Page 4 of Cruel Love

“It’s because we’re nineteen and in college now.” My brother held my gaze without flinching.

The evidence was right in front of me but still so hard to believe. We had just been at the state championship game, freshman year of high school. I struggled to understand how I’d lost five years of my life. I couldn’t figure out how to wrap my head around it. I had so many questions.

Pain sliced through my temples like someone was trying to split my head open with a knife. I pushed the heels of my hands to my forehead, desperate to stop the agony that hit me every time I attempted to understand, to remember. I tried to hide it from my family. I couldn’t always.

But my brother was there without Mom or the doctor, so I could ask questions. “Tell me about the accident.”

Shane shrugged then dropped into the chair beside my hospital bed. “Not much to tell. We were in a Jeep. Ran a red light and got T-boned. You were in the back with Aspen.” He ran his hands over his face, but his eyes took on that crazy look he got when he was at a loss and couldn’t control what was happening. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed and that the kid survived.”

“What kid?”

Shane’s eyes got wide, and he opened and closed mouth. “Ah, the one who hit us.”

I stared at my brother hard, trying to figure out what he wasn’t telling me. The debilitating pain returned with a vengeance as I tried to remember when we got hit.

“You should see how shitty you look.”

I went with the subject change, not because I didn’t want the answers but because it hurt too damn much. Maybe, as the doc said, my memories would return on their own. But as each day passed, I was losing hope.

A flash of light went off, and I blinked Shane back into focus. “What the hell, man?” Then he turned his phone around, and I got the first glimpse of how fucked up I was. The painkillers I’d been on after waking had made things fuzzy, and I hadn’t bothered to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Besides, I could barely go in there without help. It was goddammed embarrassing.

I took his phone from him, studying how swollen my face was. I didn’t look like myself. “What the fuck?” It was freaking me out.

“The meds and the holes they had to drill in your fat fucking head to relieve the swelling in your brain are why you look like hell.”

“Thanks for that.” I handed his phone back. “Is all that going to impact football?” I lived for football. I loved my family, but the game gave me purpose, and I knew I wouldn’t be okay without it.

He shrugged. “It shouldn’t. You just need to work on getting better.” He blinked and looked away for a second.

Me being all fucked up and in the hospital was hard on everyone, and that didn’t escape me. Part of me wanted to get out. The other was afraid of what I’d go home to. “I’m on the team. A starter?” I didn’t even know that. It made me feel helpless.

“Yeah, McAffrey is back while you’re out. No one is happy about it. Coach has me on D for the most part. And”—he grinned—“I love it.”

“You’re a beast. I can see why you’re on D.”

“I’ve broken the record already for the most QB sacks.”

I laughed. “Good thing we’re on the same team. I hope we get picked up in the draft by the same team. It would be too weird to go against you… or our cousins.” I wanted us to stay together, like always. Being in the hospital was making me feel isolated, and I didn’t like it.

“I can’t even think about the NFL. If Grandad has his way, I won’t be going.” He looked tired, and I noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “He’s been working me to death. He thinks I need to start stepping up and fix things at the properties or make deliveries to the teams doing renovations every minute I’m not in class or practicing. Other gofer stuff too.” He held my gaze. “Stay in the hospital as long as you can.”

We talked for another half hour, but when he got a text, he said he had to go, and I was as alone as anyone could be in a hospital. What Shane had said about Grandad felt like an answer I’d been searching for, but I couldn’t figure out why.

Not only that, but his griping didn’t make sense. Grandad bent over backward to help us while running a busy and profitable company. He encouraged us to follow our dreams and knew we wanted to go into the NFL. Maybe he and Shane had gotten into an argument. None of it made sense.

I needed my memory back. There were too many holes in what he’d told me about the accident, and the same went for our cousins, Cole and Damon. Everyone was guarded and obviously dancing around the truth. I knew they had to be hiding something huge. I was partly afraid they would tell me I had been driving, even though Shane said I was in the back with that hot chick, Aspen. Still, nobody would answer my questions, and it freaked me out.

One of the nurses came in, checked my vitals, then asked if I needed anything. I didn’t, not that she could give me anything anyway. I’d only been out of my medically induced coma for a few days. Thinking about it blew my mind.

I strapped on the Velcro wrist weights that Shane had brought me. They were the lightest set we had. But I felt weak as hell—I’d been lying there for a month. I was set to begin physical therapy the next day, but I wanted to do something now.

I couldn’t believe how huge my arms were. Everything was. Five years had brought a lot of changes. I wasn’t a beast like Shane, but as a quarterback, I wasn’t expected to bulk up to that extent. I would get back in shape. If nothing else, I needed to play. It motivated me.

There were too many things Shane, Cole, Damon, Mom, and the doctors wouldn’t tell me when I asked. They kept saying I needed to be patient and let my mind heal, but fuck that. Exercise was the one thing I could control. I could get my strength back and leave that place. I wanted back in the game.

My phone rang as I finished my stupid light shoulder presses. I undid the Velcro and picked it up with shaking hands. Ridiculous. I had to get my body back to how it had been. I assumed I’d been in great shape before the accident

A glance at the screen told me it was that Aspen chick. I had a new phone because mine had been trashed in the accident, and Shane had only programmed in a few numbers—family and Aspen. He said he’d done it so I wouldn’t have to deal with punt bunnies and randos who might have had my number. The phone continued to ring. Mom had said Aspen and I were friends, so I answered. Whether or not we were friends, she was hot.

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