The gut-wrenching sob that gets everyone’s attention comes from me. I can’t recall a time in my life when I have ever emitted such a sound like this, not even when I thought I tore my ACL in high school. My reaction then was purely out of fear and frustration. My response now is all out of heartbreak. I grip the end of her bed to steady myself, to keep my legs upright when all they want to do is collapse, but Elle’s arms wrap around me and I sag into her.

My mother is there too, helping Elle hold me up so I don’t fall on top of her. She whispers that everything is okay, but I know it’s not. Peyton looks nothing like the girl I watched grow up into a beautiful woman. Her face is swollen and bruised. Her long brunette hair is missing on one side. And arms that have held me more times than I can count are bandaged and laying at her side, unmoving.

“What happened to her?” The words are barely spoken but heard loud and clear by everyone.

“The truck hit her head on, Noah. You need to tell her goodbye,” my mom says as her tears dampen the side of my cheek, at least I thought they were hers until she wipes my face, clearing mine away.

I shake my head. “I won’t. That was a promise we made to each other years ago.”

“She’s leaving us, Noah. You have to tell her it’s okay to go be with our father,” Elle begs me to do the unthinkable, but I still refuse. It’s a long-standing thing between us. We never say goodbye unless we’re singing Bon Jovi’s song. I don’t remember how it started, but I remember the last time she tried to say it and I wouldn’t let her.

Seeing Peyton’s number flash on my screen shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. We haven’t spoken in months, not because we’re mad at each other, but because I’ve been busy and she’s been trying to give me the space I need to get acclimatized to the NFL. I’m in my second year, and there are times when I still find myself shaking in my cleats. I’m getting better, but… well, I’m always going to have doubts that I’m not good enough.

“Noah,” Alex Moore calls my name, taking my attention away from my ringing phone. I send Peyton to voicemail and rush over to where Alex is standing with two women. Dread washes over me the closer I get. Since the Portland Pioneers drafted me, he has been trying to set me up with anything that crosses his path. Of course it only works if the babe he’s interested in has a friend, otherwise he’s not willing to share.

“What’s up,” I say to Alex as we shake hands and the two women stand there watching. I try not to look at either of them. It’s not that I’m playing hard to get or that I’m not interested, it’s because more often than not, they’re only interested in one thing. This was something I witnessed first hand when it came to my dad and his career. There was always someone who didn’t give a shit that he was married or that Betty Paige and I were with him. They’d hit on him, throw themselves at him or proposition him, always promising him something better than what he had at home. How my mom could put up with that, I never knew or understood until my senior year in college.

The team was really good that year and suddenly I was the most popular guy on campus, at least during the fall. It was as if I was an overnight sensation. Not only was I the starting quarterback, but also Liam Page’s son and that made me the most eligible man on campus, meaning women were throwing themselves at me. I entertained a few, but none that I wanted to bring home to my parents.

When I was drafted, the attention from the opposite sex grew exponentially. It’s everywhere I go. If I’m at the store, the gas station, walking down the street or even running out onto the field, I can hear them calling my name, telling me that they love me.

My father always told me to never say it back unless I meant it. He said that while fans love you because you bring a certain amount of joy to their lives, you appreciate them. The word love is to be saved for the people that mean the most in your life. I have always heeded his words and aside from my parents, sister, and grandparents I haven’t told anyone that I loved them. Not even my high school girlfriends.

Alex introduces me to his new friends, Sabrina and Sadie, both of whom are models. He suggests that we go out on the town and before I can respond, my phone rings again.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” I say as I step away from Alex and the women. I can hear him grumbling as I walk away, but that’s par for the course with him. He’s all about one thing and usually has no problem achieving his goal.

Looking quickly down at my phone, Peyton’s name and number are there. She usually leaves a message, knowing I’ll call her back, but not this time. I don’t know whether I should be concerned or not.

“Hey.”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asks. That is how she normally starts our conversation, always conscious that I might be in the middle of something or about to become busy. There was a time in college when I would drop everything to talk to her, but those days quickly faded when I was drafted. Even in college, I would drop everything when she would call, often pissing off whatever girlfriend I had at the time. They were jealous of her and it didn’t matter that I told them they had nothing to worry about, they never believed me.

“Just got done working out. What’s up?”

“My prom is this week.”

“Ah, joyous time. Remember to smile nice and bright for your mom.”

“I don’t have a date,” she says, rendering me speechless. It’s not that guys don’t ask her out, they do all the time because Quinn fills me in, so I’m a little flabbergasted by her statement.

“How is that possible?”

She sighs and I swear I hear her sniffle. “Stupid Diana told everyone that you’re taking me to prom and even though I told everyone that wasn’t the case, no one asked me and now everyone has a date.”

Diana Jenkins has been a thorn in our sides for as long as I can remember. Her mother moved to town after she became infatuated with my dad’s band. Diana immediately tried to submerge herself into our tight-knit group. It didn’t go so well and she’s been a pain ever since.

“When is prom?”

When she gives me the date, I cringe. It’s at the end of the week. I pull my phone away and open the calendar app to check and see what I have going on this weekend. Thankfully, I’m free and can’t believe what I’m about to do.

“Do you have a dress?”

“Yes, why?” she asks.

“I need to know the color so I can match my bow tie.”

“Noah,” she drags my name out. “I didn’t call and tell you this because I need you to take me to prom. I need to know how to handle my mom because when I tell her, she isn’t going to be very happy. In fact, she may cry and you know how I am when she cries.”

It’s how we all are. Growing up I never knew Katelyn to be a crier until Quinn started high school then she went on this mom kick where everything was documented and he, along with the twins, had to partake in every rite of passage. Thankfully, the age difference between us meant I got off free of having to do anything I didn’t want to, not that my mother didn’t try and force me.

“Peyton, I want to take you to prom. In fact, I’d be honored.”

“No, Noah. People will bug you for your autograph. I don’t want that for you.”

“It’s too late, I already ordered my tux.” It’s a lie, but one that she’ll buy.

“Noah,” she whines. I already know what’s going on in her head. She has held our friendship close to her heart and more so since she arrived at high school and I was in college.

“I want to do this, Peyton.”

“You won’t be mad?” she asks.

“At you? Never in a million years. Be ready for the time of your life.”

“I gotta run.”

“Okay, well goo--”

“Don’t say it, Peyton. It’s our deal, remember?”

“Only because of that stupid song.”

“You love it and we’ll dance to it at prom. See you soon.”

As soon as I hang up I text my mom and tell her I need a tuxedo and to have it at the house for Saturday. Like any other mother, she asks me why and I tell her that I’m coming home to take Peyton to prom. I know for a fact that Peyton won’t tell anyone because she feels like she’s bothering me. Someday, I hope that she realizes that she never is.

I go back to Alex and the two ladies, who I thought would’ve left by now and try to engage in a conversation with them. My mom, dad, and Katelyn are all texting me and instead of being rude and answering them, I toss my phone into my bag so I can’t feel it vibrating.

Alex suggests we all go out and grab dinner, I agree and offer to drive until Alex pulls me aside.

“You take Sabrina. I’m getting vibes from Sadie.”

Of course he is. I pat him on the shoulder. “No problem.”

“Sabrina, looks like you’re riding with me,” I say, much to Alex’s dismay.

“Real smooth, Westbury.”

I flip him off before motioning for Sabrina to follow me out to my SUV. I thought about getting a sports car like a few of my teammates but didn’t feel secure enough in one, plus there is never enough room to carry my stuff. I open the door for her and wait for her to climb in before shutting it and going to the back to put my bag back there. I’m hoping that she’s far enough away that the stench of my gym clothes won’t make her sick.

“Sorry about earlier,” I tell her. “I had to take a call from home.”

“Girlfriend?” she asks, rather unabashedly.

I shake my head. “Not exactly.” It was hard to explain what Peyton was to me because I always felt in limbo with her. We were friends, best friends in fact, but there were times when I wanted more but was too afraid to proceed. It’s not that I thought she’d turn me down, but more so of how Katelyn and Harrison would feel. Our age difference as of right now is a bit much I think socially. I know my agent would have a field day if I started dating an eighteen-year-old so I tell myself I’m going to wait until she’s twenty-one.

“What does that mean?” she asks as I pull out onto the road behind Alex.

“I don’t know. I have always had feelings for this girl I grew up with. They started when I was about fifteen, but she’s much younger than I am and the timing isn’t right.”

“Are you waiting for her?”

I shake my head. “No, I’ve dated and had semi-steady relationships, but those women didn’t like her or like that I’m there whenever she needs me. She’s my best friend.” I don’t know why, but I find myself telling this poor woman everything.

“Wow, she must be some girl.”

“She is.”

And she still is. Deep down I think she’s the reason why I haven’t asked Dessie to marry me yet because I’m holding out hope that Peyton is going to tell me someday that she wants to be with me.

But looking at her now, I don’t know if we’ll ever get the chance. My heart breaks thinking that we’ve wasted two years when we could’ve been together. The night of her prom, the night everything really changed for us, is when I should’ve asked her to be mine, but she was so excited about college and finally being away from everything in Beaumont that I couldn’t bring myself to put the pressure of a long distance relationship on her. And now it may be too late.