Page 18 of The Rest is History

He shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry. That was just the backstory. I wanted to give you some context for why I’m here.”

“Your daughter can hardly be considered backstory, Reece, but thank you for telling me.”

“After you left—”

After I was forced to leave, is what he should have said.

“The last time I saw your mom she said it was for the best that we didn’t see each other. All I ever wanted was one last conversation with you. Even if we hadn’t been. . . other things . . . we were best friends and I felt so alone. I couldn’t deal with the unfinished business, so here I am. I have a few questions if – if that’s okay with you.”

“Ask them.”

“What happened to you when you left? Did you keep playing football?”

“No. I graduated from the local high school. Went to college. Got a degree in Kinesiology and Physical Education, and I coach football now at Linksfield High.”

“Why didn’t you keep playing? You should’ve been in the NFL by now. In your prime. Someone would’ve snatched you up.”

I shrug. “I didn’t—” How do I tell him that I didn’t even want to live after they took me away from him. Every dream I ever had about playing college football meant nothing after that. How do I tell him that I raged and raged for months that people could treat others the way his father treated us simply because he had money. “It was a new school. Less than a year to graduation. Didn’t seem worth the effort.”

“And the offer from Notre Dame. Did my father really cause you to lose it?”

“A few people told my father off the record. That’s all I know.”

“And your dad was really fired from my dad’s company?”

“Yes. You already know all of this, Reece.”

“Yes, but I never heard it from you. Did he hurt you or your parents in any way?”

“Physically? No. But he did real dirt to them. Blackballed my dad so he wouldn’t get hired at other construction companies. We left with nothing.”

I don’t have to tell Reece how much I fought and begged to see him before we left. How I refused to speak to my parents for months after we returned to Iowa. How I didn’t want to walk away. I wanted to stay and fight.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

None of it means anything now. We got over it. All of us.

“How are they? Your parents.”

“My mom lives across town in a nice, gated community. She likes it there. She’s doing good.”

Reece smiles. “That’s good to hear. I really missed her, Ash – Asher.”

My throat is thick. For the memories of the smile on his face now? Or is it that he corrected himself after using my shortened name? “Yeah, she missed you a whole lot too.”

“And your dad?”

I lock my jaw. “He died, Reece.”

It’s almost like someone called for a moment of silence. Reece picks at the thread on the glove he still has on with his ungloved hand. When he picks his head up, there are tears in his eyes. I swallow around the thickness in my throat.

“When? How?”

“He got sick. We didn’t have enough health insurance. Five years ago.”

He blinks his tears away. “I’m so sorry. He would’ve had good health insurance if he’d still been working for my father.”

And then, when the silence becomes too much, and it’s clear I can’t be trusted to break it, Reece speaks again. “I wish you’d played college football. It was all you ever wanted.”

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