I don’t like the sound of that. At all. “But your bothers are over ten years older than you. They could have killed you.”
Gray’s voice slows like he’s forcing the words out. “Endless drills. Hard tackles. All acceptable. They got off on it. Axel didn’t really, but he was small too. What could he do?”
I stay silent and let him talk.
“I don’t think Dad really knew though. That Jonas and Leif liked to pummel me off the field too. Or maybe he did.” He shakes his head. “Who the fuck knows? When I complained, I was lectured. ‘Football isn’t for whiners or quitters. Buckle up, buttercup. Back to work.’ And so on.”
“How can you love the game?” I whisper.
His hand clenches mine. “I don’t know. But I do. Because when I’m out there doing my thing, I forget all about them. It’s my game, and I own it. I don’t know… It’s the control amidst the chaos. Same with math. There are rules, boundaries, numbers. Patterns run. Victories won by inches. It gives me joy. That’s fucked up, isn’t it?”
He looks at me then, his eyes haunted.
“No. I get it. I ought to resent sports like Fi does. It took our dad from us. Ruined my parents’ marriage. But I love it.”
He nods but lets my hand go to grip the steering wheel. “I hate my brothers. Always have. Hate my father too for letting them do that to me, either by direction or ignoring it.”
“And your mom?” I shouldn’t ask but can’t help it. “Did she know?”
His face goes utterly blank, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “I never told her.” A ragged breath leaves him. “Because what if I did, and she…” He glares out the window.
“What if she didn’t stop them?”
A bare nod is his answer.
God, I want to hug him. But I don’t move, not knowing if he can handle it right now.
“I feel like shit for thinking that. Because my mom was awesome to me. Kind, caring, patient.” He snorts. “I have no fucking clue what she saw in my dad. They met at some college staff mixer. He was a visiting head coach, and she was a Norwegian exchange student finishing up her post-graduate degree. Mom always claimed that Dad charmed her into following him anywhere.”
Gray shakes his head as if disgusted. “When she got sick, though, it was my job to look after her. Dad couldn’t handle it. My brothers didn’t want to. My brothers hated me for Mom too,” he whispers. “I was her favorite. Her baby.”
I think of a teenage Gray forced to watch his mom slowly die and not have any help from the rest of his family. “I bet you were an awesome caregiver,” I tell him softly.
He snorts again and leans back against the seat, blinking up at the ceiling. “I left her alone to die.”
The rain patters against the hood of the truck, and the radio softly plays on.
“What do you mean?” I finally ask.
“She died alone.” He closes his eyes. “I left her.”
“You mean she died when you weren’t there? Gray, that happens sometimes—”
“No, I did it on purpose.” His eyes squeeze tight. “My mom… We both knew it was coming. That she was near the end. The state championship game was that Saturday. I wasn’t going, no way. But she took my hand and said I had to go. For her. The thing is…” He swallows hard, his throat visibly convulsing. “I knew what she was saying. I knew she didn’t want me to see her die. That it would be too hard for her if I was watching. And I…”
He presses a hand over his eyes. “I couldn’t do it, Mac. I ran from that room like a coward. Went to that game like a coward. Because I couldn’t watch her go.”
I can’t hold back anymore. I slide over and put my arms around him, drawing his big body close. Woodenly, he leans into me, trembling. His face burrows against my hair, and he takes shaking breaths. “My dad fucking hated me for that. I was supposed to watch over her.”
“He should have been there,” I say, barely containing my anger. “She was his wife.”