Page 103 of Sack

When he was slow to continue, she asked, “Your love of football?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “No, my friendship with Jesse.”

“Jesse?”

“Jesse Alverez. We met freshman year, right here on this field. They called us the amazing duo. We did everything together.” He paused, heart clenching. “He was my best friend.”

Colt looked off into the distance, past the uprights to the scoreboard, dark now, but he could envision the bright lights keeping track of the score every Friday night.

“We made a pact. We’d go to the same college. Go pro.” He looked back at Ivy, her expression rapt, eyes on him. “And one day we swore we’d both make it to the Super Bowl and win a ring. Big dream, but Jesse wanted it bad. It was all he ever talked about. I never cared as much—about winning. Just wanted to go pro and play the game.”

Her brow furrowed. “What changed that?”

“Jesse’s death.”

She reached out, touching his forearm. “Colt, I’m so sorry.”

“He was a great guy. Nice to everyone. Got good grades—the teachers fucking loved him. Best damn wide receiver in the district. Caught every pass I threw at him—even the crappy ones.

“Of course, I noticed the bruises, we played fucking football. I was covered in them, too.”

“Colt.” Her tone was soft, almost pleading as she stepped in closer.

But he was too lost in memories to stop. “I was never allowed at his house when his dad was home. Never allowed to spend the night. At first, I thought Jesse was embarrassed. His dad was a mechanic and from the signs I saw around the house the few times I’d been there, a drunk. And while my family wasn’t rich, we did live in a better neighborhood—bigger house, nicer things. But it wasn’t that. I later found out, he just didn’t want me anywhere near his father.”

“What about his mom?” Ivy softly asked.

“Died when Jesse was seven. Cancer.”

Colt took Ivy’s hand and started walking. Pent up agitation made his legs need to move. “Things got bad,” Colt shook his head, “or I should say worse, the summer before senior year. By then, Jesse was spending more time at my house than his. We were getting ready for our yearly family vacation. Mom kept going on and on about how important that one was because it would be the last before I started college. Jesse was invited every year. He was never allowed to go. Things hadn’t changed that year. I begged him to just come, said his dad would probably never miss him. But without money, he said he felt like a freeloader and that it was bad enough he ate most of his meals at our house. I didn’t care, hell, my parents didn’t care. They were more than happy to pay his way. But Jesse cared, and I just couldn’t convince him.

“I shouldn’t have gone. Or should havedemandedhe come. But it was like talking to a brick wall. And in the end, I rationalized it would only be for a week so…” his voice broke. He cleared it and finished, “I thought he’d be okay. I was wrong.”

They were rounding a bend and Ivy stopped them with a hand on his arm. “You couldn’t have possibly known.”

Colt shook his head. “But I should have. His dad had been drinking more and working less. Bills were piling up. And every day Jesse was there, it was a lesson in survival.”

Colt took Ivy’s hand and started walking again. “He was in the hospital when we got home. Tubes fucking everywhere. Down his throat, up his nose, in his arms. He was in a coma with weak brain activity from a blow to the head. I sat at his side for three days willing him to wake up. Talked until my voice grew hoarse about all ourbigplans. How he only had to wait five more months until he would turn eighteen then he could come live with me until we got a place of our own.

“My family wasn’t religious, but I prayed to God those three days, pleading with Him to spare Jesse’s life. And when that didn’t work,” Colt shook his head at his teenage naivety. “I turned to the devil and offered my soul.”

Colt veered them toward the bleachers and sat. Leaning his forearms heavily on his knees, he stared at the ground between his feet. “He never woke up. An aneurysm ruptured in his brain and the doctors couldn’t save him. He died eight hours later.”

A hand touched his shoulder and then Ivy’s sweet voice near his ear. “I’m so very, very sorry.”

“I made him a vow after he was gone. Promised him one day he’d get his ring he wanted so badly. I would win the Super Bowl and bury it at his grave. I’ve lived every day of my life since trying to make that happen. I may have failed him in life, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to in death.”

Ivy moved her hand to his jaw, caressing a thumb over the stubble there. “I understand now.”

Colt lifted his head, removed her hand from his face, and sandwiched it between both of his. “No, you don’t.”

A line formed between her brows. “What do you mean?”

“When I saw the news about the plane crash, thinking you were on it, I realized how stupid I’ve been. I’ve been living my life trying to atone for failing Jesse. When I first suspected, I should have gone against his wishes and told my parents or got a teacher involved when he wouldn’t reach out and ask for help. It took thinking I lost you for good for me to realize I’d made the same mistake with you.”

She shook her head, confusion written all over her face. “How?”

“By not taking action and being sorry when it was too late. But unlike with Jesse, I’ve been given a second chance with you, and I’m not going to blow it. Jesse is gone and winning the Super Bowl won’t bring him back. I’ve been killing myself for a ghost when all along I should have been living for you. Worshipping you. Making you feel special. Because we only have one shot at this life, and I don’t want to waste any more of mine being sorry for something I should have done.”

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