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Pleased, I kissed her forehead. “Better.”
As I inhaled an intoxicating lungful of her jasmine fragrance, my greedy cock came right back to attention, but I ignored it. That took major effort, but this was important.
“Bliss,” she mumbled, but I heard her. “Temporary insanity.”
She let out a soft exhale, and her arms came up around me. Her embrace after almost shutting me down felt as monumental as connecting with Zack for the final touchdown that won us the Super Bowl.
“The way you dance,” I said, continuing to lay it out like I saw it. That was being real, right? “The look on your face when you’re moving to music, it’s obvious you love it. Was there a time, after you were injured, that you wondered if you’d ever be able to dance again?”
She nodded. Tears regathered.
“Must have been really fucking scary.”
That was how I felt knowing there would come a time, sooner than I was prepared for, when I’d have to give up playing football. Who I was and what I wanted apart from the game, the time to figure it out was now.
“Waking up after the surgery,” she said, darkness shadowing the gleam of silver in her gaze, “seeing the look on the doctor’s face, that was scary.” Her chin dropped. “But learning they were gone was worse.”
“Who was gone?” I asked softly and gently tipped up her chin. Seeing the whirlwind of pain in her eyes, I braced.
“My family,” she whispered. A tear fell, then another, stars plucked out of the sky. “My parents and my sister died in the crash that only injured me.”
Fucking hell. This explained her pain. It was similar to mine, but not the same.
I searched my heart for words. I wanted to say something, anything to make her feel better. Fuck, if I knew what. But I had to try.
“What you went through,” I said, “what it took for you to survive, I can’t even imagine the strength required, but I know you have it. I understand now why you seem much older.” I skimmed my fingertips over her cheekbone. “How old were you when you lost them?”
“Eighteen,” she said. “I was a senior in high school.”
“I’m so, so sorry, Electra.” I swiped the spilled tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. I was naked, but knew she felt more exposed than I did.
“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.” That unextinguishable spark flared in her eyes.
“I don’t. Far from it,” I said sharply. When life took what you cherished most, leaving you alone, you either found the strength inside yourself to go on, or you didn’t go on. Those were your only choices. “But you don’t get to dictate what I feel.”
She stiffened.
“My father did that,” I said, rushing to explain, gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Tried to control me and my emotions.”
“What?” She tilted her pretty head.
“If you follow sports closely, you’d know most of the details.”
I fingered the soft strand I’d captured. Staring at it, I gave voice to a deep-rooted pain that made me feel vulnerable. Being brave, I put myself out there. I was scared, but I wanted to be real with her like she’d been with me.
“But that’s only a small part of it,” I said.
Her scar told people something terrible had happened, but the unseen damage was often worse.
Releasing the strand, I took a step back and pushed an agitated hand through my own hair. “My old man wanted me to be what he named me.” I lifted my gaze and gave it to her straight. “From the time I was born, he trained me to play football. To be the best.” I shook my head. “I wasn’t a son to him; I was an instrument.”
“I didn’t know that.” She placed her hand on my forearm.
Forcing myself to relax, I inhaled deeply and exhaled through my nose.
“No social life, no unsanctioned activities or friendships, no actual feelings.” Bitterness that had festered within me for years soured my tone. “Nothing was allowable unless it made me a better football player. He honed me physically to a razor’s edge that carved everything else worth having from my life.”
I thought of that road not taken in high school, that child lost. My heart twisted.
