Chapter 39 Asher Nash

When the Right Thing Feels So Wrong

I play like shit.

I feel like shit.

I almost call in sick ahead of the game, but I don’t. I can’t. I’ve never missed a game due to illness or anything other than suspension, and I’m not about to start now.

We lose against the Bills, and while it’s always a team effort, I can’t deny I had a fairly big part in the loss. A pass that should’ve been an easy catch for me was intercepted for a pick-six, and we lost by one touchdown.

Instead of heading back to Gray’s place after the game, I head back to the house I share with my dad. I’m not sure why other than the fact that I don’t feel like being around a happy couple who’s very much in love, and my brother and Ava are disgustingly happy.

I’ve never felt so alone.

I know I’ll catch shit from my dad for the pick-six, but it’s better than watching Grayson make out with his wife.

When I walk into the house, my dad isn’t around. I feel a sense of relief as I head toward the pantry and grab a bottle of tequila.

And that’s when he saunters in. “Hitting the hard stuff after a game? I guess I won’t bring up the mistakes tonight.”

“That’d be much appreciated,” I say dryly, and he chuckles.

“What’s going on, son?” he asks, clapping me on the shoulder as I tip the bottle to my lips.

I blow out a long breath after I swallow a mouthful. I guess that for as much as I’ve written my dad off lately, he might be the sounding board I need…as long as I don’t get too detailed, it can’t hurt to get his perspective. Maybe he’s an asshole half the time, but the other half of the time, he isn’t.

“I ended it with someone I started to care deeply for, and it hurts.”

“Oh. I had no idea,” he says.

I take another sip of tequila. “Because I didn’t let you in on it.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you ran to the media with shit about Lincoln, and you killed our trust in you.”

“I didn’t run to the media. I talked to a friend in the media about the history between two families at odds. I’ve apologized profusely,” he says defensively.

“You were trying to ruin a family twenty years after you already ruined yourself,” I say dryly.

He sighs heavily. “Call it what you want, but that’s not true. It’s in the past, and why are we talking about this right now?”

“I know you lost everything when you lost the bar. I know you blame Lincoln for all of it. And I know you’re trying to mend your relationship with him. But I’ll be honest, Dad. You haven’t been the same since you and Mom ended things, and you haven’t made me feel like I can come to you when I’m going through something.”

“Is that why you ran away to Grayson’s for the last few days?” he asks. He takes the tequila from my palm and helps himself to a sip.

“You bet your ass it’s why. I had something I was working on, and I needed a quiet space to do it in. You had your friends over for poker night, and you were smoking here, and…” I trail off and shrug. “I had to get away for a while.”

“I’m sorry. You should’ve said something.”

“I’m saying it now. It’s why I’m moving out, Dad.”

He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to do that. I know you wanted me out, and I’ll figure something out. I know you don’t want to know this about your old man, but I’ve been where you are. I’ve done the thing where I had to end it with someone I cared deeply for. Sometimes in life, we have to make choices that aren’t what we want, even if they’re right.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, and I realize how I don’t really know a damn thing about this man. He was with my mom since they were in high school, so how could he have been where I am?

He said something not so long ago about being twenty-eight and dumb. Is this related to that?

I have no idea, and I don’t have the energy to find out. I take the bottle of tequila back, and I take another sip.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks.

“About?”

“The girl.”

“Oh.” I shrug. “Nothing, I guess. It’s over now. It was good while it lasted, and I’ll have to chalk it up to that.”

He nods. “You could do that. Or you could really think about what you want out of your future. I know I pushed hard to make football the center of your life…but look where it got me. I’m an old man now with no wife, kids who hate me, and no job. I lost the respect of the league I loved so goddamn much, all in the name of doing what I thought was right for the people I cared about most. Don’t end up like me.”

“Your kids don’t hate you, Dad,” I say softly.

He presses his lips together and raises his brows. It’s the one part I commented on, but it’s not the biggest part of what he said.

He’s right about pushing hard to make football our priority, and he’s right that I don’t want to end up like him.

Am I putting football before her? I’m loyal to my team, and her dad is a part of that. I’m putting respect first. Loyalty and honor.

It’s the right thing, isn’t it?

So why does it feel so goddamn wrong?

I want to call her. I want to hear her voice. I want to reverse the damage I’ve done.

But I don’t.

Instead, I rely on football to carry me through the weeks without her.

I force my focus on the field instead of searching out red hair in the stands during our home games. I wait until I’m the last player in the locker room so I can leave without running into her.

I get to know Xavier Thomas. I touch base with him daily, and we take an extra half hour after practice almost every day to talk. Sometimes it’s about respect in the locker room, sometimes it’s about mindset, sometimes it’s about how to make better decisions. Coming from someone who’s made some pretty shitty decisions, it feels like I’m getting through to the kid.

And when Jaxon Bryant comes up to me after practice and thanks me for all my work with Xavier, I know I’m doing something right. I know I’m leaving the kind of impression I intended to in the locker room.

But as the weeks seem to fly by, one thing is certain.

I’m in love with her. Hopelessly, endlessly, and pitifully.

But at this point, I don’t even know if she’d want to take me back.

When the plane lands in Vegas on a Sunday evening after our game in Jacksonville, it’s officially the start of our bye week.

I spend the week at a quiet retreat in the mountains of Vegas by myself to reset, and when Sunday rolls around, I know how I want to spend the rest of my time off.

I finally gather up the courage to get in touch.

Me: I miss you. I’m sorry for running scared, but I need to see you. Are you around?

And then I wait for an answer that doesn’t come until morning.