Page 48 of Blitz'd

He’s probably going to give me shit about not calling him back like I was supposed to.

Rolling my eyes, I answer the phone and say, “What do you want, dickbag?”

“Zander Michael Braithe! Do you want your mouth washed out with soap, young man?” my mother asks shrilly in my ear.

A flush of embarrassment washes over me. “No, Mom. I thought you were Colson.”

“Well, I’m not sure why you’d call your brother a dickbag. What did he do?”

I guffaw at my mother repeating the word. She rarely curses, so any time I hear one slip, I get a kick out of it. “Just being Colson. I was going to call you today.” I try to lie smoothly, but I’m sure she doesn’t believe me. My mom knows when Colson and I are lying, almost like a superpower.

“I bet you were,” she says sarcastically. I smile as I listen to her sweet voice.

My mother has always been an angel. So gentle and caring, never raising her voice or doing anything in anger, though she had two rambunctious boys to raise.

After my father passed away, raising us and caring for us fell solely on her shoulders. Our grandparents helped out where they could, but both sets lived out of state and passed when we were growing up. It was always just the three of us.

Over the years, my mother has worked hard, taking on odd jobs and sometimes having two and three at a time. When I was in high school, I tried to work so I could pay for my own football gear, but she wouldn’t allow it, saying, “It’s my duty as a mother to provide for you, so let me do it.”

It was hard watching her struggle and barely being able to make ends meet, but she did it. She’s such a strong woman. I can’t wait to make it to the NFL to take care of her. She’s done more than enough. Now she deserves her rest.

Everything I do is for her, for my family.

Pushing into my room—Luca would be proud that I have my key—I toss my backpack on the bed and sit down in my desk chair. “I was,” I lie again. “What are you up to? And why do you have Colson’s phone?”

“He’s here cleaning the fireplace for me. It’s getting colder outside, and I want to make sure it works and that there aren’t any squirrels up there like last time.”

I bark a laugh. Last year, my mother tried to light a fire and three or four squirrels scurried down the chimney. She called both me and Colson to come retrieve them as they terrified her. Since she rarely calls for anything like that, I drove the hour to her house and Colson and I wrangled them all.

I can see why she had him check first this time.

“Good call. How’s everything else?” I ask.

Her sigh sounds heavy and exhausted. “Everything is fine. I picked up an extra shift at the hospital so I could get ahead on the mortgage, but it’s in labor and delivery, so it’ll be fun being around all those babies.”

My mother is a phlebotomist, getting her degree when I was in middle school so she’d have a stable income.

I smile, toeing my shoes off. “I bet you love that.”

“I’d love it if you or your brother could give me grandbabies, but I’ll wait.”

I laugh, shaking my head though she can’t see me. “No kids for me, Mom. At least, not for another ten or so years.”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I guess I can wait.”

We chat for a little while longer. I didn’t know I needed to talk to my mother until I heard her voice. I miss her.

“I’ll come visit soon, Mom. I miss your breakfast.”

Her light giggle washes over me and I close my eyes, missing hearing the sound in person. “You’re welcome home any time. Oh, here’s Colson. I love you, son.”

“Love you too, Mom,” I say past a lump in my throat, feeling oddly emotional after talking to her.

There’s some rustling over the phone, then Colson’s deep voice says, “You called me a dickbag to Mom?” His laugh is loud as Mom chides him in the background.

I grunt. “Yeah, I thought you were calling, not her. Did you get the squirrels?”

“There weren’t any this year,” he says with humor. Colson lives about ten minutes from Mom, so it’s easier for him to get home to help her on short notice. “How’s school? How’s your boyfriend?”

---