Even though I feel terrible that James hasn’t been talking to his father, it eases some of the tension in my belly, hearing that Sebastian understands what I’m going through.
“The thing is,” I say, “I don’t disagree with him. James is meant to play football. I don’t want to stand in the way of that.”
“Still,” he says. “He shouldn’t have gone behind his back like that. James is terrified he’s going to lose you because of him.”
“Not because of him.” I bite my lip. “I just don’t know if I could live with myself if he does something like that again, only with an entire career on the line. If he ruined things for himself, because of me, for me… it’s just…”
Sebastian reaches across the table and takes my hand. He squeezes it tightly. I look up at him with surprise. “You think you don’t deserve him.”
I feel myself flush. “Maybe.”
“You know that my father played for the Reds.”
“Yeah.”
“So I had a lot of privilege, growing up. It wasn’t like I came from nothing. But when I first moved in with the Callahans... I felt like I didn’t deserve any of it. My parents had just died, I thought the whole world was over. And suddenly I had this whole new life, with brothers and a little sister and a new set of parents.” He withdraws his hand, settling back into the booth, and huffs out a quiet laugh. “I was angry at everything in the whole fucking world. It didn’t matter to me that my dad had been best friends with Richard. I wanted out. The first week at my new school, I provoked an eighth grader into a fight. I was a tiny sixth grader, mind you. He was twice my size. Two punches and I lost whatever element of surprise I went into the brawl with.”
I smile at the thought of a little eleven-year-old Sebastian in his private school uniform, throwing a punch. “What happened?”
“James saw it and jumped in. Cooper was right on his heels. It didn’t matter to them that I was this new kid, taking up their parents’ attention. Their parents told them I was their brother, so they were ready to defend me no matter what. I’d been nothing but shitty to them since the funeral, and they didn’t care. Not then. Not when I needed their help.”
I blink, and a tear streaks down my face. “That sounds like James.”
“Sandra picked us all up after—we got suspended, the three of us, mind you—and I broke down. I hadn’t cried at all at the funeral, and suddenly I was bawling with a paper towel up my nose because it was still bleeding.” He laughs again, shaking his head. “James put his arm around me, and I don’t think he even said anything, but I got what he meant. We were best friends after that. It took me a lot longer to truly get comfortable calling them my brothers, but from that point on, we were inseparable. I didn’t ask James or Coop to help me. They would’ve done in even if two seconds before, I’d told them I hated them.
“James is going to put the people he loves before anything else whether you want him to or not, Bex. I’m not saying there shouldn’t be balance, I guess, but you shouldn’t feel bad about what he did. He did it because he loves you, and I think he’d do it again. Don’t push him away for being who he is. How he’s always been, even if Richard would wish he wasn’t, sometimes.”
“How did you realize you’re worth it?” I blurt. The moment the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Talk about pathetic. But it’s been running through my mind ever since the game. James might love me, he might do anything for me, but am I worth it? Am I worth losing a football game? Risking a suspension?
Sebastian looks thoughtful; he doesn’t laugh. “You really think you’re not?”
“I don’t know.” I drop my gaze to the table. My cooling coffee hasn’t been touched since we sat down. “Maybe.”
“I don’t know what to tell you to make you realize what you deserve,” he says slowly. “What I do know is that you’re smart, you’re wicked talented, and one day, I’d love to call you my sister-in-law. If you decide that’s what you want too, then I hope you find a way to work things out with him.”
I wipe at my eyes. “Thanks, Seb.”
“Believe in him,” he says. “He wouldn’t have done it if he thought you weren’t.”
44
JAMES
Cooper comes into my bedroom without knocking, flopping himself on my bed. I suppress an eye roll.
“Hey,” he says, poking my thigh.
“Hey.” I don’t look up from my computer. “Didn’t we talk about knocking after that time you walked in on me and Bex?”
“It’s not like she’s around right now.”
That makes me look at him. “Seriously, man?”
“You’ve been moping for a week. Why haven’t you gone to talk to her?”
“Because she won’t listen.” I scrub my hand over my face. I’ve had this exact conversation with myself a million times since Atlanta, so repeating it with Cooper isn’t high on the list of things I want to do right now. “She said she wanted space, so I’m trying to give her space.”
He peers over at my computer. “Um, what the hell is that?”
I shove at his shoulder. “Stop being so fucking nosy.”
“A master’s program? To become a teacher?” He looks at me with emotion blazing in his blue eyes. “Tell me you’re not about to fucking do what I think you’re about to do.”
“If I have to pick, I’d pick her. So maybe instead of football, I can teach and coach somewhere around here. If she really wants to stick with the diner, I’d rather be there with her than off somewhere else alone. Playing football isn’t worth losing her. It just isn’t.”
Cooper starts shaking his head before I finish speaking. “No. Come on.” He shuts my computer and walks over to my closet, taking out my coat and tossing it at me. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Home.”
I scramble to my feet. “I’m not talking to Dad right now.”
“Maybe not, but you should talk to Mom.”
“What?”
“Let’s go talk to Mom.” He checks his phone. “If we leave now, we’ll get there in time for lunch. Come on. You’re not becoming a fucking teacher or working at a diner or whatever the fuck you think you’re going to be happy doing.”
Part of me—a big fucking part of me—wants to resist further, but I know Mom likes Bex. Maybe there’s something she can say that will help me get her back. And honestly, I miss her. I haven’t seen her since Atlanta.
“Fine. But I’m doing this because she always wants us to visit more.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”
We roll up to the house in time for lunch, just like Cooper predicted. Dad is actually away—a fact Cooper knew but neglected to mention, the ass—playing a charity golf tournament in Arizona, so it’s just Mom in the house. She opens the door with surprise written all over her face, pulling us into one gigantic hug, and ushers us to the kitchen.
“Do you want soup?” she says. “It feels like a soup kind of day. Shelley made these delicious little rolls, too.” She pats Cooper’s beard, tutting. “You should cut this, honey.”
“I’m a hockey player,” Cooper protests. “This is my natural state.”
“At least trim it.”
I raise an eyebrow when he turns to me for support. “You know how I feel about it.”
“You’re no help at all,” he grouses. “What kind of soup is it?”
A couple minutes later, we settle at the table with bowls of potato leek soup and sourdough rolls. Mom leans over and squeezes my forearm, a sympathetic set to her mouth. “How are you? How’s Bex?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “We haven’t spoken.”
She sighs as she leans back, busying herself with her soup. “I was afraid you’d say that. Do you know if she’s going to report that—pardon my language—scumbag?”
I suppress a smile as I take a sip of soup. “I don’t know. I hope she does. She wanted space, so I’ve been giving her space.”
“He’s not just giving her space,” Cooper interjects. “He’s moping in his room and researching how to become a math teacher.”
“Why?” Her eyes widen. “Oh, sweetie. No.”
I set down my spoon, looking her in the eyes. Of the three of her children, not one of us got her brown eyes, but hers remind me of Bex’s, just as warm and comforting. Fuck, a week and a half without her has been torture. “If this is what I need to do to keep her, then it’s what I’m going to do.”
“Did she ask you to stop playing?”
“No, but—”
“Then that’s not the answer.”
“Thank you,” Coop mutters into his soup.
“But I don’t know if I can do both.” Admitting this hurts, but I force myself through it. “I know Dad has always wanted me to just focus on football, but I love her, and I choose her. If I can’t be there for her when I need to be because of my job—if I can’t focus on both at once, or let myself get distracted when I’m supposed to be playing—”
“James,” she interrupts. “What do you remember about your childhood?”
“What?”