Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Huh,” Dad says thoughtfully.
Manfully, I do not squirm. I do however keep my tone neutral. “We were talking about you selling and why.”
Jan makes a noise of amusement but then shrugs. “My time here is done, and I’d rather not stick around the area I used to play in.”
Our shared silence at that takes on weight.
Jan plows through it. “I was thinking of moving to LA.”
“Really?” Again, I’m surprised.
“March is graduating and will likely move on to somewhere else. You and Pen are there. The weather is good. A lot of opportunities for me.” He shrugs. “Got to start over somewhere.”
Silence stretches, as every Luck man except for Jan tries their best to look properly supportive instead of sorrowful. A fact that is painfully obvious to all.
Jan sighs expansively and shoots us a repressive glare. “Stop acting like I’m Job.”
“Who?” from March.
“The biblical guy who had it all and then lost everything—you know what? Never mind. Just don’t feel sorry for me.”
Dad gives him a hard look. “It isn’t pity, son. When you hurt, I hurt. That’s just how it goes when you love someone. And I know a part of you is hurting.”
Jan picks at the label on his bottle.
I swallow thickly, feeling compelled to explain. “I don’t—fine, I do a little. I can’t help it. It’s like Dad said, I know you’re going through some things, and it hurts me that you hurt.”
Jan sighs. “Well, that’s okay, I guess.”
March raises his hand and Jan narrows his eyes. March grins in response. “Okay, I’m the asshole because I absolutely felt sorry for you.”
“Little shit.”
“But I won’t anymore!” He puts a hand over his heart. “Swear!”
I swat March on the head. Sadly, his reflexes are already pro, and he easily evades, giving me the finger.
Jan huffs like he’s trying to laugh but can’t quite manage it. “The truth? I don’t know . . . maybe I’m in denial or mentally numbed by shock, but what I mainly feel is a strange kind of freedom. It’s like a weight I never knew I carried has been lifted. The burden of all this expectation, the drive to always be perfect, always win is just . . . poof! Gone. Now that it is, I feel lighter.”
My beer is empty, and I set the bottle at my feet. “That’s healthy.”
Dad rests his wrists on his knees. The flickering firelight dances over his sharp features in flashes of gold and black. “I dreaded retirement. But when I got there? Son, I felt exactly the same.”
“Damn,” March whispers at my side.
It’s clear he only wants me to hear it. And the truth is, knowing that both Jan and Dad felt relief over no longer playing the game we’ve all professed to love with our whole hearts is a little unsettling. Fate willing, March and I have years of play ahead of us. Will it wear down on us too? Hell, isn’t it already? And if that’s the case, why go on?
Frowning, I run a hand over my mouth and watch the flames. For the past half a year I’ve felt at a crossroads at a time when I thought I’d be gunning to live the hell out of my life. Football, Pen, neither of them feel completely settled.
“What I’m trying to say,” Jan continues, “is that I understand the pressures you’re under, August. I lived them. But, where we differ, and what I hate, is how you’ve been forced to live under my shadow. The press, all those talking dickheads, they can’t help but compare us and hold you up to my record. It’s life. But it’s also shit and unfair.”
“I didn’t know you’d thought about that.”
“Of course I did. Fucking pissed me off. I didn’t want that for you. Then again, they held me up to Dad, and March’s performance will be compared to ours as well. That’s what comes of being in a football family dynasty.”
“Damn my excellent genes,” Dad deadpans. Then shrugs. “He’s right. It’s a hell of a thing, but no escaping any of that mess.”
Thoughtfully, I nod. But then look around at them slowly. “I wouldn’t change it even if I could. I love you knuckleheads.”
Jan laughs shortly. “I love you all too. Probably don’t say it enough, but I truly do. If it helps to chase my record, puts a fire in your belly, then use it. If it doesn’t? Then fucking ignore it. There’s no clear way here.”
At his side, Dad slings an arm over Jan and gives him a rough squeeze before kissing him on the temple. I know Jan’s accident and all that came after has been hard on him. Dad is a fixer.
I don’t want to add to his worries, or pile guilt on Jan, but it’s already out there anyway, and honesty feels like a balm in this quiet spot by the lake.