Page 71 of The P*ssy Next Door
She stood up and walked toward the front door but blew me a kiss along the way. “I got you, boo.”
My Willa, she understood me better than I did myself. Because she didn't just walk away from me to wallow in my self-fucking-pity like a lot of people would have. She'd already called in backup.
On cue, the doorbell rang, and Willa, already there, answered it. All six of my brothers stood on my front porch, their arms laden with snacks and video games, and Willa gave me a wink and a wave as she headed out to work.
Chris held the door open as the rest of them filed in like the god damned marching band. “Willa called and said we needed to come over and pull your head out of your asshole.”
I tried for a quarter of a second to open my mouth to protest, but Declan gave me one of those grumpy looks. “Don't make me smack you upside the head and give you another concussion. We're here to fucking cheer you up.”
Flynn slapped a bottle of some healthy kombucha or something weird into my hand while he popped open a beer. “What's up, cracker head? Ready to get your ass whupped at Mario Kart?”
“Alright, little bro,” Everett said, plopping down on the couch beside me. “Time for some good old-fashioned distraction therapy.”
Isak already had the game queued up, and Gryff, who was the undefeated champion at this game, even let me be Mario. But an impromptu video game session was not going to cheer me up. I guessed it might distract me from the downward fear spiral.
And it worked for a few hours.
But it wasn't long before my head was pounding and I struggled to hold the controller with my injured arm, my fingers fumbling over the buttons. The frustration welled up inside me like a tidal wave.
“Damn it!” I growled, throwing the controller down as my character died for the tenth time in a row. “This is pointless. I can't even play a stupid video game.”
Declan and Everett exchanged a worried glance, but it was Chris who spoke up, his voice gentle. “Hayes, it's okay. This isn't your first injury, kid, and it won't be your last. We've all been there. You're still healing. No one expects you to be at the top of any game right now.”
I laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. Sure, we'd all had injuries before, but through the grace of the universe and the new and improved technology of helmets, none of us had ever had a serious concussion. So they hadn't been here before. I was the only one. “That's the problem, isn't it? I'm not at the top of my game. I'm not even in the game. I'm just fucking… useless.”
My vision began to blur, and I realized with a start that it wasn't just from the headache that was now pounding behind my eyes. Tears were welling up, hot and stinging, and I couldn't even fucking wipe them away.
“Okay, boys, I think it's time to call it a day.” My father's voice cut through the tense silence, calm but firm. I hadn’t even noticed him come in. “Let me have some time with Hayes.”
My brothers filed out, each one pausing to give me a quick hug or a pat on the back. When the door clicked shut behind them, I finally let the tears fall, my shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Dad sat down beside me, his presence solid and comforting. He didn't say anything at first, just let me cry it out, his hand a steady pressure on my back.
When I finally pulled myself together, he stood up, making his way to the kitchen. “You hungry?”
I shrugged, wincing as the movement pulled at my injured shoulder. “Not really.”
He nodded, pulling ingredients out of the fridge. “I'll make your favorite. Spaghetti and meatballs, just like your mom used to make.”
The mention of my mother sent a fresh wave of grief washing over me, but it was tinged with warmth, with love. She'd always known how to make everything better, even on the darkest of days.
As Dad cooked, the familiar scents filling the kitchen, I found myself talking, the words pouring out of me in a rush.
“I was scared, Dad. When I woke up in that hospital, when they told me about the concussion, the shoulder... I thought that was it. I thought I'd lost everything.”
He hummed, stirring the sauce with a thoughtful expression. “You know, back in my day, I was known as one of the meanest linemen in the League. I cracked my fair share of heads, maybe even ended a few careers.”
I looked up, surprised. Of course Dad talked about his playing days, about the toll the game had taken on his body and mind. But I'd never heard him say anything like this.
“But you know what I realized after I retired?” He turned to face me, his eyes soft. “Football isn't everything. It's a big part of who I am, who we are, sure, but it's not the only thing.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I don't know who I am without it. I don't... I don't want to let you down, Dad.”
He crossed the room in two strides, pulling me into a fierce hug. “Hayes, listen to me. You could never let me down. You're my son, and I am so damn proud of the man you've become.”
I clung to him, my face buried in his chest like I was a little boy again. “But all I've ever wanted was to be like you, to make you proud.”
Dad pulled back, gently cupping the back of my neck. “Hayes, you are so much more than just a football player. You're brilliant, kind, compassionate. You could do anything you set your mind to, and I would be just as proud of you.”