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I nod and shrug. Maybe, maybe not. I think. I always stop therapy when it starts working. When I stop feeling guilty. When I start feeling better. I don’t think I deserve that. I don’t want to feel better. Pain is more familiar, and I wallow in it.
“Look, I cannot fathom what it was like for you back then. And, well, I’m not going to pretend I can fathom what it is like for you now. I watched my sister go through shit with our parents, but the outside world seemed to accept her as gay, or I just had blinders on because I thought she hung the moon, and she protected me from all the ugliness. And with my choices now…I know Brady, Devyn and I have been remarkably lucky because of this team, this family. You are part of that family. You are safe here.”
I know he’s right about most of that. I still have my doubts about how Brady will react, though. We’ve kept this hidden from him for so long. And although Levi has graciously included me as family in this situation, Carter is Brady’s actual family. He’ll forgive Carter for this. But will he forgive me?
We stay quiet, and I ponder Levi’s words. Safe here. I catch sight of my battered face and blood-spattered shirt in the mirror on the other side of the treatment room. We certainly can’t carry on like this anymore.
“Did it ever occur to you after all this time that what happened was not your fault?” Levi says. I turn back to face him. “And I know you don’t want to hear this, but it wasn’t Carter’s fault, either.”
Dammit, I know deep down he’s right. But there is one part of this story that remains hidden. As far as Levi knows, Carter and I hadn’t seen each other for decades. Levi wasn’t around when Casey died. He wasn’t at that funeral.
Chapter four
SEVEN YEARS AGO
“You okay?” I ask. I bow my head and shake it. “I’m sorry, that might be the most asinine question I’ve ever asked you.”
Brady smiles and tips his chin. “Possibly.”
He lets out a sigh and stares out over his expansive patio to the golf course, where I’m guessing he’d rather be at the moment. I wait for him to speak next if he wants. We allow the silence to settle over us, only the hushed whispers of condolences floating out of the back doors of the house.
“You know, in a way, I actually am… okay,” he glances my way and back out to the sloping, perfectly manicured greens. “If that makes sense.”
I furrow my brow, not sure where he was heading at first, and then it clicked. Casey, his wife, died of cancer. It had been a battle to the bitter end and lasted several years. These final six months had been horrific for Brady. For Casey. For all of us.
“She doesn’t have to fight anymore. She’s at peace now,” he says.
I nod again, even though he’s not looking at me. “Now maybe you can find some, too.”
He smiles at that. He places a hand on my shoulder and heads toward the house. I turn and watch him go. If anyone deserves some peace in this world, it is Brady Michaels. He has been everyone’s rock, everyone’s pillar as long as I’ve known him. He latched onto me when we met as assistant coaches in Phoenix, and then he dragged me to Colorado with him when he was named head coach. It didn’t take any arm twisting. We work perfectly together. We’ve always been in sync with what the team needs, what type of player from personality to skills. He knows what he wants, and I know how to spot it.
I scan the open door, glancing into the house. People are filtering out, saying their goodbyes and final condolences.
I want to do that too. I want to escape.
Devyn, the team PR director, is still here. She’ll stay until the end. Possibly longer.
Nobody will notice if I leave. I’ve been here all afternoon and still somehow managed to avoid him. Probably because he seems just as interested in avoiding me, which is a very, very good thing. Just because I’ve escaped the possibility of a confrontation, or even an acknowledgment of his existence, that doesn’t mean every fiber of my being hasn’t felt his presence here today. I just have to strategize my way through the house… or maybe I can sneak around the side to the front gate.
I stop and exhale. I know before I even see him, my window of opportunity just slammed shut. And he is the one who slammed it.
Dammit!
Did I seriously think I could make it through the entire funeral and reception without having to confront him? Well, yes, actually, I did think that. Until this point, he had shown no interest in acknowledging me, either. Which was more than fine with me. And yet now, now here he stands, in all his glory, leaning against the doorjamb, staring at me.
He takes a small sip of the whiskey in his hand, shoves himself off the door, and steps out onto the patio. Those long legs striding toward me. His suit jacket long since removed, tie loosened, sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up… and those damn round tortoise shell glasses still perched atop his narrow nose.
Funerals.
The last time I laid eyes on Carter Hughes was at another funeral, one neither of us was welcome at. A funeral we had to attend from afar, off skulking in the damn trees. We were essentially kids then. Kids without a clue how to handle what had just happened.
Hell. It’s been decades since that funeral, and yet… it feels like yesterday. At times the gut-wrenching pain races through my body like an out-of-control wildfire. Like it is doing right now. Just because I am sharing the same fucking air that he is.
Did I really expect I could be as much a part of Brady’s life as I am and never once cross paths with Carter? I chuckle to myself, because, in my endless state of denial, that is precisely what I believed.
“Davis,” he says. The use of my real name sets my pulse pounding. I hate that name. He used it once before and it had the same effect back then. I hated it then. I hate it more now. The way it drips from his lips, smooth as the whiskey in his glass. I hate it because from him, it stirs things inside me.
You knew this would happen. The voice inside my head was saying. And I did know. I should have been prepared. I was prepared. It’s not like I expected not to feel anything. But preparing for this. Steeling myself to be near him and keep my cool. Expecting it and handling the reality of it are two very different things.
