Page 137 of Redemption
Hayes glances at Tanner and then at me. “I was hoping that you’d be willing to share your story with us.”
Wrinkles appear between Silas’s brow. “Which one? I have many. That’s the thing about being old. You collect stories like stamps.”
“Your football story.”
“Ah,” Silas says, groaning as he sits in a weathered rocking chair by the window, “that story. I suppose I can do that. Though I must warn our guests that it’s not a pretty one.”
I offer him an encouraging smile. “I’m learning that most stories aren’t. It’s the way you choose to come back from the that matters.”
Silas reaches out, patting my hand. “Too true, young lady. Too true.” He looks to Tanner, who is studying the pattern on the couch, his good mood nowhere to be found. “What about you, young man? Can you handle tough experiences?”
Tanner shrugs, not looking up. “I have been my whole life. I don’t think hearing about yours will be much harder.”
“Then let’s see—where should I start?” He taps his chin, tattoos lining his wrinkled fingers. “I guess the beginning is always a good place to start.”
Hayes is sitting beside me on the couch, and as Silas begins to tell his story, he leans back, pulling me with him. With his arm around my shoulder and Tanner sitting on the other side of me, we settle in to listen.
“I was two the first time my father put a football in my hand. I think I loved it even then. As I grew older, I put everything I could into making sure I never had to quit playing. But I also grew cocky because I was good—really good. The problem with being good at something, though, is it doesn’t always build character—or maybe it does, just the wrong kind.”
He pauses, his gaze turning thoughtful, getting lost in a time long ago. His thumb traces the edge of his chair in a pattern, the only sign that this story might be hard for him to talk about.
Tanner leans forward on the couch, placing his elbows on his knees like the story Silas has to tell could be the words that change him.
“Anyway,” Silas says, still rubbing the spot on his chair, “I made it into the NFL. But looking back, football was all I knew. I spent my whole life trying to make it to that spot, and once I was there, I wasn’t sure what I was working for anymore. So, I became reckless. I started making a lot of bad decisions because I had it in my mind that I was invincible. I was young and stupid. It was my first year as a rookie, and we had just won a big game. I wanted to go out and celebrate, but my teammates turned me down. They had families to go home to. But not me—I had no one because, on my way up the totem pole, I managed to shove everyone back down it. I didn’t see how I would need those people later on.”
There’s so much sadness in the wrinkles on his face, and when I turn to look at Tanner, it’s the same sadness in his eyes. The two are like a mirror, reflecting the past and present.
One young. The other old.
One who learned his lesson the hard way and the other who still has the chance to learn from others’ mistakes.
I want to reach out and hug them both.
Hayes’s arm tightens around me as if he can read my thoughts.
A pinch of anger tightens Tanner’s face. “I think you had the right idea. You only disappoint people when they are around anyway.”
There’s a pang of sadness in my chest for Tanner, but I try to rub it away. Silas picks up his milkshake to study the boy. When he sets it back down, his gaze turns contemplative. “Maybe you’re right, but let’s say you push everyone away in the fear of disappointing them—you know who will still be disappointed in the end?”
Tanner shakes his head, a piece of his hair falling into his face.
“The ones that are so disappointed in themselves that they can’t see the good in others. Not everyone will let you down, Tanner, even the ones that have a right to. That night, I went out on my own, and I got drunk. I made the decision to drive, even though I knew I shouldn’t. I hurt someone that night—I could have killed him—but by God’s grace, I didn’t. I spent many years in jail, bitter after that. I had lost everything—or what I thought was everything. In an instant, my football career vanished, and I was left with nothing else.”
Tanner’s face has gone pale, and when I look up at Hayes, he’s studying the kid like he knows this is the last chance he has at getting through to him—to really make him understandthat football isn’t everything and that sometimes we have to step outside of the boundaries people place on us.
Sadness burns in my chest—for Tanner, and Silas, and Langston. Their stories are intertwined, and it breaks my heart.
“What happened to the guy?” Tanner asks, his voice cracking.
A flood of regret lines Silas’s face. “He was injured pretty badly—lost a leg—but do you know the first thing he did when he got out of the hospital?”
“No, sir. What?”
“He visited me in prison, and the first thing he said to me was that he forgave me. At the time, I didn’t want his forgiveness. I was dead set on feeling sorry for myself—wallowing in the guilt forever.” Silas stops and looks at Hayes. Hayes squirms under the attention, and I have to laugh.
Pinching my side, Hayes whispers against my hair, “I don’t know what you’re laughing at—you’re just as bad as me.”
It’s true—I am, but Silas doesn’t know my story, so I don’t have to worry about the lecture.
