Bottom line, until ten seconds ago when my sister just dropped a bomb on my heart, I thought the wounds from my accident were healed. I thought my mental work was done. But is she right? Do I not let myself hope for more out of life?
My mind races not just to Nathan, but to the studio. I’ve been so unwilling to work toward making any dreams come true concerning it. Now that Lily has pointed it out, it’s almost as if I can hear my hope screaming from a locked closet in my heart. I want that non-profit space more than anything, but I’ve been terrified to hope for it. I want Nathan, but I’m petrified to lose him.
I can see that my sister is right, but I don’t know how to snap my fingers and change the way I feel. My scars remind me of that crushing disappointment I felt at seventeen and how hard it was to piece myself back together afterward. I don’t want to go through that again. So yeah, maybe I’m missing a little bit of hope, but to me, it’s a small price to pay to avoid shattering again.
As far as Nathan and I are concerned, I just need to hold on and get through this fake relationship until we go back to BFFs who don’t touch. Then, after that, I’ll be open to starting a new relationship with someone else where I won’t have so much to lose.
“Mr. Donelson!” A voice calls out to me when I get out of my truck. I turn toward Bree’s dance studio and see a teenage boy standing outside the door that leads to the pizza parlor’s kitchen below the studio.
“Who is that? Who’s yelling your name?” my mom asks from my phone, which I’ve been on for fifteen minutes now. I wouldn’t mind talking to her if she wanted to actually talk with me. Instead, it’s a long droning speech about all the ways she thinks I could enhance my image （I’ll give you a hint, a children’s golf day at her country club was mentioned） and then nitpicking every move of my last game. On the rare occasions when she does ask to hear about my week, I always get the feeling she’s really only fishing for ways she can comment on what I’m doing wrong. Bottom line, I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut about my private life, and I’ll give her about ten more seconds before I end the call and avoid her other attempts at communication for another week.
“Just a fan I think,” I tell her, squinting toward the teen about twenty yards away.
“There’s a fan in the training facility?” Her voice is getting annoyingly high. She’s winding up to release a critical comment.
I shut my truck door, raise my hand, and give the kid a quick wave. “No, I’m not at the facility right now. Practice ended a little early today because of a meeting our coaches had to attend, so I’m dropping by Bree’s studio.”
There’s silence followed by her lightly clearing her throat. “Do you really think it’s wise to be taking extra time away from your training when you’re so close to another playoff game this weekend? Maybe you should have spent that extra time with your physical therapist, or—”
“I’m a grown man as well as a professional athlete. I can handle my own training schedule.” Wow, that felt good to say. Also, it feels like something I shouldn’t have to voice out loud.
She lets out an offended scoff. “Well, excuse me for trying to help you succeed.”
“Cutting out an hour early one day out of the season to spend time with Bree is hardly going to interfere with my success.” Ever since Bree and I started “dating” （she doesn’t know it’s fake）， my mom has been making lots of passive aggressive comments about Bree. She can make digs about my game or nutrition or looking pudgy in a magazine spread all she wants, but I won’t put up with a single word against Bree.
“Oh honey, don’t fool yourself. That girl has been interfering with your success since you were in high school. I saw you almost throw it all away for her back then, and I won’t watch you do it a second time.”
I stop walking and turn away from the teen—who is currently poised to intercept me with a napkin and a pen—so he doesn’t get to hear what I say to my mom next. “First, she’s a woman, not a girl. Second, yeah, if she would have let me, I would have stayed home for her in a heartbeat back then. I still would. Football will never be as important to me as she is, so you can either support my relationship with Bree or forfeit a relationship with me. Your call, but just know I won’t budge on this.”