Page 55 of Saving the Halfback

“Why?”

“Because I did something wrong,” I whispered.

My mom frowned and turned around. I didn’t know what she saw in me as her eyes roamed over my face, but her expression softened. “Anyone who has to make difficult choices can feel uneasy about it at times. I know you’ve been going through a rough patch, but I don’t think you’re a bad person, Boo. Bad people do things without feeling guilt. I think you’re feeling guilt.”

“How do I fix it?”

Mom was thoughtful for a moment before meeting my gaze. “Maybe try thinking about what you feel guilty for. I’m here if you need to talk, Boo.”

“Thank you.”

Mom left my room as I snuggled deeper into my covers. I knew what I felt guilty for, but the more I thought about it, the more I felt it wasn’t right. Like there was something more.

21

Bailey

“Here to pick up for McCormick farms,” I told the lady at the desk. Dad sent me on an errand Saturday afternoon, when only part of our feed shipment had arrived. He had called down to the feed store, but their delivery driver was still out, making the last of his run. They would be closed Sunday and Monday, so here I was, running in mere minutes before closing to pick up the rest of our order.

I stifled another yawn. I had to find a way to get some decent sleep. I doubt I could play football running on nerves.

I had spent most of the morning thinking about what Mom had said. Well, that and ignoring Ed, which was starting to get easier. I did feel guilty. I felt guilty, but not just about what I had done. I felt guilty about Chase and not being there for him, and I felt guilty about Lachlan. About not opening up to him when I felt like I should. I had enough guilt to go around. So, when Dad sent me on this mission to the feed store, I jumped on it. I needed to focus on something different, and sitting alone in a tractor, harvesting the field, was no place for a guilty mind.

Mary smiled at me. “Bailey, I don’t get to see you much anymore. I’m so sorry about the mix-up.”

“It’s okay.”

Mary pressed a few keys on her computer, then printed a yellow slip. “How have you been these days? How’s your dad?”

“Good.”

“You know, he’s been going around telling half the town his daughter is a football player.” I groaned and she laughed. “I think he’s invited everyone to your game this coming Friday.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I joked.

“Hey, you hold your head high. We’re proud of you for not letting those boys push you around. You know, I always wanted to be on the basketball team, but at the time, there was only a boys’ team, and no girls would play. If only I had the guts you have.”

“I wish I could take credit for it, but really, everything just happened. They needed players, and I volunteered.”

“Well, I think you’re amazing, either way.” She handed the slip to me. “Take this around back, and Rick will help load it up.”

“Thanks!”

Rick and I had the truck loaded in record time, so I decided to treat myself and pulled up to the Mennonite bakery in town, across the road from the local park. I backed in, so I was facing the park, and ran inside for a homemade fry pie and hot chocolate, hoping the extra sugar would help keep me going.

I was back, sitting in my truck and eating the sweet goodness, when the sound of a whistle had me looking up. It wasn’t uncommon for people to work out in the park. There was a large forest area with trails attached. Many groups did tai chi and yoga, as well as jogging and stretching.

It was, however, my first time seeing Nolan there with his father. As I had suspected, Nolan’s father was the guy from football practices that often paced.

There was a rope ladder on the ground, and Nolan was side-stepping along it while his father threw a football back and forthwith him. Around his ankles were bands, attaching one ankle to the other, stopping his feet from spreading too far apart.

Once he got to the end, his father blew the whistle, and Nolan would drop down to a push-up, then pop back up. It was a fairly good exercise, except, even from here, I could see the sweat pouring from Nolan’s face. He pushed himself harder and harder every time. His dad was saying something, and he would respond with one or two words, but they were so far away, I couldn’t hear, even with my window down. No matter his response, he never slowed or stopped the exercise.

I finished my fry pie and kept on watching. His dad said something that had Nolan taking a lap around the park, and while he was running, his father switched up the exercise, taking the ladder away and laying down cones and two dumbbell weights at one end. Nolan stepped up to the obstacle, not hesitating as he went down, taking one weight in each hand. He went into the push-up position and began crawling with the weights. At the end, he popped up, spun around, and did it again. From here, I could see his arms shaking by the fourth pass.

Just as it seemed Nolan would collapse, his father tapped him with a foot. He jumped to his feet, unsteady, and did a jog around the park. This time, his dad packed up all the equipment and just left, not even waving or saying goodbye. Nolan continued jogging and tracking his father with his eyes. As soon as his father drove off, he collapsed to the ground.

I grabbed my water bottle and was out of the truck, worrying he was going to overheat or something. Nolan lay in the grass, both arms thrown over his forehead, sweat covering his body and breaths heaving.

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