounding and had resorted to watching him instead. His focus paralleled the attention she gave to her dancing.
Christian blinked. “That’s the shot I missed. The one that cost us the state championship. The one I kept expecting to see my dad show up for. But he never came.” He threw the ball up again and sank it. His shoulders relaxed, and he stood motionless on the three-point line, watching the ball bounce under the hoop and roll off to the side.
Maizie took a few steps toward him. “What happened?”
His mouth opened, then closed again. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s what everyone said anyway. But it doesn’t justify what happened.”
He’d said “killed” not “died.” Her heart stopped beating, patiently waiting for him to continue while dreading what came next.
“My dad saw a woman getting attacked by a couple of men. He stepped in to help her and managed to get her free, but by the time the cops got there—” his voice broke and the muscle in his jaw clenched—“It was too late for him.”
The blood drained from her face and tears raced down her cheeks. She didn’t know what to say. “I can’t . . . I don’t . . .”
“It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything.” He picked up a stray ball and twirled it in his hands.
“Your dad was a hero.”
His eyes shot to hers, and he stared at her. She’d rarely been nice to him this summer, so his surprise made sense.
“He was a hero,” he said. “But that doesn’t make it suck any less. Doesn’t make what those people did any less horrible.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Maizie quietly agreed. Nothing could ever make the death of a loved one easier to bear. Grief is forever.
Maizie took the ball from him and took a shot. She missed.
“Oh come on, you’re a much better shooter than that,” Christian teased, somewhat back to normal.