Page 58 of Hot Receiver

I know it won’t be him, but it’ll be somebody. And I refuse to be afraid or ashamed or victimized because of who I am and what I want.

Fuck all the Brett Traverses out there.

I’m reclaiming my life as of today.

“You must be so excited, sweetie. I know your dad would be,” Mom says, a trace of wistfulness in her voice.

My throat tightens. “I wish he was there to see it.”

Mom’s eyes fog over with sadness. “You know he was.”

I shake my head. “It’s because of me that he wasn’t. I shit all over his parade the day he told me about buying the team. I shut down and then shut him out. I didn’t give him a chance to tell me why he did it. I walked away from him and made him cross that street.”

The lump in my throat lodges tight.

“It’s my fault he’s gone,” I add.

I let my asshole prick persona control me for too long, and because of it, I lost my father. I could have fought against it. I could have risen above it and processed all my feelings without letting them choke me to death.

My head falls forward into my hands. Memories of that lunch, of Dad’s constant effort to connect with me, of the trill of excitement in Dad’s voice when he told me he bought the Crusaders. I snuffed it all out like a candle in a hurricane.

As fucking usual.

“Zak.” The calm in her voice was always so soothing.

But right now, it doesn’t do a damn thing to relieve the deep ache in my heart. The guilt is something I’ll never escape. It sears the tip of a dagger like it’s a white-hot flame and it lances my chest over and over.

“Look at me, sweetie.”

I slowly raise my eyes to her pain-filled ones.

“You’re a grown man so I can’t tell you what to feel. But you’re also a smart man. One who knows that when it’s your time, it’s your time. Circumstances were tragic, but God’s plan is what it is. You couldn’t have stopped anything. I wish you’d have been able to find your peace with your dad before he died because it would have relieved your suffering.”

“But if I’d have just stayed?—”

Mom shakes her head. “Stop. Dad’s death wasn’t your fault. It’s the fault of the person driving that car while texting.” She taps on the desk with her fingernails. “I will miss him every day. He was a wonderful man who loved us and took care of us. But I will never accept you blaming yourself for what happened.”

“I will always blame myself,” I grumble.

“I really hope you don’t.” Her lips curl upward into a smallsmile. “And as far as why he bought the team? He did it for you. For you and him, for your relationship. He wanted something you could share together. He always hated that you gave up football after your injury. And he wanted you to love it again. Together.”

The dagger slices deeper and deeper with that.

“I messed up so badly.” I scrub a hand down the front of my face.

“That’s the thing about life, Zak. You’ll have plenty of chances for do-overs.”

Tears sting my eyes. “Maybe.”

Mom sits back in the chair and folds her hands together. Always so polished and put together, physically, emotionally. Even through all the grief, she’s the strongest person I know.

“You know,” she says slowly, holding up an invitation. “I’m not really up to social events. There’s something going on for one of the foundations I chair tomorrow night. I don’t want to ignore it. Maybe you can go in my place. You could use a little break. I know things have been stressful for you, too.”

“Yeah, because rubbing elbows with socialites is high on my list of things to de-stress,” I scoff with a dry chuckle.

“It’ll be good for you. Besides, you never know who you’ll meet.”

I furrow my brows. “Why do I feel like this is a setup?”

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