Page 62 of Quarterback Sneak

She followed him into the house, still as barren and unwelcoming as before. They entered the great room and her steps faltered. Outside, the sun nestled in the horizon and a red sheen bathed the landscape of the Puget Sound. The mountain ridgelines were visible with crystal clarity and Ivy hoped their discussion would bring her some much-needed insight of her own.

“Tea? Coffee?” Sam opened a cabinet which contained an assorted array of ceramic mugs embellished with football logos from a variety of teams. He apparently owned a few things.

“Tea, please.” Ivy turned her back and pressed her hand to the cool windowpane. The storm clouds still lingered in the near distance, the uncertainty of the rain echoing her fractured heart.

In the reflection, she watched him cross the kitchen and filled the mugs with hot water from a special tap on a large, industrial sized sink. The sound of water hitting the bottom of the mug cut the silence between them.

Sam approached with the tea. Something was different about the way he moved. “You’re walking without a cane.”

“I know, right? Something popped while we were dancing and the swelling started to go down.” The white tab fluttered as he handed the cup to her. “The pool is out this way.”

Ivy preceded him out the French doors where tall, gas braziers warmed the pool area. Sam trailed behind her. With every step, the tension inside her built. Glad for the warmth of the ceramic in her chilled hand, she cradled the heavy ceramic and waited for him to speak. She bent down and ran her fingers through the water, careful not to spill her tea. “Excellent news.”

“Yep, it’s a relief but I have other things I am more concerned about. You and me being the most important. Please,” Sam gestured to the pool and rolled up the hem of his pants. He lowered himself to the edge and dangled his feet in the water.

Her stomach rumbled and her mouth became dry, anxiety and nervousness tearing at her insides. She kept her lips compressed. This was his show, and she would wait for what the first act would reveal. Would he finally be able to bare his soul to her? Ivy kicked off her heels and positioned herself next to him on the cool concrete.

“What a night.” Sam stared off into the sunrise, his profile to her. She studied the hard lines of his face, contoured by bone and sinew. What was going on in his head? He said he wanted to talk yet he hadn’t said much. She averted her gaze, wishing she had asked for something a bit stronger. This man was going to drive her insane if he didn’t open his mouth soon.

“You spoke to Raina.” Sam fidgeted with the tea bag string. “I hope she didn’t upset you. She can be rather… direct, for lack of a better word.”

“She was nice.” She studied the contents of her cup and decided he had until her tea was finished. If he hadn’t revealed anything by then she would get up, leave and never look back. The knowledge twisted inside her gut, the tears finding their way back into her eyes. “I have to admit, I thought I was a fluke and you dated only super models. I guess I should have researched you online.”

He chuckled at her self-effacing joke. “I did date a model once. Although she was very smart, she was more into material items and aesthetics. I like women of substance. Like you.”

Perhaps Sam wanted from others what he couldn’t provide himself. The next few minutes would reveal all the answers. Whether the outcome was good or bad, she would give him a chance. She took a deep swallow and waited.

Sam sat next to Ivy and tried to articulate his thoughts, a task that proved more difficult than he had counted on. Once he disclosed the truth it would be impossible to tuck Patrick back where he belonged, in the past. Except, if he didn’t he would lose Ivy for good. “I understand that you think I’m trying to placate you. You couldn’t be further from the truth. Believe it or not, that rocking chair in the kitchen is the only material item I’ve ever been attached to.”

Cup clasped in her hands, she blew on the liquid. The hazel depths of her eyes, shaded by black lashes, pulled at his heartstrings and he had to resist the urge to lean in and kiss her. He no longer had the liberty to perform such an intimacy. His own fault for losing his temper. After his story was revealed, would she walk away from him for good?

“My mother is an incurable optimist. My real father was a different story.”

“You never talk about him.” Ivy dipped her feet into the water and ripples traveled across the surface of the pool. “I assumed he was not a big part of your life.”

I wish he hadn’t been. “He was married to another woman when my parents met. That was his excuse for not visiting much and not giving her any child support. She worked two jobs to support us.” Sam clenched his fingers around the tile lip as the rage simmered beneath the surface of his calm. “Eventually, Patrick’s wife divorced him and he moved in when I was eight.”

Just thinking about Patrick made his voice quake. He tried to temper his tone to lessen the severity of emotion but what was the point of hiding? She wanted the truth ad he’d give it to her. “At first, I was excited. He was charismatic. From a rich family. A real charmer. Then his true colors came out. I didn’t have his last name. When he was drunk, it amused him to call me his little bastard.”

“I can’t imagine an eight-year-old having to hear that,” Ivy said, her voice raised in anger.

“Trust me, the shine of him wore off quickly. Before I was born, he and my mom were quite the partiers. Patrick assumed she would want to pick up where they left off. They went out most nights but after a while, my mom started to stay home with me.”

Memories flooded his mind and he tried not to clench his jaw least he bring on a migraine. He was an adult, not a kid. He wasn’t helpless anymore. “He was constantly drunk. Once my mom refused to drink with him, he started using her as a punching bag.”

A low growl met his confession and Ivy’s fingers covered his hand. They were warm and slightly shaky, yet comforting. “I am so sorry.”

“It started out with a slap here, a shove there. He would pass out, apologize when he woke up, and be on his best behavior for a few days.”

“Then the cycle started again,” Ivy guessed.

“Yes. A classic case of domestic violence by a man who blamed everyone else for his own mistakes. He was diagnosed as bipolar and had medication for the condition, except he didn’t like the sensations the drugs gave him. He preferred cocaine and scotch, which only made him more manic.”

Ivy leaned against his side and rested her head on his shoulder. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have too. If it were anyone other than himself, he would be equally heated.

“The violence escalated. Each time she’d make excuses for him. I started leaving the house whenever I could. In the summertime, I camped at the lake. My mother was worried about me so she signed me up to a baseball league. That’s where I met Howler and trust me, it wasn’t love at first sight.”

She placed her cup on the concrete between them. Tears rimmed her lashes, but hadn’t fallen. “That bad, huh?”

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