Page 158 of Holding On

"You don't know that. And you'll drive yourself crazy if you keep replaying that night in your head, wishing you'd done something differently. It was an accident. You had no control over it."

"It shouldn't have happened. One stupid mistake and three people are dead."

"And why not you? Right?"

How does he know I think that? Can he read my damn mind?

I don't answer so he continues. "I felt the same way. Why did I survive and they didn't? But over time, I came to realize there's a reason I wasn't taken that day."

"Which is what?"

"I can't say for sure but I'm thinking I was meant to help out other guys like me. Guys who feel responsible for the deaths of their friends. Becca told you about my podcast, right?"

"Yeah, she said it's for veterans."

"Specifically the ones who've been left behind. The survivors who feel guilty for being alive. You ever feel that way? Guilty for being the only one who survived?"

"All the fucking time," I mutter.

"Same here. But I had to learn to get over it. To see it differently. And now, I really do believe I was left here to do what I'm doing. To help people who've been through a similar experience as mine. And in doing that, I've helped myself."

"Well, that's great for you but I don't think doing podcasts is going to help me."

"But playing football might."

"Why? It's just a stupid game."

"Not to the people who love it. Not to the little kids who idolize players like you. You have the opportunity to make change happen. People will listen to you because of who you are, especially if you end up playing in the pros. You want to prevent what happened to you from happening to someone else? Then do it. Use your fame to stop people from drinking and driving. Be open about what happened to you. People respect that. And if they respect you, they'll listen to you. You have no idea how much power you have, Ethan. Maybe that's why you were left behind." He keeps his eyes on me, waiting for me to say something, and when I don't, he stands up. "I need to go. Heather gets off her shift soon and I'm picking her up."

I get my crutches and walk him to the door. "So...about Becca. You think there's any chance she'd take me back?"

He chuckles. "Becca's stubborn. When she makes her mind up about something, it's nearly impossible to change."

"Meaning she'll never forgive me?"

He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eye. "You need to forgive yourself first. Then go after Becca."

I'm not sure how that's going to help or if it's even possible but I nod, like I agree. "Thanks for stopping over."

"You ever want to talk, you know where to find me."

He leaves and I return to the living room. I want to call Becca but I don't let myself. Mike is right. I need to take some time to figure out myself and my future before I even attempt to get Becca back. And maybe I'll decide it's best to let her go.

On Monday, I show up to practice. Everyone watches me like they're not sure what to say or do around me. It's awkward and uncomfortable and makes me want to forget it all and go home.

But I've been thinking about what Mike said and maybe he's right. Maybe I survived because I have this talent. A talent that could make me into someone people would listen to. Someone who could make them think twice before drinking and driving. Maybe I could save a life. It's not enough to make up for what happened to my friends but at least it's something.

The next couple weeks I spend all my time training for the upcoming season. I won't be able to play right away but by October, it's possible I'll be back on the field. It's late in the season, not leaving me much time to impress the scouts, but Coach said not to worry about it. He still seems sure I'll go in the first round but my dad's not that confident. He's panicking, thinking I won't go until the third or fourth round. At this point, I don't really care. I just want to play. My love for the game is back. I'm no longer seeing it as a pointless sport but something I'm meant to do. Something I'm good at. Something I love. And a way to get my message across. A way to do good.

My cast came off yesterday, two weeks earlier than planned. The doctor said my workouts probably increased blood flow to the area, speeding up the healing. I don't care what the reason is. I'm just happy to have the damn thing off and have my leg back.

As for Becca, I miss her. So freaking much. I've been calling her every day, even though I know I shouldn't. I'm supposed to be working on myself, and I am, but I still want to talk to her. So I call her once a day and leave a message, just asking her to call me. That's all I say. But she never calls me back.

Maybe she's moved on with someone else. It hurts to even think of her with some other guy. I want her back. I no longer need her to chase the nightmares away. I'm doing that on my own now. But I still need her. Because I love her. I'm trying to make myself better for her, and although I'm not entirely there yet, I'm far enough along that I'm ready to try again.

If she'll let me.

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