It’s time to make things right.
In fact, it’s long overdue.
23
RIDER
The words tumbleout of me. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, please know if I could go back and do things differently, I would. I was overwhelmed by football and school and my parents.”
“I thought you said your mother wasn’t in the picture anymore. But…” She pauses. “I remember you saying they fought a lot and that you felt caught in the middle.”
The fact that she recalls my family’s shit from three years ago twists something in my gut. She’s the only person I’ve shared any of that with besides Coach. Tank knows some of it from overhearing a few phone calls, but I’m not a fan of airing out my family’s dirty laundry.
I rub my hands on my thighs, hating that I let that night unravel me. No one knows this story, but I need her to understand what happened. “Not sure if you remember, but I went home that weekend.” That weekend when everything got fucked up. Me. My family. My relationship with Gabby. The only thing that didn’t implode was football because I poured every last ounce of what was left of myself into the game. “My parents were always pretty volatile, but that night shit detonated, and my mother left my father for another man.” I stare at my hands. “I heard the argument, watched her pack her bags and take off with that guy. Haven’t seen her since.”
Gabby doesn’t say anything, but her eyes are wide and compassionate, so I continue. “My father has always been desperately in love with my mom. Worshiped the ground she walked on, so to say he was devastated is putting it mildly. I woke up the next morning and found him nearly drowning in his vomit after he got shitfaced the night before.”
“Oh, Rider. I’m so sorry.” She grabs my hand, and I thread my fingers through hers. It’s automatic. I don’t consider how intimate this is. Just that I need her right now, and she doesn’t hesitate to let me.
“It’s weird to finally talk about it, but football was always what got me through shit when I was growing up. My dad’s been a functioning alcoholic most of my life, but when I was little, he nearly killed someone driving home drunk.”
I don’t know why I’m unloading so much of my family baggage, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Gabby’s soulful hazel eyes seem to unlock parts of my life I try to never think about.
“My father got off on some technicality. He spent a little time in jail, but not enough. I felt like the whole town held it against me, so I worked my ass off to be the opposite of Hank Kingston. He hated sports, so I went out for everything I could and lettered in three sports, even if that meant having the crappiest gear because I was so broke. He couldn’t hold down a job, so I’ve made it my mission to take care of myself and him financially. Some days he can barely get out of bed and tie his own damn shoes. I haven’t missed a workout in two years, not since I got the flu sophomore year.”
After a minute, she asks softly, “Why are you telling me all of this?”
I turn to face her. “When I said what happened freshman year wasn’t about you, I meant it. I kinda slid into a downward spiral. Yeah, football was going great, but that was because I just shut down and shut out everything that wasn’t part of the game. And I’m so sorry to say that you were a part of that.” I clear my throat, hating what I’m about to admit. I can’t believe we’re talking about this after all this time, but I have to get it out there. “I just… It freaked me out. You freaked me out.”
I’m not sure what I expect her reaction to be, but she laughs gently. “Really? How did I freak you out? Did I wave too many number two pencils in your face?”
I chuckle and squeeze her hand. “I really liked you.” My laughter quiets. “Ireallyliked you, but after watching what my father went through, I… I thought we were too serious.”
“How were we that serious? Don’t get me wrong. It felt serious to me, but it’s all relative, right? I didn’t date that much while you did. So how did you get weirded out when you and I never really… got that intimate?”
My lips tug up. “Not for lack of fantasizing on my part.”
Her cheeks flush, and she bites her lower lip. “You fantasized about me?”
“Definitely.”
The playful look on her face falls away, and she untangles our hands. “You mean while you were out sleeping with other girls?”
I wince. “I admit I was a dog to ghost you like that, but I like to think I’ve grown up since then.”
Her eyebrow pops up. “You’re trying to tell me you’re not a fuckboy any longer? Because I hear a lot of stories about what goes on at your house whether I want to or not, and none of them are complimentary. You should’ve seen the shit I walked into on Halloween night in your living room.”
I can only guess. “And do you know where I was at that moment? What I was doing?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Please don’t tell m—”
“I was wearing noise-cancelling headphones, asleep in my bed. By myself.” I want to tell her I haven’t gotten laid much this semester, but that sounds gross, even in my head.
Leaning away, she crosses her arms over her chest and rolls her eyes. “What about that girl Miranda? I saw the text she sent you last night. It popped up on your screen when I handed you your phone. Don’t tell me you’re not fuckbuddies or whatever.”
I almost smile because, holy hell, is she jealous?
Something tells me the only way to convince her that I’m not the player she thinks I am is brutal honesty. “Weweresomething like that. But we’re not anymore. I tried to break it off a few weeks ago, but she’s not getting the hint. And for the record, I’ve been very direct in my conversations with her, in telling her what I want.”
