Page 26 of QB Keeper
“You’re lying,” she whispers, tears welling up before they fall down her sun kissed cheeks. “I feel what you feel every time you kiss me. You love me. And I love you, too.”
I clear my throat, praying that I can get my next words out without my voice giving everything away. Because she’s fucking right. I love her. But she’ll never know it because I have no choice but to end this in a way that’s so hurtful, she won’t think twice about leaving here and going after the future she’s wanted since her parents bought her her first sewing machine for her eighth birthday.
“I don’t love you,” I say, doing my best to harden my voice so she believes me. My throat dries as if it’s trying to fight the lie as I force it out, but I continue. “I’m about to be drafted into the NFL. The best I can offer is a quick fuck whenI’m in town, but other than that, I don’t have room for anything else. Go live your life. I’ll go live mine.”
When she doesn’t say anything, I bring my eyes back to her face and that’s when I feel it. My heart shatters in my chest as I take in the sight in front of me. The woman I love is standing there, her face crumpled as a stream of tears falls from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks and soaking into her shirt. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her stomach, as if she’s trying to shield herself from the pain. Her whole body shakes and her bottom lip quivers while she holds back her sobs, but she says nothing.
Every instinct in me is telling me to take it all back. To comfort her and protect her from this heartbreak, even though I’m the one that’s causing it. Watching her as she stands there, frozen in place as I make her feel like she means nothing to me is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I hate myself so much for it. But I’m doing this for her…so she can have everything she’s ever wanted out of life. And so she can find someone who will love her and keep her safe in ways that I clearly can’t.
“Tanner, please,” she pleads so quietly, I barely hear her. But she may as well be screaming with the agony it makes me feel. I can’t fucking take this. I have to go.
“Goodbye, Grace. Good luck in California,” I say, giving in and letting a single tear fall before I turn and walk out of the lighthouse as fast as I can, hearing her bare feet slapping against the hardwood as she chases after me. It’s not until I get to my car and open the door that I turn to see her running toward me.
“Tanner! Don’t go! Please!Please,”she cries as she blows through the door. She winces and stumbles when the sharp gravel digs into the skin on the bottom of her feet, but she doesn’t slow down. Tears flow freely down her face as she stretches out her arm for me, and I have to fight back my sobs at the sight. I almost cave and rush toward her so I can put usboth out of this misery, but I don’t. Instead, I drop down into the driver’s seat and slam the door, turning on the engine and reversing as quickly as I can. Whipping the car around, I speed off, finally allowing myself to break down as soon as I’m sure she can’t see me. Unable to stop myself, I glance up at the rearview mirror and watch as the love of my life breaks into a million shattered pieces outside the very lighthouse where she gave me everything.
EIGHTEEN
TANNER
PRESENT DAY
I can’t stopmy hands from shaking as I grip the wheel of my Tesla. A ride that would normally take me forty-five minutes is now closing in on the two-hour mark because I keep passing by my destination instead of just growing a set of balls and parking the car. Just being back in town for the first time after so long is making me anxious enough, especially knowing that I may have to face the consequences of my mistake. But it’s time. I can’t avoid it forever and it’s been long enough.
I’m not even completely positive Grace will be here. It is her parents’ fortieth anniversary party and I know how close they are, but she would’ve graduated from CCA last year, so I’m guessing she’s well into her career at this point. She may not have the time off to travel back home for the weekend. Not everyone has months of freedom from their job like I do each year.
I was drafted late in the first round by the Boston Blizzard four years ago. That day should’ve been the best day of my life, but there was a dark cloud hanging over me. I smiled and graciously thanked the commissioner and the Blizzardorganization for making my dream come true, but when I laid my head on my pillow that night, I felt empty. Like something was missing.
We won the Super Bowl last month, and I was named Most Valuable Player. We fought our asses off all season long, and the victory was well-earned for my guys. This was yet another huge career milestone for me that was tainted by the realization that I was incomplete, and that I only had myself to blame for it. It’s weird how even when you have millions of fans screaming your name and cheering for you, you can feel completely and utterly alone.
Making my way around the corner and turning onto Journey Lane for about the fifteenth time today, I take a deep breath and pull to the side of the road, parking my car. There are vehicles lining both sides of the street, which doesn’t really surprise me considering the amount of people that love and adore Bill and Libby. They were always like a second set of parents to me. Until I broke their daughter and left her alone to put herself back together. I turn off the car, looking at the two houses that I basically grew up in. One of which, I fell in love in. And she might be in there.
I’ve been trying to prepare myself for what I might find when I walk through those doors. The likeliness of her not being here is slim, so I’m expecting to see her at some point today. Will she be alone? Will she be here with a boyfriend? A husband? Children? Call me a masochist, and maybe I am, but I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve imagined her holding a baby that belongs to the person I wasn’t man enough to be five years ago. I wonder all the time where we’d be if I would’ve just turned back around after leaving her behind and told her the truth. I was head over heels for her, and my fear of losing control, paired with being scared that she might someday resent me for being the reason she didn’t live out her dreams, stopped me from giving us both the one thing we wanted more than anything.
I never stopped wanting her. I’ve loved her every day since I left Hope Harbor, and the wound I created when I cut her out of my life is still hemorrhaging. I’m afraid that once I go in there and see her with someone else, it might actually kill me.
But I did this. If that’s where she ended up, I deserve to see it. I deserve whatever kind of pain it brings when I realize that she really isn’t my girl anymore. Who knows? Maybe once I do, I can get the closure I need and move on with my life. I’ve come to grips with the fact that I will never love anyone again, but maybe knowing that she’s safe and taken care of by someone who gives her everything I didn’t will make it easier for me to find happiness in my life and career. Or at the very least, be able to celebrate my successes without feeling like they don’t mean anything.
I turn off the ignition, wiping my sweaty hands on the front of my pants before getting out of the car. As nervous as I am, I just want to rip the Band-Aid off. It has to be done. My mind is going in a million different directions as my feet carry me to the door, ringing the doorbell and waiting for what seems like hours until it swings open in front of me.
As soon as our eyes connect, all the breath is sucked from my lungs. The smile that was plastered across her face just moments ago turns to complete horror as she looks back at me like she’s seen a ghost.
“Hi,” is all I can manage. She’s fucking beautiful. I don’t know how it’s possible, but she hasn’t changed, yet looks so much different all at the same time. Her hair that used to fall in waves over her shoulders is cut a little bit shorter, framing her heart shaped face perfectly. Her lips are still plump and pink, and I’m instantly taken back to the days when I could kiss them for hours. But the thing that catches me off guard the most is her eyes. They’re the same bright blue they were last time I saw her, but there’s a hardness behind them. Evenas shocked as she is right now, I can tell that this is not the same girl I left behind five years ago.
She doesn’t say a word. She just blows right past me, flying off the porch and down the steps toward the driveway.
“Grace, wait,” I say, turning and running to catch up with her. Instinctively, I reach out and grab her arm to stop her. The heat that travels through me elicits a hundred different memories all at once, pulling every single time I’ve ever touched this woman from the depths of my mind right to the forefront as if they happened just yesterday.
She stops at my touch, stiffening but not turning to face me.
“Grace,” I whisper, my voice trembling from the adrenaline coursing through me, “can we please talk?”
She turns around, and the look on her face hits me like a pass rusher straight to the chest. It’s blank; completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever. Any hopes I had of being forgiven for what I did go down the drain, because the sweet, innocent, carefree girl I remember is no longer there. Left in her place is a woman who is hard and closed off. At least to me.
I did that.
“No, we can’t talk,” she says flatly. “You can get your hand off of me and leave me alone.”
We both look down to where I’m holding firmly to her forearm, and I let go as if she’s on fire. The white mark my fingers left behind is visible, and as it fades back to its normal color, I breathe a sigh of relief that I didn’t accidentally hurt her.
