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She peeks over her shoulder. “Really?”
“My therapist said it would help.” I swallow, glancing across the water. “Coping after the accident. We didn’t know if I’d regain the use of my legs, so it was an emotional time.”
She stops rowing, and twists at the waist to face me. “Will you tell me about the accident?”
I scrape my fingers along the back of my neck. Will I? Should I?
“If you don’t want to, I understand.” She turns back around, and dips the oars into the water. “But I just want to know you. All of you. Even the parts you think I shouldn’t.”
Maybe it’s because she’s not facing me, or looking into my eyes.
Or maybe I want to see her reaction. To know if she’ll judge me.
Whatever the reason, I tell her.
“I was at a bar after the Super Bowl. The team liked to party, and we were always fired up after a win, but this was huge. It wasn’t in our hometown though, so we weren’t surrounded by fans who were happy with our victory. It was a particularly rowdy crowd that night. I should’ve known better. I should’ve left with some of the guys when they called it a night and went back to the hotel. But I didn’t. I kept drinking, and ended up getting into a fight with a local. He mouthed off to me about the game, and it escalated from there. He threw the first punch, and I just lost it. I beat the guy pretty badly.”
I take a deep breath, bracing myself as the moment replays in my head for the first time in a long time. “I was walking away, thinking the fight was over. But the guy got up and charged at me. I landed on top of a chair we’d knocked over, and bent back in an awkward way. Between the weight of the guy on top of me, and the way I landed ...” I shake my head, still mad at myself after all this time. “I was young, and stupid. A hothead. But I knew better than to behave like that. It was selfish. I acted like a privileged prick, and threw my entire career down the drain over some idiot in a bar. I let down my team. I let down my fans.” I pause. “I let down myself.”
Charly stops rowing, but she doesn’t turn around.
“You wanted to know why I got so defensive when I thought you were afraid of me? After word got out about the fight, the media said I was a monster. The guy’s bruised face was all over every newspaper and TV screen. And my ex sold my story to a reporter. She got paid for it, and twisted everything around. She said I was dangerous, that I was a loose cannon who couldn’t be trusted because of my temper.” I look down at my legs. “Meanwhile, I was living in the spinal unit in the hospital being told I would never walk again.”
Edward rests his head in my lap, and I scratch behind his ears. “I made a mistake. A bad judgment call. But it’s one that has lifelong implications. I’m no better than the woman who drove drunk, and crashed into my parents’ car.”
“That’s not true. You’re both alive, so you got a second chance.” Charly turns around, steadying herself as the canoe rocks. “You’re lucky in that regard.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Feels like part of me died that night. I lost the most important thing in the world.”
“Football.”
I nod. “I became obsessed with proving the doctors wrong. People told me I was crazy, but I needed something to look forward to. Something to work towards. Something to focus on. I needed something from my former life. And after I recovered, I started training. I even told myself Coach would take me back if I could get back to the way I was before the accident. But in the end, I was scared of stepping back on that field, and re-injuring myself or ending up paralyzed for good. So, I never played again.”
“That must have been incredibly hard to walk away from. It was more than the game. It was your hopes and dreams. Your future.” She meets my eyes for a brief moment. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“Thank you for listening.”
Charly rows in silence for the next few minutes, her eyes scanning the water. I’d love to ask what she’s thinking—what she’s really thinking, and not saying. But I don’t.
I gesture to the sandbar behind her. “Row us to land, and we can have lunch.”
When we get to shore, I set my cooler on the sand. I lay out a red and white checkered table cloth, and set out several containers of food for our picnic lunch.
When Charly finishes taking pictures of the seascape, she turns around and gapes. “You packed a picnic?”
“Not just any picnic.” I hold up my index finger. “A New York-themed picnic. Manhattan clam chowder, pastrami on rye mini-sandwiches, and New York cheesecake bites for dessert.”
She covers her mouth with her hands. “Bryce, I can’t believe you did all this for me.”
I glance down at the food. “I wanted to bring a little piece of home here for you.”
I know how it feels to miss your home—what it once was, what it used to represent before tragedy struck, and it was changed forever.
She kneels down on the table cloth beside me, locking her watery eyes on mine. “I appreciate this more than you will ever know. You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me.”
Doesn’t she know? She’s exactly the kind of person I should go through all this trouble for.
I adjust the brim of my baseball hat, and hand her a thermos. “The chowder should still be hot.”
