Page 16 of Before You (Reckless Love #2)

CHAPTER NINE

JJ

“I KNOW YOU already know this, but still, here we are, JJ. What the hell are you thinking?” Billy asks, crossing her arms over her chest as the e-stim pulses on my throbbing knee underneath the heating pad.

“I’m cleared to practice and play like normal,” I respond, and she scoffs.

“But you’re not one hundred percent yet. It can take up to two years after surgery to play the way you used to.”

I know.

I fucking know.

“How much have you been running?” Billy asks, narrowing her eyes. Considering she’s working through her lunch to help me right now, I’m not really sure I want to piss her off. “Do I even want to ask if you’re wearing your brace?”

I flash a charming smile at her, hoping she’ll drop the lecture sooner than later. “I’ll give you whatever answer helps you sleep better at night.”

“JJ, do I look like I’m in the mood to laugh right now?” she asks as the machine beeps, the electrical stimulation machine turning off, and Billy takes off the heating pad, beginning to disconnect the pads. “Lay back,” she instructs, and I sigh, following her directions.

Billy starts rotating my leg, testing to see my range of motion.

I focus on my breathing, do my best not to let it show how it hurts when she starts massaging my iliotibial band on the side of my thigh, but fuck, the muscle there is wound tighter than I am.

“You need to take it easier. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to tell your coaches how often you’re in here for treatment,” she warns, and I clench my jaw as she digs her fingers into a particularly tender spot.

Billy understands better than anyone what this injury did to me. She’s been working with me since I returned to Beaumont after my surgery, angry at the world, and essentially, Billy told me to get my shit together.

“I’m fine, I promise,” I say, but I’m not sure if I’m lying to her or myself.

This time, I can’t hold back a hiss when she presses the heel of her hand down on the band. “Lay off the running, or you’re going to spend this season the same way you spent the last.”

I can’t stop running. It’s the only thing helping me breathe easier.

The last two weeks have been rough without Marley.

I’ve been trying to put pen to paper, but even knowing she won’t get the letters, I still haven’t been able to justify my actions.

I ran into Bria a few days ago, and she’s started joining me on my early morning runs when the rest of the world is still sleeping.

It’s nice having company, and we run at a brisk enough pace that there’s little oxygen left over for us to talk about the elephant in the room.

I spent eight hundred and ninety-two days dreaming about Marley. I never expected I’d have to start counting again so soon after finding her.

I’ve heard my father explain the word almost a thousand times—it can be used to describe all the things you could have done or didn’t do.

I think watching Marley leave me again is the perfect description of almost .

“I’ll try,” I mumble, dropping the facade. It’s not like Billy doesn’t already see right through it.

But if I can’t run . . . then all the thoughts in my head are going to be rampaging constantly with no reprieve.

My fists clench as I try to get through the temporary pain I’m in right now.

This is nothing compared to the constant ache in my chest, though.

The pain I feel on a daily basis is worse, threatening to pull me into the ground, swallowing me alive.

I just need a break where I don’t feel like I’m wading through quicksand, where everything isn’t so fucking hard.

Running is where I find my quiet.

Without it, I don’t know who I’ll be.

“Is there anything you need to talk about?”

“Not unless you want to hear about my pathetic love life where I fucked things up with a girl I’m not even dating,” I say, and the only hint of surprise is her eyebrows raising ever so slightly.

I’ve never spoken to Billy about girls, but there’s no one else in here, so I don’t have to worry about someone hearing me admit to fucking over my teammate.

“First of all, language. Secondly, how?”

“By not telling her that her boyfriend was cheating on her,” I grit out, feeling both my mental and physical pain spike.

“JJ.”

I exhale sharply, closing my eyes as Billy continues torturing me. “I know. I messed up, but we kind of have history, and I was worried if I told her, she’d think I was making it up so they’d break up. I hadn’t seen her in almost three years, and it caught me off guard seeing her again.”

“So you said nothing,” Billy interprets correctly, finally letting up on some of the pressure she’s applying.

“Marley transferred schools to be here with him. I wanted to tell her, but selfishly, I was content to take what I could without crossing any lines, so I didn’t tell her.

In my defense, I was leaving to tell her when she showed up at the house while Trent had a girl over, and she walked in on them. ”

“You can sit up, we’ll ice and then you’re good,” Billy says, and I sit up, leaning against the wall. “I’m sorry, you said Trent, as in Trent Hart, the quarterback?” she asks, bringing over the compression sleeve attached to an ice machine.

“Yep,” I answer, helping her slide the sleeve into place, tightening the Velcro.

Billy’s mahogany features soften as her dark gaze meets mine. “Sounds like a fucked-up situation to be in. How are you dealing with it?”

“Language,” I mock, trying to lighten the mood, but Billy doesn’t laugh.

Okay, then. Turning my head to avoid her scrutiny, I opt to look at a chart on the wall explaining the different colors of urine and how hydrated it means you are.

“I run,” I admit quietly as she flips the machine on, feeling the relief immediately.

“Oh, so she’s the reason you’re killing your knee. Good to know,” Billy says, letting my comment about her language slide. A little unfair Billy can curse, and I can’t, but she makes the rules in here.

“I’m not killing my knee,” I protest. “It’s fine.”

“Do both of us a favor and talk to her before you tear something again. I don’t want to spend every day with you rehabbing this knee again.”

I laugh, smiling at Billy. “You know you miss having me in here every day, but I’m not going to tear anything.”

Billy shakes her head, but it’s the smile she’s fighting that tells a different story. “Whatever you say, JJ.”

~

“Hey, Dad,” I answer, trying to catch my breath after stopping my run to answer his call.

“Hey, buddy. Sorry I missed your call earlier,” Dad says, and at the sound of his familiar voice, I feel a pang of homesickness. “What’s up?”

I walk to keep my muscles from cramping as my lungs thank me for the break. “Nothing much, just out on a run.”

“That’s my boy,” Dad says. “How’s your knee holding up?”

“It’s practically perfect,” I say, stretching it out in front of me, not a single twinge of pain. It could be on fire right now, but I wisely waited until my meds kicked in before taking off. I just can’t forget to ice it after.

If he finds out it’s bothering me at all, he’ll make me go to the doctor. It’s fine, but it needs time to get back to how it used to be.

“Great. I’ve been looking at Hunter’s schedule and yours to see what games we’ll be able to make it to.”

“Don’t forget Henry’s games,” I remind him, using the bottom of my shirt to wipe some of the sweat from my face.

“And to think I thought retiring would mean less time dedicated to football,” he jokes, and I laugh quietly. “Has Hunter said anything about the transfer?”

I chuckle, recalling the cluster of texts I received the other day, explaining the situation with the new running back on the team, followed up with Hunter asking if I’d consider transferring. “I’ve heard plenty about it. Hunt asked if I’d transfer, but I like it here.”

“That’s what I told him too when he asked me if I thought you’d go for it. He’ll figure it out, but hopefully sooner than later. Hunter’s always been the sensible one of you all.”

“I would take offense, but you’re not wrong.

” I’ve been in my fair share of scuffles on the field playing against guys who thought it was okay to make comments about Mirabelle to me.

My temper runs lower than my siblings, but the one thing I can’t stop from getting to me are comments about my family.

Guys tend to go one of two ways when it comes to my family: they either think it’s really cool my dad is Sebastian Walker, or they think I’ve been handed everything and I don’t deserve to be on the field.

The game my knee was injured in last year is a prime example.

The linebacker I was up against was spouting shit all game to get in my head, and I tried my best to ignore it, until he vividly described how he’d like to pass my sister around their locker room since she clearly likes being on display, and I lost it.

I shoved him, telling him if he played half as well as he ran his mouth, they’d be winning instead of getting blown out—with a few more colorful words added in.

It wasn’t enough to attract anyone’s attention because Asher pulled me away before it could escalate further.

On the next play, he came out of nowhere as I was catching a pass from Trent, hitting me at the right angle with enough force to cause my knee to twist underneath me as we hit the ground, tearing the ligaments almost instantly.

The linebacker was ejected for targeting and unnecessary roughness, but I’m not sure if he was actually trying to hurt me or not.

All I know is the hit wasn’t an accident.

I never told anyone what he said or how I think it wasn’t an accident because I didn’t want Mirabelle to feel guilty for something else out of her control.