Chapter Twenty-Five

Ethan

I wake up at ten, my arm searching the bed for Becca, but then I remember she's not here. I find my phone on the nightstand to call her. But just as I'm about to, another call comes in. I don't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Ethan? Ethan Baxter?"

"Yeah, who's this?"

"Lisa Canfield, Kasey and Emily's mom. I'm sorry to bother you but Emily just told me she'd called you."

"Um, yeah. A few weeks ago."

"I'm sorry she did that. It wasn't appropriate."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"She's been having such a hard time since losing Kasey. We all have." 

The pain in her voice slices through me like a knife. Fuck, it hurts.

I did this. I took her daughter away. And now her whole family is suffering.

"I'm so sorry," I say. "I know that doesn't help, but I really am sorry. I can't imagine what you're going through."

"I feel the same way about you. I've been worried about you, Ethan. I can't imagine how horrific it was to be trapped there with..." Her voice cracks and I hear her quietly sobbing.

Shit. What do I do? What do I say?

She sniffles. "Forgive me. I don't mean to break down. It's just whenever I think of that night..."

"I know. Me too." I rub my hand over my face and feel wetness. Tears. I quickly wipe them away.

"If there's anything I can do for you, please let me know."

Do for ME? Is she serious? I'm the reason her daughter is dead. If anything, I should be doing something for HER, and I would if I knew what to do. I'd do anything to take her pain away.

"I don't want to take up your time," she says. "I just wanted to let you know that I've talked to Emily and she won't be calling you again."

"Really, it's fine. Don't worry about it." I pause, remembering that call with Emily and how she couldn't stop crying. "Is she doing any better?"

"Unfortunately, no. We have her in counseling but it doesn't seem to help. Every night, she cries herself to sleep. Emily loved Kasey so much. We all did." Her voice cracks and I hear her quietly crying.

God, I can't take this. It's too much. But I can't just hang up.

"I should go." She sniffles. "Take care, Ethan."

She ends the call but I can't get the sound of her crying out of my head. A mother's cry over the loss of her child has gotta be the worst kind ever. The agony in her voice. I'll never forget it.

As I set my phone down, there's a loud knock on my door. It must be Jackson.

"What do you need?" I yell through the door.

"Coach is here."

Coach? What the hell is he doing here on a Sunday?

"Ethan, can I come in?" Coach barks in his loud deep voice.

"Hold on." I'm only wearing boxers so I get up and find some basketball shorts and put them on, then answer the door.

"You just get up?" Coach asks, looking at my messed-up hair.

"Yeah." I run my hand through my hair. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you. Let's go out back."

"Is something wrong?"

"No. It's good news, actually. But I don't want to talk in your room." He glances behind me. "Is your girlfriend here?"

"No. She's at home."

Jackson walks by, shirtless, a towel around his waist. Cami is following him, wearing his t-shirt.

Coach glances back at them and shakes his head. "I told him before he got here to cut down on the partying. He's here for a day and already back at it."

"I tried to stop him but he insisted on having people over."

"Do you know how much he drank?"

"I wasn't keeping track. Becca and I hung out inside. The party was out back."

"You're still not drinking?"

"No, and I don't plan to."

He smiles. "You got a good head on your shoulders, Baxter. Wish the other guys were like you."

Like me? The guy who lets his friends die? Is he serious?

He keeps talking but all I can hear is the sound of Kasey's mom crying, another memory that will haunt me.

"Ethan." Coach grabs hold of my arm.

I shake the memory away. "Yeah."

"Something wrong?"

I look at him. "No. Nothing. Let's go outside." I go past him, not stopping until I reach the patio. I set my crutches down and we take a seat at the table that still has cups on it from last night. "So what's this about?"

"Got a call yesterday from a scout. He was calling about you."

"And? What did he say?"

"He asked when you'd be playing again. I told him maybe midseason, earlier depending on how things go."

"We don't know that yet."

"No, but that's true of any athlete with an injury. The scouts understand that." He leans back and laces his hands over his stomach. "Anyway, he said there's been a lot of talk about you. They're still thinking you'll go in the first round, especially if you prove yourself on the field."

"Even if I can play, my leg's not going to be in good enough shape to play Iike I did before."

"They're more concerned about how you throw. They know your leg needs more time, but as long as you can throw the ball, you're still a top prospect."

"What teams are we talking about here?"

"I'm keeping that to myself for now. Just know that it's big. We're talking a major contract. And then there's the endorsements. I'm already hearing rumors that at least two big endorsements could be coming your way."

"Why the sudden interest?"

"Because you've got a story. Everyone's calling you the comeback kid. You survived a major car accident and now you're back in training. After what happened, you could've taken a different path. Got hooked on pain pills. Alcohol. But instead you kept clean. Companies love that, and you've got the talent and good looks that sell products. You're going to be a very rich young man, Ethan."

That should make me happy. Freaking over-the-top happy. But instead I feel sick. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve any of it. The money. The endorsements. The fame.

Three people are dead. Three people I could've saved. They'll never be able to live out their dreams. And here I am living mine, about to make more money than I could ever spend.

How can I feel good about that? How can I feel happy? All I feel is guilt, weighing me down, filling me with anger.

"I have to go." I quickly gather my crutches and stand up.

"Ethan, what are you doing?" Coach stands up. "Where are you going?"

"I have something to do. Are we done here?"

"Um, yes, I suppose that's all. I'll call your father later today with the news."

"No. Don't. I don't want him involved in this."

"But he keeps asking me—"

"I don't care. Don't answer his calls. I'm sure he already knows they're talking about me. He's probably already calculating his commission."

"Ethan, wait." Coach holds the door open for me as I go in the house. "Aren't you happy about this?"

"I am, I just...I can't talk right now."

"But I'll see you at the gym tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah." I go down the hall to my room and shut the door. Tossing my crutches aside, I hop on one leg over to my bed. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, and the damn memories come flashing back. I see Jason on the field, then in the locker room, acting like an idiot. He was always joking around, making people laugh. He was a good person. Honest. The type of guy everyone likes. And he was in love. He was going to propose to Lyndsay. He had his whole life planned. He should've been able to live it but now he can't, because I didn't stop him from driving that night. Why didn't I stop him?

"Fuck." I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my palms over my face, trying to get rid of the memories, but they remain there, along with the sound of Kasey's mom quietly sobbing on the phone.

How can I do this? How can I go on and live a life filled with fame and fortune when I don't deserve it?

There's a knock on the door. "Ethan?"

It's Becca. What's she doing here? She said she wouldn't be over until tonight.

"Ethan, can I come in?"

I don't want to see her. Not now. I need to think. Not only about my life and my career but about Becca. I don't know what I'm doing with her. She's kind, generous, loving, beautiful, thoughtful, and a thousand times better than me. I don't deserve her.

But I love her. I tell myself I don't but the truth is I do. So if I love her, why am I dragging her into this? Into the dark chaos and confusion that is now my life? It's not fair to her. Am I just being selfish? Keeping her around because I don't want to let her go?

I'm so damn confused.

"Ethan?" She opens the door enough to see me sitting on the bed. "There you are. I wasn't sure if you were in here." She smiles and comes over to sit beside me. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I guess I didn't hear you." My heart's pounding and my breaths are short and shallow. I'm still stressed from that call, and then coach showing up here.

"What are you doing here?"

She laughs. "I came to surprise you. Is that a problem?" She climbs onto my lap and kisses me.

I want to kiss her back but I can't. It doesn't feel right. I'm too on edge. Too overwhelmed. I need time to process all that's happened this morning and I can't do it with Becca here.

"You're not going to kiss me?" She smiles and kisses me again. "Is this some kind of game? Ethan plays hard to get?" She laughs a little. "If so, then I'm up for it. Does that mean I get to be in charge?"

Her hand goes over my bare chest, then down to the waistband of my shorts.

"Stop," I mutter.

I'm numb, my body not even reacting to what she's doing to me.

"What?" She leans back and looks at me.

"Stop touching me. I need you to leave."

She's quiet, studying my face, which I'm sure shows nothing. No expression. No emotion. Because that's how I feel right now. I've shut down. I feel nothing.

"Ethan, what's going on?"

"Leave. Please." I sound like a robot, my voice expressing the numbness I feel inside.

"Tell me what's wrong." Her voice is quiet, concerned.

I say nothing, my eyes focused on the wall behind her.

"Please say something," she says. "You're worrying me."

"It's nothing. I just need time to think." I pick her up off my lap and set her beside me. "Could you grab my crutches?"

She goes to get them and hands them to me. "What happened? Is it your leg?"

"I need to be alone right now. I'll call you later." I go into the bathroom.

She follows me. "So you're making me leave?" She's pissed. I can hear it in her voice, and when I turn to look at her, I see her standing there with her arms crossed. It reminds of when I first met her and kept pissing her off. I didn't mean to do that today but I can't talk to her right now.

"I'm sorry, but—"

"Sorry? That's all you have to say? You're not going to explain what's going on?"

I close my eyes and breathe, my head pounding. I used to never get headaches, but since the accident I get them all the time. But then I met Becca and they went away. Until now.

"You're not going to tell me what's wrong? You're just kicking me out?" When I don't answer, she turns to leave. "I can't believe this. I knew you'd do this. Everyone told me you would."

Do what? What is she talking about?

I can't worry about it. Not now. I'll talk to her later.

She leaves, slamming the door behind her. I return to the bed and lie there, my head throbbing, the accident replaying in my head in between images of me on the field, crowds cheering for me, money being rained down on me. It's not fair. Why did I survive and they didn't? Is it because I'm meant to play football? A stupid, meaningless game?

Hours later, I fall into a deep sleep and don't wake until morning.

"Get your ass up," I hear Jackson say.

I open my eyes and see him standing by my bed. I squint from the sun coming through the window. Jackson must've opened the blinds.

"Get out," I say, burying my head in a pillow to shield myself from the light.

"Coach wants us in the gym in a half hour." He yanks my sheet back. "So get your ass up."

"Practice hasn't even started," I mumble. "We're not required to be there."

"Yeah, but we said we would and I need to get on Coach's good side. He's already giving me shit about drinking."

"Then YOU go. I'm staying here."

"I hate working out alone. You know that."

I don't respond.

"What's going on with you? You've been in this room since yesterday morning. Did Coach say something to piss you off?"

"I've been sleeping. I'm tired."

"You sick?"

"No." I pull the sheet back over me. "Now get the hell out of here."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"Then I guess you're not going."

"What the hell? I thought you wanted to work out."

"Not now. Right now, I just want to sleep."

"Where's Becca?" He looks around. "I thought she was in here with you. When you didn't come out, I assumed you two were going at it all night."

I grab my phone from the nightstand and check it for messages. Becca didn't call. Or text. And I didn't call her like I said I would. Shit. She must still be mad at me.

"You guys fighting?" Jackson asks.

"No. I just didn't feel like talking when she was here." I toss my phone on the bed. "I'll call her later."

"Chicks get pissed when you don't call, especially during a fight. They say they don't want to talk to you but it's bullshit. You don't call, they get even more pissed."

"Would you get out of here? I want to sleep."

He walks to the door. "I'll tell Coach you're sick, but I'm not doing it again. You're coming with me on Wednesday."

I agree to it just so he'll go away. But I doubt I'll show up on Wednesday. What's the point? So I can spend my life tossing a ball in the air? God, that seems stupid. In the grand scheme of life, it seems stupid to make an insane amount of money to play a game, and yet I spent my whole life preparing for this. And I love it. I still do. So what does that say about me? That I'm a shallow person? That I'm too stupid to do anything else?

I go to sleep, and when I wake up it's almost four in the afternoon. This is usually when Becca stops by so I get out of bed and take a quick shower. I check my phone but she hasn't called or texted. I call her but she doesn't answer.

I hear Jackson making noise in the guest room. I go over there and stand at the door, watching as he packs his duffle bag.

"Your apartment ready?" I ask.

"Yeah. I checked earlier. They said I could move in tonight or tomorrow."

"So you're going tonight?"

"Yeah, unless you want to hang out."

"I don't really feel like it."

He zips up his bag. "You ever gonna tell me what's bothering you?"

I shrug. "I've just got some decisions to make."

"What decisions are we talking about?"

"Just forget it. It's nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing. Does this have to do with Becca?"

"Just drop it, okay?" I check my phone. Still no messages from Becca. "Could you give me a ride?"

"Sure. Where are we going?"

"I need to stop by Becca's apartment before she goes to work."

"Doesn't she usually come here?"

"Yeah, but she didn't today. I'm guessing she's mad that I made her leave yesterday."

"You told her to leave?" He chuckles. "You better show up with flowers. Telling your girlfriend to leave? That's harsh."

He's right. I shouldn't have done that, or at the very least, I should've been nicer about it, especially since I've done it before.

"Do you know where to get flowers?"

He laughs again. "Hell, yeah. I've been in trouble enough with girls to know where every flower store in town is." He grabs his duffle bag and walks past me. "C'mon. Let's go."

We stop to get the flowers, then he drops me off at the entrance to Becca's apartment building.

"You want me to wait?" Jackson asks.

"No, Becca will give me a ride home. It's on her way to work."

"You sure she'll give you a ride?"

"Why wouldn't she?"

His brows rise. "You kicked the girl out of your house. You really think she's gonna forgive you that fast?"

I hold out the flowers. "That's what these are for. And then I'll explain why I did it. She'll understand."

He shakes his head. "You're fuckin' clueless when it comes to women."

I look at him. "And you're not?"

"I know it takes more than flowers to get a girl to forgive you."

"Then what's it take?"

"Depends on the girl. Becca doesn't seem like someone who just moves on after you piss her off. You might have to show up at her door at least ten times before she'll forgive you."

"I'll talk to her. It'll be fine. You can go."

He hesitates. "You sure?"

"Just go," I tell him, then shut the door.

When I get to Becca's apartment, I knock on the door. She doesn't answer.

I knock again. "Becca, it's me." She still doesn't answer so I keep knocking. "Becca, I know you're in there. Open the door. We need to talk."

She finally opens the door, already in her Chicken Shack uniform. Damn, she looks hot; that short, tight dress showing off her curves, her hair pulled up in a ponytail. But instead of her usual smile, she's tight-lipped and her eyes are narrowed.

"What do you want?" she asks.

"Here." I hand her the flowers. "These are for you."

She takes them from me and mutters, "Thanks."

"Can I come inside?"

She sighs. "Just say what you need to say. I have to get to work."

"Okay, well, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for telling you to leave yesterday. I just needed some time alone but I could've handled it better. So, I'm sorry."

She looks at me like she's waiting for me to continue. When I don't she says, "Anything else?"

"Not really. I hadn't heard from you so I assumed you were mad at me and I wanted to apologize."

"You're an idiot, you know that?" She turns and walks away, setting the flowers on the kitchen table. I start to come inside but she stops me. "You're not staying."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to see you. And because I have to get to work."

"You don't have to leave for a half hour."

"Doesn't matter. I still don't want to see you." She motions to the door. "Leave."

Shit, she's really mad.

"Can't we talk about this?" I ask.

"Talk about what? About the fact that you refuse to open up to me? Refuse to accept my help?" She starts talking with her hands, waving them around as her voice rises. "Or should we talk about how you change from nice Ethan to asshole Ethan within seconds with no explanation? Or maybe we should talk about how you've kicked me out of your house not once, not twice, but THREE times! Or we could talk about—"

"Yeah, I get it. You're pissed. So what do I need to do?"

"Seriously? You think it's that easy?" She goes to the door and holds it open. "Just get out. And don't call me."

"Becca, I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have told you to leave. I won't do it again. I promise."

"Yeah, right. Like I haven't heard that before?" She rolls her eyes.

"I mean it. I promise, it won't happen again.

She looks at me, her arms crossed over her chest. "So why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Why'd you tell me to leave?"

"Because I needed time to think."

"About what? Why were you so upset?"

I take a breath. "I don't want to get into it."

"See?" She throws her hands up. "This is what I'm talking about! You refuse to open up to me. I'm your girlfriend, Ethan. You should be able to talk to me."

"I do. I talk to you all the time."

"Not about what's bothering you. I've told you things I've never told anyone else. Not even Mike. I trusted you, Ethan. But you won't do the same for me. So how can we have a relationship?"

I don't have an answer. I want to tell her why I'm struggling but I can't, because part of it involves her and I need to sort it all out in my head before I can talk to her. And right now, I don't know if that'll ever happen. I'm too confused. Too guilt-ridden. In too much pain.

That call from Kasey's mom really fucked me up. I keep thinking things will get better, that I'll be able to move past the accident, but I can't. It just keeps coming back to haunt me. And it hurts. It hurts so damn bad.

"It's over," Becca says quietly.

"What's over?" I ask, my heart thumping faster.

"Us. This relationship. I'm done."

"Becca, no. Don't say that. It's not done. I just need time to work things out."

"Work what out? What's going on?"

"It's hard to explain, and honestly I don't want to."

"Which is why this will never work." She pauses and her eyes go to mine. "I need honesty, Ethan. I need you to trust me, but you don't. So I don't want to keep doing this."

My heart's racing. I'm panicking, not sure what to do. I've never been dumped before. What do I say? How do I fix this? This can't be the end. How did this happen? We have one fight and it's over? No. I can't accept that. 

"Get out," Becca says.

"Becca, let's just talk this out."

"We already did and you had nothing to say. If you don't trust me enough to tell me what's bothering you, then forget it. I don't want this anymore. We're done. Now leave. Before I get Mike out here to throw you out."

"Becca," I plead.

"Go. Now."

I slowly turn on my crutches and hear the door close and lock as I make my way down the hall to the elevator. When I get to the parking lot, I get my phone out to call a cab but then notice Jackson's car pulling up beside me.

He rolls the window down. "Get in."

"What are you still doing here?"

"I knew she wouldn't take you back. I told you it takes a few times."

"It's gonna take more than that," I mutter.

What have I done? Becca was the one bright light in an otherwise dark existence that started the moment I woke up at the hospital. From that moment on, I was suffocating from the grief, the guilt, thinking I'd always feel that way. But then Becca came into my life and for the first time, I started to feel better.

And now she's gone. I screwed up one too many times. I thought she'd forgive me. But now? I don't think she will.