Page 15 of It's Always Sonny

Playing in the NFL means permanency will continue to elude me until I retire or get forced out. Even with a contract, the team can trade me almost at will. I’m one of the best in the league, but my knee surgery means I’m not someone you build a franchise around. My agent was more concerned about money than stability when he got me this contract.

All NFL rookies sign a four-year contract. I was a first round draft pick and signed with the Jacksonville Jaguars. My contract was huge. Four years, twenty million with another twelve million as a signing bonus. My contract allowed for a fifth year as a restricted free agent, but I injured my knee during my third year with the team and sat out for surgery and rehab. I defied all odds and came back stronger than ever in my fourth season, but every team in the league sees me as a risk now. As a restricted free agent, Jacksonville decided to let me go, and that’s when the Waves swooped in with a monster three-year contract … with a team option after the first year.

Long story short, they can get rid of me at any time.

While I enjoy the game, I hate the uncertainty and instability.

Listen, between football and endorsements, I’m Richie Rich. I’ll never have to work another day in my life, and with this knee injury, I’m starting to feel that clock ticking. I knew how temporary a football career could be before I even got a paycheck to play the game. With every limp, I’m more aware of how soon it could all end.

Buying this house was out of the blue, no question. But the idea of setting down roots after so many years of only having wings appealed to me.

Standing outside now, hearing the waves and the gulls, smelling that muddy, earthy smell, I let the memory of PJ wash over me. I really thought I’d moved past thoughts of her until last fall, when Duke met PJ and the Janes in his hometown, of all places. Suddenly, my quarterback—my friend—was spending time with my ex, which meant I was running into her again. Duke’s daughter’s birthday party, his wedding, the freaking Super Bowl …

On top of that, the girl Duke married was one of my best friends. Millie is the only one of the Janes I’ve stayed in close contact with. I was so used to talking to Millie that she didn’t feel like a connection to my ex anymore, and she was careful never to talk about her with me. Our friendship was independent of anyone else, and for that, I was grateful.

Seeing PJ changed everything. My friendship with Millie felt tarnished and awkward. I couldn’t flirt with pretty women anymore. Couldn’t date interesting women. Because compared to Parker Jane, no one is pretty enough or interesting enough.

Thinking of her now, I’m even happier I bought this place. I fell in love with PJ hard and fast, and she became home base for me. I have the best family in the world, and she quickly became an extension of them, but different. Maybe even better. I had big, huge plans for us that included words like forever.

Never did it cross my mind that she wasn’t on board.

I was naive to think someone as put together and brilliant as her would settle with someone as flaky and impetuous as me. I’m not dumb, but I can’t even read her playbook. I’m like a kid playing Pop Warner football trying to figure out Bill Belichik’s game plans.

For my whole life, I’ve wondered where I belong. I was so sure PJ was it, but our break up was more than an end to a relationship. I felt like I was being evicted.

I like this house. It’s so close to perfect.

But after having PJ in my arms again, something tells me nothing will ever feel like home except her.

The next day at Duke’s, the rest of the Janes are nowhere in sight. Considering that Millie is one of my closest friends and that I met her and the others shortly after meeting PJ, I half suspected she’d invite them all over.

And by suspected, I mean hoped.

After lunch, Duke runs to put his daughter down for quiet time, which gives me a chance to talk to Millie. We’ve moved from the dining room to a game room, complete with air hockey, ping pong, pool, and foosball tables. I put my crutches against the wall and hop over to the pool table, where Millie tosses me a pool cue. She racks the balls and lets me break.

“My family’s looking to have a reunion at Sugar Maple Farms next week for Nonna’s eightieth. The website says they’re closed the week we need, but I’m wondering if Jane and her husband might be willing to make an exception.”

“Jane has always adored you. If there’s no conflict, I’m sure they’ll do it,” Millie says, calming my first concern. Now for the second.

“Can it handle four days of Luciano wildness?” I ask, sinking a solid red ball in a corner pocket. I sink another after but miss the third.

She walks around the table and eyes a ball. “Are you guys planning a repeat of Christmas sophomore year?”

I laugh, leaning against the air hockey table behind me. My knee aches dully, but I ignore it. “How do you remember that?”

“You flicked mashed potatoes at your brother, accidentally hitting your Nonna, so she squirted a turkey baster full of applesauce down the back of your pants during a literal all-ages food fight! How could I forget?” She aims and shoots. The cue ball knocks her striped ball right to the edge of a pocket, but it doesn’t fall in. I hop around to aim my ball at the same pocket she was just shooting for.

“By being a better friend, that’s how. If you really loved me, you’d overlook every embarrassing moment and only focus on the ones that make me look cool.”

“If you don’t know how cool a food fight with your grandma makes you look, you need to have your head checked.” She smiles. “Most families would do anything for closeness like that, Sonny. You guys should be proud.”

Millie is the most validating person I’ve ever known. When she had a cancer scare several years ago, it was my turn to offer her support, and being there for her cemented our friendship long after PJ had already disappeared from my life.

“The grounds are great,” she says. “They’ve set up all of these tiny homes and permanent tents with real beds inside. It’s my kind of camping. I think their inaugural group was a church youth group, so if they could handle a bunch of hormonal teens, they can handle you guys. The caretaker and her husband are the best. They’ll probably get in on the food fight action with you.”

“We’re not having another food fight.”

“Only because you’re afraid of getting applesauced, right?”

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