Page 103 of Almost

Reece looks at me in surprise as if I don’t understand why he wants to leave. “Why would I feel guilty? I didn’t hit him with the car.”

“I didn’t, either, but I still feel guilty as hell,” I admit to him, and he looks at me skeptically. God, this guy is only six years younger than me, but it feels like I’m talking to a kid instead of one of my teammates. I thought Reece and I hadgotten past the hump of awkwardness after he came to dinner with Thalia, Penelope, and Chris, but I guess not.

“You do?”

I scratch the back of my neck because it feels weird talking about this with someone other than Thalia and my therapist. “Because he saved my girl instead of saving himself, and because I get to be out here, while Owen sits in a hospital day after day. He was a great player, and an even better friend. I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I do. Life is too short and the best thing you can do is play your heart out while you can. Don’t feel guilty, Reece.”

“All I’ve ever wanted is to play professional football, but I wanted to earn it. I don’t feel like I earned the position getting it this way,” he says, shoving his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

“My rookie season, our starting quarterback got hit with a season ending injury a few weeks in. I got thrust into the starting spot, and I was scared shitless. I’ll never forget what he told me when I went in:you earned it by being drafted by the team, but what you do now is how you prove you deserve to be here with us.”

Reece nods, letting my words process in his brain. “I remember your rookie season. All the guys on my high school team thought you were going to choke.”

I laugh easily, because I definitely thought the same thing. “I messed up plenty of times that season, but my team always had my back. We’ll have yours too.” I hear my name called in the background, and I look over my shoulder to see who called it, but it doesn’t matter who because Owen is crutching away as fast as he can. “Oh shit,” I swear, jogging past everyone to catch up to him before he falls.

“Owen, come on. We don’t have to go yet,” I say, grabbing his arm just as his crutch slips. He stumbles, falling into my side. “Are you okay?” I ask, and Owen pushes me back, leaning heavily on the one crutch.

I reach down to grab the crutch, offering it to him, and now I’m seriously concerned he might hit me with it. “Fuck you! I didn’t want to come here. You know better than anyone what football meant to me, and I’m never going to play again. I’m never going to be the person you all want me to be; I wanted to try, but maybe this is who I am now. Why would you think forcing me to come here—looking at everything I once had—would help me? This is the last place I want to be!” His voice trembles with anger as he yells in my face.

“I am trying to help you! I hate that you won’t play again, but this is still your team! Did you know that they come and sit at the hospital, hoping that you’ll let them come back to see you? For eight weeks, they have not stopped showing up for you when you can’t even show up for yourself. What part of that are you not getting? You don’t have to be this bitter, angry person. That’s a choice you’re making!” I respond, my anger bubbling over.

“I am bitter and angry. I lost everything!” he yells, loud enough that everyone can hear. I don’t give a shit, though. If he wants to have it out here, then we can have it out here.

I drag my hands through my hair, shaking my head at him. “Except you haven’t lost everything! You have people who love and care about you despite you trying your best to push everyone away. You’realive. You didn’t die when that car hit you, but don’t you dare say you’ve lost everything. I pray to God you don’t know what it feels like.”

Owen shakes his head at me, his shoulders sinking in defeat. “That’s what you don’t get, Sebastian. I do feel like I died when I was hit. Maybe it would have been better if I had.”

I have never heard the stadium so quiet, Owen’s admission echoing through the air. All the blood drains from my face, and I can’t…I can’t look at him. “Then you tell your wife that. You can tell your parents and Thalia that because you can’t play football anymore, you’d rather be dead than here with them.”

I walk away from him and head in the direction of the car, leaning against the side to wait for Owen to come out. What Owen said really threw me. I pushed him too far, too fast by bringing him here.

The worst part is, I’m not sure if he actually feels that way, or if he’s saying it because he’s upset, but either way…Owen needs help. Regardless of whether he meant it or not, I have to tell Blake, and I’m really not looking forward to having that conversation.

I’m not sure how long I stand there waiting for Owen, but I don’t have it in me to go another round with him.

I hear him before I see him, his crutches making a distinct sound on the concrete. Owen’s breathing is labored, and a part of me feels bad he had to walk back here by himself. He stops a few feet away, catching his breath, and I steel myself for whatever venom is bound to come from his mouth, opening the car door for him.

“Bash, can you wait?”

“If you’re going to tell me again how miserable you are…don’t. I already know,” I say tiredly, but Owen shakes his head.

“I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been myself, but thank you for trying.” He takes a shaky breath, looking down at his mangled leg on full display in his shorts so he can wear the brace to stabilize the ligaments. “I am angry, and I think I have every right to be, but I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry,” he says slowly, looking me in the eyes. “I need help. I don’t like feeling like this.”

“Okay,” I say, offering him a smile. “We can get you help.”

Owen looks over his shoulder at the stadium, devastation filling his features. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Owen. You’re family, and you don’t give up on family.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Thalia

“MORE FLOWERS? IS that really necessary?” I ask, smiling at him in the mirror as I put on my new diamond drop earrings he gave me for my birthday a few weeks ago.

Bash leans against the door frame, holding a bouquet of pink peonies in his hand. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”