Page 1 of Returning Your Love
Chapter 1
Jamie
Career-ending injury.
Three words no one wanted to hear, especially a rising football star who’d been dreaming since childhood about making it into the NFL.
“Doing okay, kid?”
I cracked an eyelid open.
Dad sat on the chair beside my hospital bed, his eyebrows pinched and lips in a thin line. His wide shoulders were hunched, evidence of his weariness.
Rain slashed against the gray window behind him, the flashes of lightning attempting to brighten the early morning sky that was as dismal as my mood.
“This fucking sucks,” I muttered, glancing down at the IV needle stuck into my arm, ready for the meds that would knock me out before going under the knife. A quaint little rest where nothing mattered and I would wake once more to the heaviness clinging to me like a weighted blanket on a hot summer night.
I huffed a sigh and turned my focus on the bright, white ceiling above me, the scent of bleach and lemon cleaner burning my nose.
Week ten of my rookie season with Houston started with the expectation I would hit one thousand rushing yards while going head-to-head with New England. Shit had been on my side until I got tackled out of nowhere, my body spinning but right foot planted firm in grass and dirt as I went down. The pop in my knee had sounded like a gunshot, leaving me with a combined ACL and meniscal tear—the worst my attending surgeon had ever seen.
So much for being Offensive Rookie of the Year or making it into the Hall of Fame. And I could kiss the rest of my contract worth millions goodbye too.
Desolation stifled, and there would be no easy tossing aside its weight.
A code blue crackled through the speaker right outside my cubicle in pre-surgery, but I couldn’t find concern for someone else’s pain or grief. Therapy hovered on the horizon along with the physical type because I would spiral into despair if I didn’t. I had grit as Dad would say, but this devastation?
Soothing a weary hand over my face and scruffy jaw, I emptied my lungs with a defeated grunt when I should have been hungover from celebrating our tenth win of the season. “My teammates crushed the Pats last night, but I’m really struggling to believe my playing days are officially over, Dad.”
He squeezed my forearm, an offering of reassurance I wished could do more to comfort me. “I won’t bullshit.”
I snorted. Typical Dad telling it like it is. “Thanks for flying down here though. Means a lot.”
A brief nod dipped his head, his tired hazel eyes tracking over my face as though he was trying to root out how I dealt with this blow. His missing out on the NFL had been due to knocking up his girlfriend in high school, but he’d never once blamed me. He’d also never pushed his own dreams and expectations onme like some dads did, but his constant support had kept me fighting.
“I can’t imagine it was easy getting off work,” I said, more thankful than ever to have him as a role model growing up. Lots of kids weren’t as lucky.
“I’m the chief. I can do whatever the hell I want,” Dad said with a small smirk. “Seriously, though, we’re still short on help, but nothing would keep me from being here for you.”
“Never considered something like this to bring you halfway across the country.”
“We Foresters tend to see the light and not expect the worst.” Dad spoke what used to be true. He’d always been a pretty positive guy, but that didn’t allow for sugarcoating shit. I’d been that way too until my mom abandoned us. Expecting the worst came second nature now.
Mom—aka Darla—had left us both when I was fourteen. Even worse, Dad hadn’t known about the shit she’d been up to behind his back. The fraudulent checks. Maxing credit cards and not paying them. Siphoning money from the fundraisers she’d been in charge of as Pippen Creek’s Chief of Police’s other half.
She’d been a great wife and mom.
Until she wasn’t.
Dad and I had gotten super close after she’d gone, and I felt confident in the one parent in my corner who supported me no matter what.
“What the hell am I gonna do now, Dad?”
“At least you stuck to college and got your degree. I’m sure you’ll find work back home.”
The sticks of northern New Hampshire was the place I’d escaped from, and I wasn’t too excited to head there again. It’d been years since I’d set foot in Pippen Creek and for good reason. The people in my small town hadn’t ever been homophobic, but wariness had kept my mouth shut about my sexuality. I hadn’teven told my best friend Chaz because queer dudes didn’t step foot on a football field, and I’d had big plans since grade school and the talent to achieve them.
I had wanted a new start outside my hometown. To pave a path toward a winning season. Make a name for myself before retiring and figure out how to enjoy life off the gridiron because that was where most of my joy came from. While I’d managed to tick off that first goal of leaving no-man’s land, everything else had gotten tipped off a cliff where jagged rocks had shattered my dreams.
