“Me either,” she says.

The sound of chair scraping along the floor reaches me. Then a deep exhale. “Brody changed when he took up football,” Jax says, his voice close. He’s sitting beside me with Jordan on the other side.

“How so?”

“He became happier, but he became harder too. Brody found something in life to love, and it loved him back, but he had to fight to hold on to it. And the older he got, the harder that fight became. The dyslexia was a noose around his neck. But it should never have been. His parents put it there, and even when the kids teased and bullied him at school, they never let him seek help. They made him feel shame. They made him feel less. It made him fight harder, yet he still managed to take joy in the smallest of things because for him they were huge. Then you came along and he changed again.”

“How so?” she asks.

My eyes close beneath the water, letting their conversation drift over me quietly.

“He became more accepting of himself. More confident. You showed him he was more than football. You showed him he was worth loving for who he was rather than what he did. But then he had to fight to keep you too. All the time he was fighting.”

Jordan’s voice is thick. “He got tired of it, didn’t he?”

“No. He’s still here, so he hasn’t stopped fighting yet.”

“I don’t want him to feel he has to fight to keep me too, Jaxon. All the more reason to quit FIFA.”

“He wouldn’t want that for you.”

“They don’t want me anyway so it doesn’t matter.”

Why don’t they want you? I ask, joining the conversation. They’d be fucking lucky to have you!

“According to the social media backlash, if Brody’s taking drugs, then I am too. When I spoke to my Australian coach about needing time, I could hear it in his voice. He barely restrained himself from telling me to walk.”

Jaxon echoes my own sentiment. “Asshole.”

“He is. But I get it. And my presence would cast a dark shadow over the entire team. How would we work together if none of them want me there?”

Fuck this. I didn’t just ruin us, I ruined her.

I’m so sorry, Jordan.

But sorry doesn’t cut it. I need to fix it somehow, and the only way I can think of is if she had no association with me. If I wasn’t in Jordan’s life, she would have a chance to rebuild her battered reputation.

I would have to let her go.

Pain slices through me.

Jordan gasps. “Jax, he … Brody just squeezed my hand!”

I did?

“Are you sure? It wasn’t just some kind of muscle spasm, was it?”

“I’m positive. He squeezed it!”

“Holy shit!” Jaxon sounds giddy. “Buzz the nurse, Killer. Buzz the nurse!”

“I am, shut up already.”

Jordan sounds giddy too. The warmth leaves my hand. This time I don’t sink into darkness. I’m alert. I can still hear them talking.

“Buzz it a second time.”

“It’s been five seconds, Jax!”

“Take his hand. He might squeeze it again.”

Warmth explodes through my palm, radiating upwards over my arm and across my chest. My eyes blink open. Light burns my retinas. I quickly close them.

“Oh my god, he opened his eyes.” The thud of something crashing on my left jolts my ears. “Brody?” Jordan is close. Her palm brushes across my forehead and down the side of my face. “Can you hear me?”

Brody

Every part of me hurts. My eyes, my throat from the tubes, my ribs and face. I reach for the button to buzz the nurse, and when I realize what it is I need, I let go quickly. My arm falls back to my side on the hospital bed.

No more painkillers.

Jordan half stands in her chair. “Are you okay?”

No. “I’m fine,” I rasp.

She reaches for the cup of icy water from the table at the end of my bed. “Have some water.”

“No. I’m good.”

Water means having to piss and getting out of bed hurts. Jordan sets it back down and wheels the table closer so I can reach for it myself if need be. She returns to the seat by my side. Tucking her legs up, she wraps her arms around them and rests the side of her face on her knees, her eyes on me.

“Do you want to talk?”

“About what? My overdose? That my real father is a sick fuck and that I’m his son? That I’m addicted to drugs?”

Jordan winces at my bitter tone, but I can’t seem to help it. “I spoke to your mother.”

“That must have been a fun conversation. You didn’t get frostbite, did you?”

She sighs. Reaching out, she takes my hand in hers. The small comfort is everything. Her being here is everything. Jordan should be in Australia right now starting training with her new team, but she won’t leave. The last thing I want is for her to go, but I’m not willing to let her stay just to babysit my fucked-up ass.

“I think she’s trying to change. What your father did …” She trails off. We all know what he did and there’s no point revisiting it. “You know she’s the one bringing Annabelle in to see you.”

Too little, too late, Mom. “Good for her.”

And there I go again with the bitter tone.

“She admitted something to me that your father doesn’t know.”

“And what’s that?”

“That she didn’t fall pregnant with you the way your dad thinks she did. She lied rather than tell him it was a one-night stand with some guy she barely knew and never saw again.”

So many lies and secrets it makes my stomach knot. I don’t want to hear anymore. I grunt as I shift in the bed and Jordan pauses.

“I can’t go there right now,” I tell her.

Pressing the button beside my hospital bed, the back begins to rise, bringing me to a reclined seating position. My ribs scream and I grimace, holding back the groan. “There’s something else we need to talk about.”

Jordan’s phone rings, interrupting me. Reaching for it, she switches it to silent and drops it back inside her bag. When she looks back at me her lips are pinched. Stretching out my arm, I turn it over, palm up. An invitation. Her hand slides in mine and I give it a squeeze.

“You have to go.”

Her chin lifts. “No.”

Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be. “You say that like you have a choice.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

She’s so determined and beautiful. I’m going to miss her. So much. My eyes burn. A tear spills over and I turn my head so she doesn’t see it. “I want you to.”

“No, you don’t. You’re just saying that because you don’t want me quitting the team. It doesn’t matter, Brody. I signed with Houston Dash. I’m staying here. Permanently.”

Fuck. I let out a deep, shaky breath.

“I need you to go.” I turn to face her and admit something that hurts. “I don’t know who I am anymore, or if the NFL is even where I want to be. I can’t work that out with you here. I need time for me, to work out my life and where I went so wrong.”

Jordan snatches her hand away, leaving me cold. “Is that what I am? Some mistake you made along the way?”

“No!” Dammit. That didn’t come out right. “You’re not a mistake. I love you, Jordan. You’re the best part of my life. But I can’t be who you need me to be. Not right now. I can’t pretend I’m okay anymore. I need to fix the part of me that I broke.”

Hurt wells in her eyes. That I’m the cause of it burns like a hot poker to the gut. “And you don’t want me here to help you do that?”

So the media can vilify you for it? Would I willingly drag you down with me? My jaw locks. “No.”

Jordan stands, but not before a sob rips from her chest. She grabs for her things with shaky hands—bag, jacket, keys, some girl magazine she was flicking through earlier while I dozed. They’re clutched to her chest in a messy heap.

“Jordan,” I rasp with my scratchy throat. “Don’t leave like this. I can’t—”