Page 65

CARSON

It’s been three weeks since I showed up on Coach’s doorstep, and he’s got me working like a dog on learning how to respect myself and those around me. And like a fucking dog, I’m doing everything he says.

I’ve cleaned my room and caught up on all my assignment work.

I haven’t drunken one fucking drop of alcohol, although I have formed a new addiction to Coke Zero.

It’s not the same, but I can’t go getting wasted again.

My knee bobs way more than it used to, and I’ve paced a fucking trench into my bedroom floor.

The guys have stopped me from going to Offside a couple times, and Grady even forfeited going home for Christmas so that someone was around to hang with me.

My housemates are really good about keeping me in check, which is what I asked them to do.

We’ve played a shit ton of cards the last few weeks. Anything to distract me.

The first time Tyrell wouldn’t let me go and get wasted, I got pretty shitty and foul-mouthed with the poor guy. But then Wily sat through the Rambo trilogy with me and threw popcorn kernels at my head until I lost it, and we started the Great Popcorn Battle of Football Frat. Even Zoey joined in.

The second time I didn’t think I could get through without ten shots of whiskey, Tyrell and Grady took me out to paintball, and I shot the shit out of those two fuckers. It helped, though.

In fact, in the last few days… I haven’t even thought about reaching for a drink. Huh. Interesting.

I go to daily workouts with Coach every morning. We run three miles, then head to the gym for weight training. He’s been dragging his ass out of bed every day to do this with me, and I’m starting to see what Zander’s talking about. Coach seems to genuinely care about his players.

As agreed, I haven’t tried to contact Nylah once, and it’s fucking killing me.

I miss her.

And working on myself fucking sucks.

But I’m noticing a shift within me, and that part’s not too bad.

I sat my ass on the bench for the first playoff game, which we won.

It was fucking triumphant, and I’ve never cheered so hard.

That salty feeling that I started the game with definitely eased as I got into watching my team sweat and work and take those hits for us.

It was the first time I hadn’t minded the bench so much.

I must be fucking improving if I could end that shit with half a smile and not feel like the entire world’s against me.

Tuesday night is the quarterfinals, and although I’m not starting, I’m really hoping Coach will at least let me play the second half.

Surely he’s gonna give me a chance, because I have to get myself into his good books if I have any chance of making this work with Nylah.

I don’t want her to carry the stress of having to hide our relationship, and I’m starting to respect Coach enough to not even want to.

The worst part about this whole self-improvement shit is the counseling sessions Coach is making me sit through.

He arranged for me to see Kylie every fucking day except Sunday, and because she likes Coach so much, she fit me in around her already busy schedule.

The first two sessions, I barely said a peep…

until I realized that if I didn’t start talking, it would only take that much longer to get Nylah back.

So, I opened my piehole and spilled everything. I answered her questions, even got down to the dirty details when she wouldn’t let me get away with being vague.

And now I’m back for session number fifteen. It’s the one I’ve been dreading since Christmas Eve, when Kylie told me I had obvious issues with my mother and we really needed to get this figured out.

Glancing down at my mom, who’s dressed in jeans and a winter coat, I clench my jaw and seriously wonder how this is gonna go.

I picked her up from the airport a couple hours ago, and we drove straight here.

She’s probably tired and feeling as dubious as I am.

We didn’t exactly talk much in the car. She laughed that I hadn’t come to pick her up on my bike, and I couldn’t tell her that said bike is a crumpled mess at the bottom of a cliff and how gutted I am over it.

Instead, I mumbled about Wily letting me borrow his truck and then asked her about real estate. Anything to keep the spotlight off me.

That kept her going for a good forty-five minutes. Sales are going well. She told me stories about funny clients and demanding clients and how she just sold her first real mansion. That’ll be a pretty paycheck.

My lips twitched as I listened, but I couldn’t pull off an actual smile because I was too fucking nervous. And now my stomach is being eaten alive as we step inside Kylie’s office and take a seat on the couch.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Baldwin.” Kylie shakes her hand while I squirm beside my mother, hating that she took that douchebag’s name. Why? Why’d she take his fucking name?

“Thank you for inviting me.” Mom gives her a polite smile, then darts her eyes at me. “It’s great that you’ve been able to help my son with… his issues.”

I snort and shake my head.

Mom sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t know what to call it, babe. What do you want me to say? You never tell me anything, so I have no idea what’s really going on.”

“Okay, well, that’s a good starting point.” Kylie takes a seat across from us. “Carson, why don’t you explain to your mother what you’re trying to achieve by coming to see me? Tell her what’s brought about this desire for change.”

I hate this shit.

I hate this shit so fucking much, but…

Nylah.

Her name is a whisper in my chest. A promise.

I have to do this for her. For me.

Closing my eyes, my knee starts bobbing as I suck in a breath…

then just go for it. I tell Mom everything, from how much I’ve been struggling, to Dad not wanting to see me, to Fleischer riling me up, and then how I crashed the bike.

I even told her that for a second there, I thought about jumping.

Her face went so pale after that part, I couldn’t look at her again.

For some reason, I can’t bring Nylah’s name into the equation, so I just mention a girl I really cared about and how I lost her because I’m a fucking idiot.

It all comes tumbling out, and Mom’s sitting on the couch, statue-still except for her face, which worked its way through a plethora of emotions until I turned away from her. I don’t know what expression she’s wearing right now; I just know I have to keep talking until I’m done.

“So yeah… now I’m benched until further notice, and I’m doing everything in my power to earn back Coach’s respect.”

I let out a slow breath, then steal a glance at her face. She’s looking all bug-eyed and shell-shocked.

And I’m fucking exhausted now.

Resting my hands on my knees, I wait for Mom’s reaction. She blinks, opening her mouth a couple times before flashing a polite smile at the counselor.

Kylie nods—a silent encouragement for Mom to take her turn.

“Well, that was…” Mom swivels to face me. “That’s been quite the journey so far.” She lets out an awkward laugh, then clears her throat when she sees me wincing. “I’m sorry it’s been so tough for you. I had no idea.”

With a thick swallow, I glance at Kylie. Her expression is neutral, and I don’t know what to say to keep this going.

“Your dad will be gutted about the bike. He loved that thing.”

“I know,” I croak, that ache blooming inside me again. “Don’t know how I’m gonna tell him. Although, I don’t know when I would anyway.” My lips feel heavy, sad somehow. I didn’t know lips could feel that, but mine do.

“He really won’t see you?”

I shake my head, and when she doesn’t immediately respond, I steal a look at her.

As soon as our eyes connect, her expression crumples. “He won’t let me see him either.”

“What?” I scowl at her. “You don’t want to see him. What are you talking about?”

Biting her lips together, Mom looks to the floor and softly mumbles, “I still try sometimes. Just to check on him.” Her voice goes soft and wispy. “I never wanted to leave Denver.”

Jerking back, I can’t help growling, “You couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

“But I didn’t want to go.” She closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose and pulling in a shaky breath.

“Your father wanted to keep us safe. He was worried that his past was going to touch us. So, he left me. I didn’t ask for a divorce.

” She looks right at me, the honesty on her face so stark, I have to believe her when she says, “He did.”

I gape at her for a second, trying to wrap my head around this shit. “What?”

“I know I should have told you the truth, but you were really hurting, and I thought if you directed your anger at me, then at least I’d be there to counter it.

I didn’t want you to hate your father. He’s not a bad man.

I know what he was convicted of, and yes, I hate that he lost his temper and flew into a rage that way, but it’s only because they were threatening to hurt us. To hurt you .”

I feel like my brain has started spinning inside my fucking skull.

“I begged him not to go out that night, but he got a phone call and went all pale. He said he needed to deal with something and wouldn’t say what.

Next thing I knew, the police were calling and telling me that my husband had been arrested for murder.

” Her voice breaks, and she sucks in a dry sob.

“A few weeks before that call, I’d tried to convince him to get out of Denver.

I wanted to take you and just run, but he didn’t want to be looking over his shoulder.

He said he was going to finish it, and I didn’t really know what that meant until…

” She sniffs, her head jerking back and forth.

I swallow, watching her struggle with her emotions.