“Hey!” I held up my hands. “I don’t make the rules, sweet cheeks. I’m just a regular run-of-the-mill hero.”
“He really is,” Gabi said. How long had she been standing there? “That poor little boy would have died. Can you imagine what that would have done to that father? After losing his wife? It was amazing, Ian. Don’t sell yourself short. You saved his life, at the risk of losing yours. I still can’t get over the phone call from Lex when he said to get to the hospital. They said you were hemorrhaging, and—”
“That’s enough, Gabs,” I said softly, though something that felt a hell of a lot like anger was burning me from the inside out, making me want to escape. But with a bum leg, all I could do is sit there and listen to her paint me out to be the hero I knew I’d never be.
Yeah. I’d saved that kid’s life.
Yeah. They called me a hero.
But what kind of selfish prick’s first thought after he sees his teammates go to the Super Bowl is “I should have let the car hit him”?
“The drug dealer has returned.” Lex burst into the yard and tossed a pill bottle into my hands.
“Don’t you mean Lex Luthor?” Blake laughed, easing some of the tension. Her hand reached for mine and locked on.
She didn’t let go.
She should have let go.
Because something, in that moment, snapped into focus. Even Gabi wasn’t aware of the demons that still haunted me, but something told me Blake was more than aware of what it would be like to lose the very thing that had been holding you together your entire life.
Losing football was more than losing my identity.
Some days, it felt like I’d lost my soul.
“Gabs . . .” Blake cleared her throat. “Is the food ready?”
“Oh!” Gabi shot to her feet. “Sorry, guys, yeah—the plates are inside. You want to eat out here or at the table?”
“Outside,” Blake and I said in unison.
Gabi was silent, like she was examining both of us and about ready to come up with some stupid conclusion about the reason we were both acting funny. Thank God for Lex.
“Woma-an,” Lex growled. “Stop being”—he shoved her toward the door—“you. Just for, like, two seconds. Food. It’s only food. They want to eat outside, we let them eat outside. Also, you promised pie. I don’t smell any pie.”
“Correction. I said I’d buy you pie, not bake one for you. If you want to marry your mother, just do it, Lex.”
“It better be apple,” he grumbled before the screen door slammed behind him. He returned quickly with both of our plates and whispered under his breath, “I’ll take care of the terrorist, but you owe me.”
“Thanks, man.” I laughed as he disappeared back into the house and screamed, “Stella!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
We finished our food in silence. The painkillers were starting to kick in, making it easier to enjoy my meal without grimacing every time I shifted my leg. Layered clouds in pinks and reds streamed across the sky.
“It’s getting late.” Blake took my plate into the house and returned with a giant piece of pie.
“I think”—I took the plate from her and basically shoved half the pie in my mouth before finishing my thought—“I may get hurt again if this is the response I get.”
“Hah.” Her eyes homed in on my mouth. “You have some . . . apple . . .”
“Saving it.”
“Then it’s in the perfect spot, Superman.”
“God, I’d kill for a woman to call me that in bed.”
“How about you lie on your bed . . .”
A smile so wide it hurt spread across my face.
“With your clothes on . . .”
The dream popped, and my smile left. I pointed a finger at her. “You’re no fun.”
She smirked. “And when I call you Superman, you pretend that it’s because of your amazing sexual skills and not the fact that you really are a hero.”
“Not a hero.” The pie suddenly went dry in my throat, and I had to work to get it down. “I think that’s the worst part. People called me a hero, still do sometimes. It makes me feel . . . guilty. And pretty unworthy. Here I am, bitter about not being able to play football, and the kid could have died.”
“In a way,” Blake said, her voice just above a whisper, “you sort of did.”
I jerked my head in her direction. “What did you say?”
She took my plate and sighed, her shoulders hunching a bit, like she did when she felt nervous or embarrassed. “You lost part of what made you you. That would be like me working my entire life to go to the Olympics for volleyball, only to get hurt the day before the plane was supposed to take off.”