Page 65 of Returning Your Love
Dad’s hands paused in cutting into his chicken breast, and he cast a glance my way, one eyebrow raised. Red crept up his face and clear over his bald head he attempted to hide behind that ridiculous comb-over. “Excuseme?”
Talk about a patronizing-as-fuck tone. Shouldn’t he have been a little more sensitive considering Iwasrecently widowed?
It had taken having my entire existence turned upside down for me to finally find some balls, and I. Was. Done.
“No.” I set down my fork and whipped my cloth napkin off my lap, tossing it onto my barely touched plate. “I don’t think I will excuse your words or condescension. While I appreciate you taking care of Shelly’s wake and being laid to rest, I’m twenty-four, not ten, and like you said, a widow. Pretty sure that means I’m a goddamned adult who can make his own decisions. Thanks for dinner, Mom, but I’m not hungry. I’ll see myself out.”
“Charles Clifford Henderson!”
I ignored Dad and stalked up the hallway, grabbed my coat off the rack in the entryway, and shrugged it on.
Mom sat silent as usual. Anything to keep the peace.
Rather than storming outside like a pissed off teen as I was sure Dad expected, I shut the door quietly at my back, leaving them both behind.
A weight shuddered off my shoulders, and I stomped down the stoop, something that felt a lot like another shot of pride simmering inside me.
For half a second, I’d been tempted to spill the truth of Shelly’s affair and her pregnancy—that would have shut Dad up for sure—but I didn’t want to tarnish her reputation. I also wasn’t so selfish to use her sins to make me look better in eyes that would never see me as anything other than a failure.
Most likely, Dad would have pointed out she’d committed adultery because I hadn’t paid her enough attention, just like Shelly had complained to Mom about.
Nope. I was done and didn’t need someone reiterating what I already knew deep in my marrow.
I might not have been capable of forgiving myself and moving forward, but at least I’d taken a step in the right direction. It had felt damned good too.
Perhaps I would find even more freedom in doing what Jamie had suggested…talking to someone and hopefully rousing the will to keep persevering in whatever life that would offer me a sense of purpose. While I didn’t believe I deserved happiness, I would be content, at least, with that.
Chapter 23
Jamie
Chaz never called, so I assumed dinner with his parents had passed uneventfully. I texted twice over the weekend and never heard back. I’d thought we had some sort of a breakthrough, him coming out to Frenchie’s, but his silence suggested he still wanted space.
I continued to send him daily messages telling him I was thinking about him and had an ear if he ever needed someone to talk to.
With every day wondering over how he fared and hating the distance between us, I found the football practice laborious. Pretty much everything became more of a drag than enjoyment, even working out. Coach Dave managed to keep the kids upbeat while I struggled to focus. Depression crept in stronger as I struggled to hold onto that sense of purpose I thought I’d found in Pippen Creek. Why did I stay when Chaz clearly didn’t want me around?
A complete week of silence on his end, and I slouched in Coach Bernard’s office, still unable to call it mine even though a new whistle hung around my neck on his iconic, frayed, red cord. The kids had cleared out after practice, and I sat alone, staring at some plays Coach Dave had jotted down in scribbled, black ink.
He should have taken over as head coach, and I began to question not remaining in Boston to carve out a new life for myself far from where I’d known nothing but heartache awaited me.
Knee aching, I stretched my leg out and rubbed the tenderness from having pushed a little too hard during my leg workout earlier in the day.
A bark of laughter reached my ears, and I strained to listen, having thought for sure I’d been left alone in my misery. Sure enough, I caught a quiet murmur of voices a few seconds later.
Ready for the meatloaf and baked potatoes Dad had texted me sat waiting in the oven, I decided to head out and clear the locker room on my way.
“Come here,” someone whispered.
The quiet command sounded so much like me that I had to smile, but I pulled up short when I rounded a row of lockers.
Josh grasped Kyle’s neck and yanked him in, their mouths meeting eagerly.
I stood silent, unsure if I should sneak back how I’d come or?—
“Shit.” Kyle jerked away from Josh, the blood draining from his face as he caught sight of me. “It’s n-not what it looks like!” he hastily sputtered.
“Kyle.” Josh’s low tone only caused his best friend to shake his head, eyes growing wild with fear.
