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Alec nods with understanding, swallowing hard.
“He wasn’t himself. He said the pressure to win the league was getting to him. But my friend and his teammate texted me to find out what he could do to help Boe.” I take a deep breath, wishing I could go back and make different choices. But I don’t know if it would have made a difference.
“I was on another continent and struggling. My heart wasn’t in the game anymore and it showed in my playing. I was too concerned with myself to figure out what was going on with him. He must have bribed a doctor and definitely a trainer. There was no way his team would risk his health and let him play.” I have to believe that’s true. He was with a good club. Some teams treated players as disposable, but his team would want him for the long term.
The last year, I’ve second-guessed every decision and conversation I had with Boe in the months before he died. He hadn’t been his usual cheery and confident self but stress does that to a man. I hate I didn’t ask more questions.
“In his last game, he destroyed his meniscus too, which according to medical experts, would end his career.”
Alec gasps, slides up my body, grabs my face, nuzzles my neck, and peppers my skin with kisses. I’ve never received comfort over my brother’s death. I consoled my parents and helped them. There had been so much to do, and I took the burden.
It’s a relief not to have to be strong. Alec has no idea how his warmth has healed me. I had shied away from anythingresembling happiness when I needed it most. He slowly worked his way under my skin and brought me back to life.
Easing back, I ask, “Did you read any of what happened next after you read the Page Seven article?” Alec shakes his head.
“It’s part of the reason I was anarsleto you.” I slide my arm under him, holding him close, hating that I’d hurt him. This is the longest Alec has been silent, other than sleeping. I talk more around him than with anyone else, but I’m tired of my own voice. I push through so I don’t have to bring this up again.
“There were headlines all over Europe. I blew my knee out the same day in a game.” Alec traces the scar on my knee.
“At first, I thought it would be a great opportunity. We could go home together and rehab. It would give us a chance to be brothers and best friends again instead of rivals competing against each other. Boe refused to accept the doctors’ advice to rehab and retire.
“We had many fights. I wanted him to live a full life even if he didn’t playfotboll. In hindsight, I don’t think he saw a life withoutfotboll. But that wasn’t his point. He told me I’d never understand the pressure of being a star and the responsibility of carrying a team to a winning season.” Alec’s face tightens, and a strangled sound scrapes out of his throat. I love that he’s angry for me.
“It sounds harsh, but it’s true. What I said was worse. I told him I never lovedfotbollenough to be a star, and I sure ashelvetewouldn’t ruin my life to play it. I told him that only a fool would choose a game over health. During the fight, he’d gotten agitated and then threw up blood. I insisted he see a doctor, but he refused and told me his doctor had warned him throwing up blood could be a side effect of his new medication. He was so convincing and told me that I didn’t know more than his doctors.
“We didn’t speak for weeks and then he called for advice to come out. If we’d been together, I would have noticed he’d lost too much weight, he couldn’t sleep, and that his anxiety was taking over his life. I should have insisted he call the doctor while I was there. I should have done more.” He’d refused to stay with me in Stockholm and I will always regret not forcing the issue.
Technically, his death was ruled an accidental overdose, but he’d been cryptic and part of me wonders if something happened with the guy he was seeing. There are so many questions I’ll never have answers to.
“He didn’t ask for the help he needed. He pushed you away on purpose so you wouldn’t see.” Alec’s fingers thread through my hair and strokes it.
“I’m the big brother. I should have known. My parents thought his mindset would get him back to the Premier League. They only saw what they wanted to see.” He was their baby and could do no wrong.
“His doctors should’ve seen. They should’ve known he was taking too many pills. That’s their fucking job.” Alec’s voice is low and furious.
“He drowned in a homemade ice bath after taking too many pills. They assured us he felt sleepy and lost consciousness. Lars was there for me. His season had ended, and he was home. Lars’s support kept me alive. He and Boe were close, so it wrecked him as well.
“My injury wasn’t career ending, and I could’ve easily returned to my team. But there was no point. I didn’t want to play. My parents pushed me to play for Boe, saying it’s what he would’ve wanted. But in the end, Boe would want me to choose happiness.” He preached living life on your own terms and giving up playing felt right.
“I couldn’t stand the scrutiny in Sweden. My parents’ disapproval hurt. I could never figure out if they were worried that my mental health would suffer or were unhappy with my decision. I had to get away from the press and speculation regarding my life. Sports blogs predicted my return as if it was only a matter of time. Everyone expected me to play in my brother’s honor.” I shrug. “So I ran away.”
“And look where you are now.” Alec’s dimples appear and I poke one with my pinky.
“In bed with the hottest guy in New York.” I appreciate his humor.
Alec scoffs. “I’m insulted. I’m easily the hottest guy in the tristate area.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I say, and his smile lifts the sorrow from the air.
“As hot as I am, let’s keep talking about you. You’re an artist in New York City, the city that eats people up and spits them out. You’re selling art and have your own show. You didn’t run away, you ran to. To a place to create your art. To a place to make a name for yourself based on your merit as an artist and not cash in on your name.” Alec verbalizes the reasons I’ve stayed.
“Thank you,älskling.” I kiss the top of his head. “You remind me of him.”
“Well, he sounds fucking amazing.” Alec’s eyes sparkle. “Have you done something in his honor? I know you have the tattoo but a dedication or something? Don’t they do that for famous people?”
The idea strikes hot as an iron in my gut. It never occurred to me, and I’m not sure if it would be a blessing or a curse to have a tangible permanent reminder. I shake my head.
“Maybe your parents will do something.” Alec is still stroking his fingers through my hair.