Page 72 of The P*ssy Next Door

I said the thing I didn't want to. “What if setting my mind to it and working hard isn't enough to get me back in the game?”

He gave a small nod acknowledging the pain I was admitting to. “Then so be it. To be honest, I sort of thought you'd do something else with that big brain of yours. You used to love to build things, and I don't know if you noticed, but you're kind of a genius. Grow some funny hair and you could be Albert Einstein.”

I blinked, stunned. “But I thought... I thought football was what you wanted for me, for all of us.”

He sighed, regret flickering across his face. “When your mom died, I did the best I could to raise you boys on my own. Being on the field with me was the only way I knew I could keep this family together without her. But I never meant for you to think that football was your only option, your only worth.”

Damn it. I was going to start crying again.

“You did good, Dad. You gave us all a way to stick together.” I didn't know if any of us had ever told him that. It could not have been easy to raise seven rowdy boys and one princess all by himself.

“You kids turned out all right.” He cleared his throat and handed me a plate.

We sat down to eat, the spaghetti and meatballs just as delicious as I remembered, and that storm cloud hovering over me wasn't quite as dark for the first time since my injury. I was just going back for seconds when Willa came home, with her dad in tow.

“Mr. Rosemount,” I said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He gave me a small smile, his eyes tired but warm, and he shook my dad's hand. “I came to apologize, Hayes. For the way my family has treated you and Willa. It wasn't right, and I'm sorry I didn't step in sooner.”

What the shit? I knew something had gone down with her and her brother at Christmas, but I'd been so wrapped up in myself, I hadn't asked her about it.

Willa's hand found mine, her fingers intertwining with my own. “I didn't tell you because I was busy making sure you weren't dead, but... I didn't make it to your game on Christmas. I came straight to the hospital from kicking my brother's ass and having a real blow out with my mom.”

Jesus. I'd been a shitty man baby of a boyfriend. I should have known this. “Babe, I'm so sorry. I wish I hadn't been so whiny this week that you didn't feel like you could tell me. This is major.”

“No, I don't want you to feel sorry about that. I wasn't really ready to talk about it yet. But Dad's been coming to the coffee shop this week to help out, and we had a really good talk today.”

“Babe, that's great.”

“I figured if I could call your family to come help you out, I should be able to call mine to help me.” She looked up at her dad with a new, different smile. “I've never really done that before.”

Mr. Rosemount nodded, his expression serious. “I'm sorry to both of you that you had to avoid our family instead of feeling loved and supported by us.”

He looked over at my dad. “I thought I was raising a son more like your boys, but I failed Xander somewhere along the way. I'm not sure when that happened, but I realized it when I saw your family together that day at the game and mine didn't even want to do something fun together.”

He clapped me on the shoulder, his grip firm. “You're a good man, Hayes. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I'm glad Willa found you.”

I was incredibly glad too. I really did need to pull my head out of my asshole, so I never let her down again the way I had this week.

The next day, I headed into the practice facility to see the doc and the trainers. I knew they weren't going to clear me to play and not being able to travel with the team was going to fucking suck.

We went through the whole barrage of tests to see how the recovery was going, and it wasn't good news.

“I'm ready to move on phase two, Doc. I can do some light activity. I know I can.” I was not spending another week staring at the ceiling.

The team’s head doc looked around me to the two other trainers who I'd be working with. “Look, Kingman. Every concussion is different, and the recovery plans aren't some standardized list of do this and you're better. You've still got a ways to go before that. I'll upgrade you to light stretching and walks. That's it.”

Fuck.

“I can't get better if I can't do the work to get better.”

“This is the work, kid.” He wrote something on his clipboard and shook his head at me. “You guys think I don't know you push through pain all the time. But there's a difference between being hurt and being injured. You push too hard, and you'll end up putting yourself out for the rest of the season, not just a couple of games. The last thing the team or I want is you on the injured reserves list.”

Injured reserves. The fucking death knell of any pro player.

How the hell had I gone from the best rookie the League had ever seen to sitting on the fucking sidelines?

“See the trainers to stretch your arm, and then go home and rest. And I mean it when I say light activity. That does not mean working out, no running, absolutely no impact of any kind. Don't even think about trying to catch a ball, you hear me?”