Page 22 of Dear Future Husband (The Dearly Written #1)

Trey

How is it that five days felt far longer than the last year ever had?

It was driving me crazy that I could only depend on my mom for small updates here and there on how physical therapy was hard for Maybelle but going well. And that she was asleep more than she was awake most days.

I needed to be there with her, not here.

I needed to help her through this, not at college.

I mean, it wasn’t like I was just sitting here.

Each of my days were full of work, football and preparing for the upcoming semester.

My roommates and I recently helped move another guy into the apartment.

I’d been finishing out a summer class I had TA’d for and I’d been spending a lot of time in the gym training and working through the anxiety of not being home.

But as much as I would love to drop everything and bail for home in the middle of the week back to the girl waiting there, I couldn’t just throw the life I worked so hard for away.

The rest of the week, before I left back to school, had been devastating compared to that first day I had spent with her. That first day, Maybelle and I spoke, teased, had fun, but those last few days—she only had the energy to eat and sleep.

I felt stuck in a cruel limbo in which she was finally awake but wouldn’t stay awake. It was killing me. Keeping me constantly on edge that she would just stop waking up.

All I knew was that I was thankful it was officially the weekend, which meant I could go home. Maybe while I was there, I could get Maybelle out of the house, take her to do something fun—keep her awake.

“Damn it, Bear!” a male voice hollered from the other room.

I was in my apartment, packing my weekend bag as fast as possible in order to get on the road. Past my door, I could hear the raging chaos of noises from the TV my roommates were playing video games on.

“Bear, I swear to god, man, if you let me down again…” The boisterous voice of Chad Larson ricocheted off the walls of our shared apartment.

I opened my bedroom door at the end of the hall, passing the other three bedrooms, and entered the compact living room.

On the two-cushion couch, dead center of the room, sat Larson.

Next to him, on the six-foot-long, massive bean bag, was Adam Steverson, better known by his friends and the team as Bear.

Larson was gnawing on the inside of his cheek, fingers clicking against the buttons of his remote while Bear sat stone-faced, like he would rather be doing anything else in the world.

Bear was the first to notice me and the bag in my hand. “Where are you headed?”

“Aye, pay attention!” Larson scolded.

Bear rolled his eyes.

I chuckled. “I’m headed home.”

This had both Larson and Bear looking away from their game. “For the weekend?” Larson asked after pausing the game .

I nodded, dropping my bag on the kitchen counter so I could grab a couple of road trip snacks from the pantry. With two pop tart packs in hand, I turned back to face the guys who watched me like I might combust at any moment.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Keeping up with the theatrics, I brought my palm down the rough stubble on my chin, making a show of inspecting my hand for any removed debris.

Bear, in his deep tone, asked, “How’s she doing?”

My whole first season at SDU, I left back home nearly every weekend, never joining the parties or celebrations.

Getting home to sit by Maybelle’s side, just in case she finally woke up.

After a few months, Larson, being captain of the team, felt it was his responsibility to sit me down with Bear and ask if there was a problem.

If there was a reason, I avoided them and the team every weekend.

We hadn’t been roommates, or teammates for long before that, but it led to a friendship I needed more than they probably realized.

It was the first time I ever opened up to anyone besides my mom about the beautiful sleeping girl I waited patiently for.

The guys always tried after that to ask for updates on Maybelle each time I went home for the weekend.

“She’s doing well. My mom said she’s having a hard time with physical therapy and is still sleeping a lot, but she’s doing good.” I did what I could to sound hopeful, but by the skeptical look Bear gave me, I wasn’t convincing.

“Speaking of your mom,” Larson interrupted before Bear could ask more. “Tell her I miss her and that I’m still waiting for her to call me back.”

Disturbed, I turned my attention to the blonde, six foot-two, football player. “You better be joking.”

He resumed his game with Bear, the cacophony of noises erupting from the speakers again.

“Man, my girl Chelsea, is a MILF. I got her number last season so I could—" He put his remote controller down for the briefest moment to do air quotes. “ Check in on you —as your Captain. But between you and me, I’m just trying to become your stepdaddy.”

I nabbed a pillow that had fallen to the floor from the couch and chucked it at him, knocking the video game remote from his hands.

“Oh, shit, shit, shit. Bear, you better not fail me,” Larson cursed as he scrambled to recover the controller.

Bear had a smug grin on his lips as he continued to play. I had grabbed my bag and pop tarts when Larson returned to the game with his remote.

“You—” Larson turned on Bear, whose grin was now a blatant smile. “Did you kill my guy?” Larson accused.

Bear shrugged, tossed his remote onto the couch and rose to approach me, leaving Larson muttering bitterly under his breath. I paused before walking out the front door as Bear slapped a large hand to my back.

“Are you doing alright?”

There were many reasons we called the big guy Bear.

For one, the man was massive. He was easily the biggest and tallest on the team.

He was our best lineman, a force of destruction that obliterated defensive lines and was an immovable wall of protection when it was his time to defend.

But off the field, he was a teddy bear that talked about feelings when he got you alone.

I sighed. “I’m fine, man. Really, I just need to get home.”

He gave me a half nod. “Well, when she’s feeling well enough, you should bring her to visit. I bet we’d all like to meet the famous Maybelle.”

I smiled at the thought of my girl meeting my brothers. “I’ll definitely do that, hopefully in the next few weeks.” I grasped Bear’s hand. “I’ll be back Sunday night.”

He waved me off with a grunted goodbye and I was out the door with Larson, calling after me, “Have a good weekend, son!”

***

“Mom, I’m home!”

“In here, love,” Mom called from the kitchen.

The house was filled with the savory aroma of Mom’s homemade lasagna, making my mouth instantly water.

Those pop tarts did nothing to satisfy my hunger on the long drive and my stomach ached for some actual food. I left my bag by the wall and sat at the small dining table that could seat four but was set for three. I scanned the room and the beginning of the hallway that led back to the bedrooms.

No sign of Maybelle, probably still sleeping, even though it was five o’clock in the evening.

Mom washed her hands after she finished chopping a head of lettuce for a salad she was working on. “How was your week, Hun?” She wiped her hands on a towel as she rounded the kitchen counter to hug and kiss me on the top of my head where I sat.

“It was good, long. A lot of practice and prepping for the upcoming semester,” I answered as I stood to give her a proper hug.

“Remind me when your first game is again,” Mom said into my chest before pulling away to get back to making dinner.

I followed her, stopping to wash my hands in the sink.

“It’s in three weeks, end of the month. And it’s more a scrimmage to get people hyped up for the first official game and the start of the semester.

” I dried my hands, then went to work on preparing the other salad ingredients she had waiting on the counter to be mixed and dressed.

“That’s right,” Mom exhaled. “I don’t know if I can make it to that one with my work schedule, but I’ll be at the next one, I promise.”

I waved her off. “Don’t stress. It’s just a scrimmage. Only students will be there—besides, you’re no longer allowed to come to my games.”

She put her kitchen tools down and faced me, brows knitted. “What? Why not?”

I snickered, “Because you’re too pretty. A few of the guys are hoping they’ll get a shot at becoming my stepdad this season.”

Her eyes doubled in size.

“I’m teasing, but if you have Chad Larson’s number, delete it immediately, please.”

She giggled, nodded, and continued to chop up tomatoes. “Oh, I will, don’t you worry. Also, a little off topic, but Betsy called, said something interesting happened at work last night.”

“What happened?”

Mom didn’t look at me as she continued to chop. “You know how Maybelle’s story has been on the news?”

As much as I wished it wasn’t, I had seen a few articles trending, talking about the “girl who lived”.

Horrible Harry Potter reference.

Maybelle’s unique story of surviving the accident that not only killed her family—but put her in a coma for a year—had hit the local news a day or two after she woke up.

Thankfully, since she wasn’t at her home, and no one knew who took her in.

We hadn’t been harassed by any curious drama seekers here at the house.

I nodded. Mom stopped her cutting and turned her focus on me as she said, “Well, apparently a man came in, pretty adamant about seeing her. He was dressed all spiffy, wearing some high-end clothing, so the staff suspected he was just some elite journalist seeking out the story. But he was so intent on seeing her that he wouldn’t listen when they told him she wasn’t there.

Bets said they eventually had to get security involved.

I guess it was a super inconvenient mess. ”

Straightening and pausing my work on the food, I asked, “Mom, is it safe for you to work there?”