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“Sorry, pumpkin. Let’s go get you a snack.”
“Don’t forget, I get a bath too!” For some reason, Hope loved baths in the middle of the day. She wasn’t satisfied until rainbow-colored bubbles filled the tub.
Bebe led her daughter across the yard toward their home. It was practically identical to the Walkers’ except the exterior had been painted slate gray. She glanced back, giving the Walker residence one more look.
Jahleel Walker.
Funny how a day could turn out completely different than it had started. Would he be okay?Why do you care? You haven’t talked to him in twelve years.Your best friend ghosted you to chase a football.
Yet she couldn’t help but identify with returning home feeling broken. After all, she’d been back in the coastal town of Peachwood Bay for three years now, still feeling a little lost. Bebe sighed and walked inside her childhood home—the one she rented from her folks.
Being back home had helped lessen the shock of her divorce. Too bad it hadn’t removed the lingering disappointment or the stench of failure. It didn’t help that Hope still wished for some type of relationship with her father—simply showing up for her birthday party would thrill her. Instead, Will’s idea of a good relationship with his child was to letmoney do the talking. Bebe prayed Hope’s disappointment would ease as she got ready to celebrate another birthday and Christmas without her father. Even though Will was slated to take Hope for the holiday, Bebe knew the other shoe would drop. It always did with him.
At least the Walkers were finally all together for the holiday season. A first in almost eight years. The speed with which Jahleel had walked—or rather lack of speed—spoke of a long recovery.
Guess you should’ve watched his Thanksgiving game after all.
Jahleel groaned as his eyelids tried to flutter open. The painkillers were giving him messed-up dreams. Visions of Oompa-Loompas and Whos dancing with Buddy the Elf lingered in his mind. He’d obviously watched too many Christmas movies lately.
Once more he tried to open his eyes to pull himself from the drug-induced nap. He sighed, thankful when the residual sleep slowly eked away. His eyes took in his surroundings. Pale blue walls. Football posters of Hall of Famers. Shelves lined with sports trophies.
Great.
Apparently some of his dream had been true. He was back in his hometown. Back in the bed he’d slept in for eighteen years. Of all the times to injure himself, it had to be during the Atlanta Falcons game, within driving distance of Peachwood Bay.
As he looked around the room, clarity returned, and he recalled the events leading up to this point. The doctors hadn’t wanted him flying right after surgery, since his knee needed to be elevated as often as possible. So returning to Texas had quickly been crossed off his list of options. Since his parents had been watching the game when he made hisglorious catch, they’d seen his dismal fall. And surprisingly enough, they’d rushed to the hospital in Atlanta. His mom had been waiting in his room the moment he was wheeled in from recovery.
At least the Desperados had beaten the Falcons.
A small grin appeared, then disappeared just as quickly. A win got the team one step closer to the playoffs, but now he lay here, sidelined by a blown-out knee. No way he’d be ready for the playoffs—or the Super Bowl, if the team managed to get that far—considering recovery was at least six months, if not longer. An ache filled his chest, and a ball of hurt filled his throat.
Why me?
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed. Jahleel glanced at his watch.3:00 p.m.Apparently the painkillers were more potent than he’d realized. The drive down the coast remained a blur. He sat up and groaned as pain radiated from his right knee. Had he sat up too suddenly? The immobilizer should have prevented him from jostling the injury. Instead, the brace weighed his leg down and added to the pain.
Jahleel willed his mind to ignore the hurt. Instead, he focused on the slight movements going on in his empty stomach. Food sounded good right about now. He searched for his crutches and frowned.Who placed them beside the door?They were at least nine feet away. What sense did that make?
Before he could complain, the bedroom door opened.
And the hits keep on coming.
“Good. You’re awake.”
Jahleel swallowed. There wasn’t much he wanted to say to his father. The silence that had spanned between them over the last eight years had been wonderful. Carefree.Guilt-free. No one telling him to take up the mantle to preach because apparently a life of ministry was theonlyway Obadiah Walker believed his son could serve God. But if theLord gave Jahleel the talent to play football, wouldn’t he be doing Him a disservice not to use that talent? The argument never persuaded his father, so Jahleel had stopped speaking in hopes his actions would back his words. Now he couldn’t even achieve his Super Bowl dream this year.
He braced himself for his father’s impending lecture. The man could write a book on criticizing a disappointing child.
“Your mama made some food. You feel like eating?”
“Yes, sir.” Jahleel’s lips barely moved as he aimed for a poker face.
“Good. I’ll have her bring it in. You still like shrimp and grits, or is that toocommonfor your taste?”
Hit one.
His father failed to remember that Jahleel hadneverlooked down on his upbringing. He gritted his teeth. “That’s just fine.”
“Humph. We’ll see how long that lasts.”
