Page 30 of Before You
“So you said nothing,” Billy interprets correctly, finally letting up on some of the pressure she’s applying.
“Marley transferred schools to be here with him. I wanted to tell her, but selfishly, I was content to take what I could without crossing any lines, so I didn’t tell her. In my defense, I was leaving to tell her when she showed up at the house while Trent had a girl over, and she walked in on them.”
“You can sit up, we’ll ice and then you’re good,” Billy says, and I sit up, leaning against the wall. “I’m sorry, you said Trent, as in Trent Hart, the quarterback?” she asks, bringing over the compression sleeve attached to an ice machine.
“Yep,” I answer, helping her slide the sleeve into place, tightening the Velcro.
Billy’s mahogany features soften as her dark gaze meets mine. “Sounds like a fucked-up situation to be in. How are you dealing with it?”
“Language,” I mock, trying to lighten the mood, but Billy doesn’t laugh.Okay, then.Turning my head to avoid her scrutiny, I opt to look at a chart on the wall explaining the different colors of urine and how hydrated it means you are. “I run,” I admit quietly as she flips the machine on, feeling the relief immediately.
“Oh, so she’s the reason you’re killing your knee. Good to know,” Billy says, letting my comment about her language slide. A little unfair Billy can curse, and I can’t, but she makes the rules in here.
“I’m not killing my knee,” I protest. “It’s fine.”
“Do both of us a favor and talk to her before you tear something again. I don’t want to spend every day with you rehabbing this knee again.”
I laugh, smiling at Billy. “You know you miss having me in here every day, but I’m not going to tear anything.”
Billy shakes her head, but it’s the smile she’s fighting that tells a different story. “Whatever you say, JJ.”
~
“Hey, Dad,” I answer, trying to catch my breath after stopping my run to answer his call.
“Hey, buddy. Sorry I missed your call earlier,” Dad says, and at the sound of his familiar voice, I feel a pang of homesickness. “What’s up?”
I walk to keep my muscles from cramping as my lungs thank me for the break. “Nothing much, just out on a run.”
“That’s my boy,” Dad says. “How’s your knee holding up?”
“It’s practically perfect,” I say, stretching it out in front of me, not a single twinge of pain. It could be on fire right now, but I wisely waited until my meds kicked in before taking off. I just can’t forget to ice it after.
If he finds out it’s bothering me at all, he’ll make me go to the doctor. It’s fine, but it needs time to get back to how it used to be.
“Great. I’ve been looking at Hunter’s schedule and yours to see what games we’ll be able to make it to.”
“Don’t forget Henry’s games,” I remind him, using the bottom of my shirt to wipe some of the sweat from my face.
“And to think I thought retiring would mean less time dedicated to football,” he jokes, and I laugh quietly. “Has Hunter said anything about the transfer?”
I chuckle, recalling the cluster of texts I received the other day, explaining the situation with the new running back on the team, followed up with Hunter asking if I’d consider transferring. “I’ve heard plenty about it. Hunt asked if I’d transfer, but I like it here.”
“That’s what I told him too when he asked me if I thought you’d go for it. He’ll figure it out, but hopefully sooner than later. Hunter’s always been the sensible one of you all.”
“I would take offense, but you’re not wrong.” I’ve been in my fair share of scuffles on the field playing against guys whothought it was okay to make comments about Mirabelle to me. My temper runs lower than my siblings, but the one thing I can’t stop from getting to me are comments about my family. Guys tend to go one of two ways when it comes to my family: they either think it’s really cool my dad is Sebastian Walker, or they think I’ve been handed everything and I don’t deserve to be on the field.
The game my knee was injured in last year is a prime example. The linebacker I was up against was spouting shit all game to get in my head, and I tried my best to ignore it, until he vividly described how he’d like to pass my sister around their locker room since she clearly likes being on display, and I lost it. I shoved him, telling him if he played half as well as he ran his mouth, they’d be winning instead of getting blown out—with a few more colorful words added in. It wasn’t enough to attract anyone’s attention because Asher pulled me away before it could escalate further. On the next play, he came out of nowhere as I was catching a pass from Trent, hitting me at the right angle with enough force to cause my knee to twist underneath me as we hit the ground, tearing the ligaments almost instantly.
The linebacker was ejected for targeting and unnecessary roughness, but I’m not sure if he was actually trying to hurt me or not. All I know is the hit wasn’t an accident. I never told anyone what he said or how I think it wasn’t an accident because I didn’t want Mirabelle to feel guilty for something else out of her control.
“I’ll let you know when we’ve figured out which ones we’re coming to, but at least when I come to your games, I’m not committing a cardinal sin by rooting for the enemy,” Dad continues, and I know it drives them nuts Hunter picked Duke’s rival, Oceanside.
“You’re ridiculous,” I say, shaking my head. “Hunter’s happy there.”
“I know, but literally any other school would have been better,” Dad complains.
Uncle Owen and Dad played for Duke with Henry’s dad in college, but because of how much Dad donates to the program, they were nervous about putting the money at risk if things went sour with either Hunter or I on the team. It was different when Mirabelle went there because she was on the gymnastics team and a gold medalist, but I’m not mad about it. I wanted to make it on my own somewhere other than where I would always be known as a legacy—hence, ending up at Beaumont.
