Page 123 of The Way We Touch

The resident flock of pelicans glides silently in their V formation, dipping their beaks into the water, and it reminds me of being on a team.

For so long, my life has been about football. It was where I went to escape the loneliness of my home. It was where I went to find a family.

But football ends, guys retire, and I’ve grown older. I think about that night at Galileo’s last July, when I was disillusioned with everything and so frustrated with my prospects.

Then Garrett brought me here.

Watching the games from this distance, sitting beside Dylan as she hides every time her brother gets tackled, I think about going back for a tenth season. I think about leaving Dylan behind and returning to the days of phone sex and hand signals and stolen weekends.

She’s in even less of a position to move to New York, and I wouldn’t ask her to do it anyway, not after seeing her with her students. Teaching brings her joy and healing. Her family and her support network are here.

What about my support network? My dad said I should go for the MVP trophy and retire. It was his goal for me. I went into this season with my sights set on proving I was more than just a cog in the wheel, a player who’d better get the fucking pigskin across the line.

Breaking records and proving I was still relevant was my goal, and even if my season was cut short, they’ll be talking about what I did and sharing my highlight reels for years to come, for better or worse.

Most of it’s better, but last week I stumbled across another replay of the hip-drop tackle that landed me in the hospital. Commentators debated the merits of banning Krall from the league. My injury didn’t end my career, they’d argued, so was it fair to end another player’s?

My jaw tensed in anger, but it got me thinking about how next season I’ll start from a place of recovery. All the records I’ve set will be overshadowed by my comeback, and everyone will be watching to see what happens.

It’s possible I’ll make it back to where I was before I was injured, but it’s more likely my days of being the fastest wide receiver have passed. There’s no guarantee I won’t be injured again, and another injury could be worse.

Walking up to the small building, I study it for a few moments. A truck is parked in the back lot, and a man is inside behind the desk.

It’s easy to see the new path in front of me. It’s not complicated, and I don’t hesitate.

I walk straight to the door and open it.

30

Dylan

By the night of the Christmas show, everyone in town knows what happened in the parking lot of the restaurant, and everyone in town seems to have taken a vow of silence.

A few videos have popped up on social media, but they’re shot from behind the guys. All we can see is Logan’s prize-winning uppercut and Davis crawling to his car like the shitty coward he is. He won’t be back, and I’m quietly pleased by how the boys closed the book on that situation.

When I peek through the curtain at the side of the stage, I see my brothers, Allie, Rachel, and Miss Gina all sitting together in the seats I reserved for them in the middle section. Garrett had to fly back for Christmas Day games and to get ready for the playoffs.

It’s time to begin, and I step away, clasping my hands together as Mrs. Laverne is wheeled out in her giant “dress” with all the little mice beneath her skirt. It’s a modification of the Mother Ginger role because none of them are dancers.

The kindergarteners all run out, grab hands, and skip around in a circle while the high school principal waves and blows kisses at everyone. Then the little mice line up in front of her and drop onto all fours, stick up their booties and happily wag their tails.

Everyone laughs, and they jump up and circle again before going back under her skirt and rolling her off the stage again. I can hear their giggles and squealing from the opposite side of the stage, and the audience claps and cheers.

Up next is “The Waltz of the Flowers.” My entire first-year ballet class does a beautiful, modified version of the classic waltz, and to my relief, no one falls and no costumes malfunction.

Josh and Sally go next, doing their Mirlitons dance. It’s not as intricate as Mia and Austin’s piece, but it’s impressive enough to get a hearty applause and whistles.

My heart squeezes as the curtain sweeps closed, and Mia and Austin take their place for the final dance of the evening. She looks at me, and I nod, swallowing my nerves.

The curtain rises, and the violins begin. They move across the stage with confidence, executing every step with perfect timing. Mia is graceful and controlled, and Austin watches her, reading her movements and anticipating her steps.

“They’re as good as we were.” Craig’s whisper in my ear makes me jump.

“I think I was holding my breath.” I laugh, putting my hand on my chest. “He’s nowhere near as good as you were, but he’s good enough.”

“At four months in?” Craig cocks his head at me. “I’d say he’s very good.”

We watch as they reach the final steps—the three little hops, arabesque, and the lift. They turn, and Austin lowers her for the final plié and the bow.

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