Page 8 of When You Wish Upon a Wideout

Beau smirked. “I hear they keep all the good stuff for the really special people.” He gently lifted his gaze to Sienna. “They got any Swedish Fish? Those are my favorite.”

Grace spun on her heels. “I’ll get you some.”

“You hate Swedish Fish,” Sienna said when Grace was out of range.

But you love them.

Beau bit his bottom lip. “I’ve come around. But nothing beats—”

“Nerds Rope.”

A smile ran through Beau’s body, up his legs, through his chest, and to his face before his fingers twitched at his side, eager to brush another piece of hair that had fallen in her face. Frustrated, he pocketed his hands before looking at Grace, digging through candy bins enthusiastically with a small plastic shovel.

“She seems like a good kid.”

“She’s a great kid.”

Beau wanted to ignore the plethora of swag from the Golden Penny Foundation littering the room, reminding him of why they were all there. Before Beau could even ask, Sienna gave him the answer.

“Beginning stages of remission. Leukemia.”

He tried not to wince. “How long has she been in remission?”

“Eighty-four days now. Last time we cleared nearly two years.”

The news was a blow to Beau’s gut. “Last time?”

He could see Sienna chew on the inside of her cheek, as if she were contemplating telling him anything more.

“She was diagnosed about two years after my dad died. But, you know, health is never a guarantee. Even if you fight really hard for it.”

About two years after I should’ve stayed for you.

Sienna bounced awkwardly. “You played great. They said it was your best game all season. Most yards or something like that.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Someone mentioned that.”

Beau usually left the stadium after every game knowing his stats. But that was less for bragging rights and more for fueling his fire—You can do better.

It was always about being better, ever since the day he woke up in the hospital, reinforced on the day he returned home to a house that now had one less child, to a mother and father who were so blinded by unspeakable heartache, they couldn’t see that they still had one left. He wanted to be a better son—the one who could sprinkle light into his parents’ deep, hollow eyes, returning their gazes to how they were when he used to be not an only living child.

And for his brother, Greg, who had lost his life and saved Beau’s, he was determined to achieve the dreams Greg couldn’t. He would play for his brother’s favorite college team. He would make it to the NFL and dominate. And he would, one day, win a Super Bowl Championship.

It was a dream he had shared with Sienna when they were getting to know each other again after she had moved back to Brookwood. He thought about the day he first saw her again in the guy’s locker room at school. Taking in how she had changed from the young girl with constantly scraped knees he had followed around the neighborhood to thebeautifulyoung woman with endlessly smooth legs and pouty lips, Beau knew it wouldn’t be easy rekindling only their friendship without wanting something more.

Standing in the stadium suite, even though a decade and a half had passed, even though gray had begun to paint his dark brown hair and he donned an ever-present five-o’clock shadow, looking at Sienna, Beau felt no older than a day over eighteen.

“I was racing to the end. I wanted it to be over quickly,” Beau admitted, as if his yardage or touchdowns made any difference in the length of the game.

“Why?”

“So I could get to you sooner.”

Sienna’s head jolted back, and she opened her mouth to speak but promptly pressed her lips tightly together, as if it took every ounce of strength to battle against her words, to keep them from falling out. Beau didn’t want that.

“Can we talk?”

Shaking her head, Sienna picked at invisible lint on the sleeves of her dark, navy coat. “This is Grace’s day.”

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