Page 32 of All Signs Point to Malibu

Grief is weird. It holds so many layers and presents itself in unusual ways.

I stare at the grade and deep remorse replaces the pride. Maybe if I’d been quicker to start a program like this, I’d have been able to see the warning signs of stress and burnout in Cliff. Maybe if I hadn’t been so caught up in my own career and the stardom that came with it, I’d have noticed something was off. If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own life, I would have realized Cliff wanted to end his.

The grief counsellor I saw once after his death said there was absolutely nothing I could have done for him. People at that stage in their decision would find a way. They’ve made peace with the choice and aren’t open to other options anymore.

But it’s hard not to call bullshit on that.

Cliff was stressed and the pressures put on him by his job as a stock broker, the pressure put on him by our father, got to be too much, so he turned to alcohol, drugs, gambling... So many signs that he needed help and I would have spotted them if I’d cared enough to make time to look.

Check in on him more.

Now I’d give anything to check in on him and it’s too late.

But I know he’d be proud of me. He always said I was more than just my play stats. He was the only one who saw me as more than a championship. The only person who was happy to just watch me do what I loved to do.

My cell phone chimes and I pick it up and read a text from Marcus:

Don’t need a ride today.

Maybe his mom’s car is fixed. I hope that’s the case. If one of his friends is giving him a ride, it means they’ll stay to watch the practice and that always throws him off his game. He starts showboating and trying to impress and ends up pissing everyone off.

I close the computer and grab my gear, then head out.

At the football field twenty minutes later, I scan for Marcus but don’t see him warming up with the others. I text him:

Dude, you’re late.

I see the message is read a second later...but no response.

I may not have seen warning signs that Cliff was in trouble, but I damn well won’t be ignoring them in Marcus.

After practice, I drive straight to the Kent home. Maureen’s car is parked in the driveway and I eye it as I climb out and head toward the front door. I wonder if she’d let me take a look at it. I don’t claim to be a great mechanic, but it could be something simple. At this point, I’m willing to try anything to eliminate excuses for Marcus to miss practice. We’re weeks away from scouts coming and he needs all the training he can get.

I ring the bell and hear the sound of footsteps approaching from inside. I tug the sweaty fabric of my shirt away from my body and run a hand quickly through my hair. Probably should have showered first, but she lives with a stinky teenager, so I’m sure she’ll let it slide.

She looks surprised when she opens the door, still dressed in her convenience store smock. “Hey, Coach.”

“Hi, Maureen—good to see you. Can I come in for a minute?”

She hesitates, glancing inside the house. “Wish you’d called first...”

“My house looks like a bomb went off inside, I promise not to judge.”

She still looks uneasy but stands back to let me enter.

The house is spotless so I’m not sure what she was worried about. Not a thing out of place and I know Marcus isn’t exactly tidy.

“Coffee?” she asks.

“That’d be great.”

In the kitchen a moment later, she pours two cups of coffee and sets one in front of me with a yawn before sitting across from me. “Sorry, excuse me,” she says.

“Late shifts this week?”

“Double shifts,” she says with a nod, picking up her coffee cup and taking a sip.

I feel bad for taking up her time, so I get straight to the point. “The reason I stopped by is Marcus wasn’t at practice today. It’s not like him to skip. Especially so close to scouting season.” I pause. “I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

---