Page 114 of It's Always Us

It all showed me how much I had when I didn’t have a damn thing. She gave me perspective and, eventually, love. The only kind I’d ever known. The kind I desperately needed.

All this time, it was the hope, the possibility that I wasn’t wrong. That I hadn’t made it all up. What we had. What we felt for one another. That she really did love me.

Besides football, it’s what kept me going. Kept me clean. Kept me from spinning out of control and going down a road I’d never return from.

“Mark.” Another person sticks out their hand.

“Yes. Thank you.” I thrust my shaky hand out in return, having no idea what they said to me.

I pose for another picture, trying to inch my way to the exit. When I finally break free, I want to sprint, but I leash myself and wind my way to the auditorium doors.

A few people linger as awards continue to be presented. I wonder if she’s still inside. I pace a second, my heart racing and a cold sweat breaking out over my body, and then . . .

My lungs kick out a breath. She’s twenty yards from me, tucked back outside the restroom. Her eyes are red and puffy. Her face is smeared with mascara. She’s gripping a wad of paper towel as her lip quivers and tears fill her eyes.

My feet move subconsciously, and then she’s in my arms, her face buried in my neck as she lets loose. She squeezes my neck so tight.

I hold her, not quite sure what’s happening, but comforted by the fact that she’s holding onto me as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear. My heart slows, trying to return to its normal rhythm.

When her hiccups and sniffs subside, she inhales deeply.

“I’m sorry—”

Her head pops up, and she looks up at me. Her face is a complete mess. I release her to run my thumbs underneath her eyes to remove some of the black makeup.

“Mark, I . . . ” She shakes her head, dropping her chin. She wipes her nose with the paper towel. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracks again. “I didn’t—”

“Shhh.” I push the sticky, damp strands out of her face.

“I wanted to go with you. I never wanted to say goodbye.”

I hold her face. “Baby, I—”

“I came to see you,” she sniffs. “Your first game.”

“What?” My voice catches in my throat. “When?”

“At Notre Dame. I watched you win your first game.”

I step back. “You . . . were there?” She nods. “What? How?” My heart stutters at her confession.

“I had to see you. I had to know you’d be ok.” Her bottom lip begins trembling again. “You won, and then I watched you celebrate with all of your friends.”

My mind rewinds to that time and spins. “Lex, why didn’t you find me? I searched for you. I needed you.”

My throat burns with the memory of searching for her and how much I wanted her to be there.She was there. My chest explodes with a consuming ache for all of the hurt and time lost but also . . . so much love.

She was there.

She shakes her head. “I couldn’t. I just had to know you’d be ok. That you were happy and on your way to doing everything I knew you could.” She swipes at a tear. “It’s all I ever wanted.”

“I would have—”

She presses her finger to my lips. “I know, but you couldn’t. Look at what you’ve done, what you’ve accomplished. Mark, you did it and so much more. I’m just so sorry I missed it all.” A tear tracks down her cheek.

My lungs hitch as my vision blurs. “Lex, I . . . ” My wounded heart aches for all that we’ve missed together.

She swipes at her face with the towel. “I won’t miss another second. Wherever you go, I’m going, too.”

---