24. Zak

Asmile. The first one I've seen on Mom's face in weeks.

My shoulders relax as I recline on my couch after the game. I have the same smile plastered on my face ever since Matt landed in the end zone a couple of hours ago.

I wanted to see him afterward, but forced myself to leave with Ryan because I knew if I saw Matt, I wouldn't be able to control all the emotions bubbling inside of me.

Actually, truth be told, the smile was on my face the second Matt barged into the impromptu press conference and basically told Brett Travers that the Crusaders were taking the win today.

Then, he made it happen.

He gave me so much in that short amount of time, but most of all, he reminded me of who I want to be, not the guy I used to be. That guy was weak. He let himself get bullied, harassed, and tormented.

But I don't like the guy I became in response to that treatment, either. He's reckless, lonely, and full of rage with a chip the size of North America on his shoulder. Because of him, I missed out on a huge part of my life with my dad. I let my emotions get twisted and tangled in all the anger that's plagued me for years and lost one of my most important people.

I don't want to miss out on another one.

I became a bully to self-protect.

I sent Matt away to self-protect.

I realize now that if I want a life I look forward to living, I have to be open to some degree of pain and discomfort. I can't shield myself from everything and everyone because I don't want to be alone.

All the money and success in the world can't bring me the happiness I crave. It doesn't amount to shit unless I can be happy with myself and my choices.

And I also know that I can't control the actions of everyone around me. Matt may not want to bash down his own closet door, but he showed me what I could have if I was open to letting someone in.

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 small smile. "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?"

A soft laugh escapes her lips. "I just want to see my son happy. It's been a while. And speaking of happy, Matt Harrison certainly made an incredible judgment call on that last play today. I hope you were gracious."

Heat creeps up the sides of my neck. She has no idea just how gracious I'd have liked to be if circumstances were different. But it can't work. Even the slice of jealousy shining in his eyes before the game when he saw me with Ryan wasn't enough to convince me that what we shared in our carnal little bubble can ever extend beyond it.

He saved me for the last time, and while I'll always be grateful, I need to close the door on my past for good.

It's time to begin my future.

"He played a great game today."

A nagging voice in my mind still doesn't get Mom's crafty little segue, either. How did we go from Dad to the event to Matt's touchdown?

Mom nods. "I also caught a clip of him speaking up for you earlier today. I was watching a video on one of those websites your father always kept in his sports bookmark folder." She pauses for a second. "You two had a history playing for Ohio State before you left the team. But the way he was talking made it sound like your history isn't that far back."

Heat burns in my chest, a knot of flames igniting and shooting out to all my limbs.

I bring a hand to the back of my neck and squeeze, pulling my eyes away from the laptop screen. "Yeah, well, he's a Crusader, and Travers was talking crap about his team. Matt's the guy who always stands up for what he believes."

He'd stand up for the team but not for himself.

Not for his happily ever after.

That realization's got a harsh bite to it.

Just one more reason why I need to finally end the damn book and start a new one.

"He sounded sincere."

I look back at the screen.

Mom shrugs. "I never believed he was all that into the girls he dates."

My brow furrows. "I didn't know you paid such close attention to his love life."

"It's easy to get a sense of people's feelings about the ones they're with."

"How so?" And when did Mom ever pay that much attention to gossip rags?

"Any time I saw Matt with Anna Taylor or the gaggles of other Hollywood types on the news or in the papers, he'd smile, but I'd never see that look in his eye."

"What look?"

Mom smiles at me, her dark eyes twinkling. "The look he had when he stood next to you today. The look he had when he told the world how lucky the Crusaders are to have you at that press conference weeks ago. Pictures boast a thousand, oftentimes unspoken, words."

I can't even stop my jaw from hitting the keyboard of my laptop. "Mom, there was no…he doesn't…isn't…"

Words completely dry up on the tip of my tongue.

I've got nothing. She officially stunned me into complete and shocked silence.

"I'm just saying there was something in the way he looked at you that was different from the way he looked at all the others. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm right."

I force myself to sputter a reply. "Well, it doesn't make a difference. I mean, I'm the owner, right? Besides, whether or not it's true, he's sticking with the Hollywood blonde brigade."

"I'm just saying that there could be a lot more to him than meets the eye. More than he's let on even to himself. I'll message you with the details for tomorrow night." She smiles again. "I love you. So, so much."

I kiss my fingers and press them onto the screen. "Love you, too, Mom."

A good five minutes pass while I sit back and stare at the ceiling, still trying to process everything she said about Matt, about me…about Matt and me.

Jesus. If she only knew the truth about what happened between us.

Maybe she has an idea.

Mother's freaking intuition.

It's never wrong.

The sound of a knock at my door jolts me. I sit straight up.

Who the fuck could that be? Nobody gets up here without security letting me know first.

If someone from the fucking press was able to get around the front desk surveillance, I will have someone's head on a goddamn platter within the next few minutes.

I stalk over to the front door. Rage simmers under the surface, the hairs on the back of my neck springing to life.

With a white-hot glare ready to scorch the hell out of whoever is in my hallway, I look through the peephole. My heart leaps into my throat when I open the door.

"What are you doing here?" I manage to choke out.

Matt stands there, his face pinched with worry, panic blazing in his gaze. "I know I shouldn't be here, but I didn't know where else to go. I couldn't tell anyone else."

He steps closer. My breath hitches at his nearness.

Matt reaches for me, grasping my wrist, his fingers burning my skin. "You're the only one."