Page 6 of Returning Your Love
Yeah, that shit only happened in the movies, and I didn’t deserve a happy ride into the sunset after what I’d done,notdone, and had fantasized over.
“Why are you parking all the way back here?” Shelly muttered yet another complaint.
Leave it to my wife to question every goddamned thing I did.
Ignoring her, I slammed the truck into park at the back of the lot and threw open my door.
She continued to bitch beneath her breath about the long walk to Frenchie’s entrance.
Secrets aside, I needed to keep my heart out of whatever type of friendship Jamie and I ended up hopefully rekindling after his absence. No way in hell I could handle more stress in my life.
Chapter 3
Jamie
Iwas not in the mood to go to Frenchie’s and put on a front, acting like I was happy to be home. Also didn’t feel up to accepting condolences for lost dreams, seeing pity in people’s eyes, or being asked what I would do now that the NFL was no longer in my future.
Because I didn’t fucking know, and even attempting to consider a new plan made me depressed as hell.
I’d rather have stayed holed up in my old bedroom at Dad’s since being a nudist in his house wasn’t an option, and my balls only swung free behind closed doors. Since arriving back here, I’d done nothing but sprawl on my too-small twin bed and feel sorry for myself. I couldn’t wait for August and the high school football season’s start that would keep me busy and tired enough that my brain would shut down at the end of every day.
But someone had insisted on throwing a welcome home/retirement party—Coach Bernard—because the old guy was proud as fuck of his favorite past player who’d gone on to those bigger and better things. Never mind he couldn’t wait to hit the road for the southwest.
I agreed to go to Frenchie’s on this muggy July night for his sake rather than to meeting up with old friends or makingnew ones. While I’d committed to coaching the upcoming season for our tiny high school in the hopes I would find some sense of purpose again, I didn’t have plans to stick around long afterward.
Wasn’t sure I would be able to.
Life would be miserable enough having to see Chaz and Shelly together. Even worse, their hanging all over each other when I wanted to be the one kissing Chaz’s lips and littering his neck with hickies for the world to see.
But what else could I do? I’d chosen to return to Pippen Creek in order to have some sort of football in my life, and I would make the most of it while I could.
I’ve got this.
Stitching a smile onto my face at my motto ringing in my ears, I pushed into the thankfully air-conditioned and only bar in town. It had recently been bought by a woman named Frenchie and her wife, Iris. According to Dad, they were Mrs. Grumpy and Mrs. Sunshine. One glance through the massive crowd to the bar on my right revealed who was who.
Both appeared to be in their fifties, and while Frenchie had long graying hair and an icy blue gaze, her wife sported a short, spiky blue haircut, smiling brown eyes focused on me. Regardless of their opposite natures, they both hollered out a, “Welcome to Frenchie’s!” as the door shut behind me, wrapping my overheated body in coolness.
My arrival drew attention, and my smile faltered as dozens of heads swiveled my way. Sweat beaded on my forehead for a whole different reason.
“The man of the hour!” Coach Bernard hopped up from his stool and pushed past people to be the first to greet me. “Welcome home, son,” he said fondly, wrapping me up in his arms. Nostalgia made my eyes sting.
I’d put on some serious muscle weight since high school, so his barrel-chested mass could no longer lift me up off my feet like he used to, but we both chuckled, caught up in the reunion.
“Congrats on finally retiring, old man,” I replied with a teasing tone, slapping him on the back.
He laughed loudly, making it clear he’d already been celebrating for a while. Clasping my shoulder, he turned toward the rest of the crowded bar. “Jamie Forester, everyone!”
As if they didn’t know who I was.
Forcing my grin to stick in place rather than grimacing, I followed along where he led, allowing my old coach to reintroduce me to every patron in the room, bragging about my stats from the greatest rookie season ever.
Damn, did I wish he spoke truth.
While I appreciated his enthusiasm over what would have been a killer rookie season had I not gotten injured, I wanted to escape the crowd and attention focused on me. Being on the field with thousands of eyes watching me run plays had only ever psyched me up and pushed me to do better.
Now?
I felt like a damned anomaly on stage at some carnival freak show while everyone stared. My skin itched. Pulse thrummed. I kept glancing around like a skittish cat needing a way out even though the people were kind and smiling.
