Page 12 of The Rules We Broke
He lost the Heisman. He lost his career. And eventually, he lost his fiancée.
Amber was torn apart in the press for leaving her injured fiancé for Doug Abrams—the quarterback who went on to be the NFL’s first-round draft pick.
The headlines were relentless.
I wanted to feel satisfied. To tell myself Brady deserved it. That she left him the way he left me. But I couldn’t.
I wanted to take pleasure in her betrayal, but I couldn’t summon even that.
I hated him. But only because I still loved him.
As the sun crept over the horizon, painting the road in soft amber light, I came back to myself—and to the present. I was nearly there.
I hated the solitude of long drives, hated being alone with nothing but my thoughts for company. They wandered too easily. And too often, they found their way back to Brady Jackson.
You can leave your hometown. Pack your bags. Build a new life. But memories? They don’t care where you live. They follow you. Everywhere. Just like Brady Jackson.
I slammed to a hard stop in the hospital parking lot. I didn’t even turn off the ignition before I was out the door. I sprintedacross the pavement, trying to run from my memories. All I needed was to see my Aunt Lu.
As I entered the ICU, I didn’t even need to ask what room she was in. I could hear her raised voice yelling at some poor physician. Apparently, his only crime was where he’d earned his degree.
I checked in at the nurse’s station and tried not to laugh. Aunt Lu had the entire floor in a tizzy. From the look on the nurse’s face, sedation wasn’t off the table.
I headed straight for her room—before they decided to restrain her or worse, call in reinforcements. But honestly, I found myself relieved. If she was well enough to raise hell, she was well enough to fight.
I stepped inside and immediately spotted two nurses and one poor, harried doctor—all doing their best to calm the storm. But every time the doctor stepped closer, Aunt Lu lit up again, launching into another tirade about the incompetence of theUniversity of Alabama.
It was absurd. And it was Aunt Lu. And I couldn’t help but smile.
“Aunt Lu.”
Every head in the room turned.
She looked pale—even for being all riled up—and was hooked up to a mess of machines that beeped like they were tattling on her behavior. For a woman in her late sixties, she could still pass for early fifties. She was still feisty. Still stunning. Still the most beautiful woman in the world to me.
But I hated seeing her like that—so small against starched sheets and tangled wires.
She narrowed her eyes the moment she saw me.
“Ella Lu, tell these people I amnotto be seen by anyone from that forsaken school!”
I gave the doctor a sheepish grin. “May I please speak with you in the hall?”
He looked almost grateful—relieved to have a reason to escape the patient room my aunt had turned into a battlefield.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to say once we stepped into the corridor. How do you explain a forty-five-year-old grudge rooted in heartbreak, betrayal, and college football? That my aunt’s ex-fiancé—an alum of the very school she now despised—left her for her best friend and that their son did the same thing to me, decades later.
I didn’t have the time—or emotional bandwidth—to unpack all that. So I did what any loving, slightly panicked niece would do: I opted to lie through my teeth. I reasoned my aunt was too ill to be so agitated and needed immediate treatment.
When we entered the hall, I reached out my hand to shake his. “Hello, I’m Elle Eaton. Luanne’s niece.”
It’s worth noting that I’d changed my name. As an author, I thought Elle sounded more sophisticated. And maybe I wanted to leave Ella Lu behind in Kaysville.
My aunt hated it and refused to call me Elle. I would always be Ella Lu to her.
He took my hand with a sympathetic smile. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Eaton. I’m Dr. Sandstrom.”
“Dr. Sandstrom, please forgive my aunt’s behavior. You may have noticed—she’s rather partial to Auburn.”
