“I know.”

  Mama nods, turning her eyes to the big dark yard where there’s nothing but trees and distance between us and everyone else in town. Everyone in the world. “We were young. Everything felt so good, we thought it couldn’t be anything else but love. But it wasn’t. It was stupid. We were stupid and so young. Too young.”

  “How young?”

  “Seventeen. We would break up every other month. It felt romantic at first. I thought that’s what love was; it hurt. It made you angry and crazy. That’s what all the songs said, but they’re bullshit. It’s not supposed to be like that. Love is supposed to make you better than you are, not the worst imaginable version of yourself. Finally, after high school, we said we were done for good.”

  I frown, doing the math in my head. “You graduated when you were eighteen?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m eighteen. And you’re thirty-eight.”

  She puts her hand over mine. “Be patient, baby. I’m getting there. A month after graduation, I found out I was pregnant. We argued about what to do about it, but finally we decided to have it. We were gonna get married and get a little apartment together. It was gonna be perfect. It was gonna work this time.” She sniffs, running her finger under her nose. Her eyes are on the woods. Never on me. “I lost the baby before the fall. I don’t know what happened. It just… I lost it. I was a mess and he was relieved and we knew we were done again. I left town, heading west. He went east. We said we’d never try to find each other. It hurt too much to be together.”

  She pauses, drawing from her cigarette. From that long-forgotten bliss.

  “I saw him one last time two years later,” she continues. “It was on accident. We both went home for Christmas and we ran into each other in the soda aisle at the grocery store. Both our mamas had sent us out to get mixers. He looked so good. Better than I remembered. And when we kissed—”

  “In the grocery store?”

  “In the back of his car. It felt like magic. It felt good and right.” She glances at me sideways. “How much you wanna know?”

  I consider carefully. “What kind of car?”

  “’78 Camaro. Black leather interior.”

  “That’s enough. What happened after?”

  “After, we said goodbye. We said it was fun but it was dumb. We were never gonna work, no matter how hard we tried. Sometimes… sometimes it don’t matter how bad you want a thing. It’s never gonna be yours. And maybe that’s good and God has a plan and all that, but it feels like shit. Even now, almost twenty years later, I wonder—”

  I don’t ask her what she wonders. I understand that kind of longing. I’m living it now, right here on this porch. It burns like fire in my chest. In my veins.

  It makes me want to rip my heart out and throw it into the field, far away from me.

  Mama looks like she’s done it already. Like her heart is out there in the world somewhere without her.

  It looks like agony.

  “What was his name?” I ask.

  She hesitates. Looks away.

  “Wyatt,” she chokes out.

  I nod like I knew, but I didn’t. It’s just that it doesn’t matter. It’s a name. It didn’t conjure him here in the dark with us. I can’t see him or talk to him. I never will.

  “Did he know about me?”

  Mama shakes her head. “No. I couldn’t. If I told him, we’d try again. And again. And it would rip us apart. And then it’d rip you apart and I couldn’t…” She looks at me, her eyes pleading with me to understand. “Butler, I couldn’t,” she whispers.

  I swallow hard. “It’s okay.”

  It’s not. But it is. It has to be. My mama has never made a decision about my life that wasn’t a hundred percent in my best interest. I have to trust that. If I don’t, my entire world will fall apart.

  I take a deep breath, my eyes turned up to the cloud-filled sky. “He wasn’t a bad guy then?”

  “No. We brought out the worst in each other, but people loved him. Everyone did. He was funny, like you. Handsome, like you.”

  “Do you have a picture of him?”

  “I do. I’ll have to dig it out. It’s old. He was your age when I took it.”

  “Do I look like him?”

  She smiles. “You’re the spitting image of him.”

  “If he was—” I breathe out hard. “I don’t know where—”

  “What, baby? What are you trying to say?”

  “If he was so great, why am I such a piece of shit?”

  Mama’s eyes go big. Her mouth turns sharply down. “Why would you think you’re a piece of shit?”

  “Because I always thought my father was. No one would talk about him or tell me his name. You made it sound like you ran away from him when you got pregnant, so I assumed he was some kind of asshole. And every time I do something stupid, something fucked up, I tell myself that’s him. That’s my daddy in me. But it’s not. That’s just me. I’m the asshole and I’m nothing like him at all.”

  “Butler, stop. You are not an asshole. You’re so much like him. He was talented too. He was kind. He was sweet when it mattered.”

  Hot tears sting my eyes. I feel like I’m drowning. “I wish I could have met him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you let me meet him?”

  “Because I was scared to see him. I thought… I thought when you were older I could find out where he was and tell you, but I was afraid. I was afraid of finding him because if I did, I don’t know what I would have done.” She sniffs, flicking her cigarette into the yard. “I thought I had more time but I was wrong.”

  Tears roll down my cheeks. “What happened to him?”

  “He worked on a fishing boat. They got caught in a storm and he fell overboard. He drowned.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “His sister called me.”

  “When’s the funeral? Where is it?”

  Mama is quiet. Her lips are pinched tightly together, her eyes spilling over with tears. “She had a hard time finding me. The funeral was a week ago.”

  “Jesus fucking—” I fall forward, my elbows on my knees. My face in my hands.

  “I’m so sorry, Butler.”

  “What about John?”

  She goes stiff, surprised. “What about John?”

  I turn to her. My eyes hold hers, unwavering. “Do you love him?”

  Mama bites her lip. She smiles, shaky and small. She tries to look away but in the end she can’t. Not from me. “Of course I love him.”

  “But not the way you loved Wyatt.”

  “I’ll never love any man the way I love Wyatt.”

  ...the way I love…

  My mama still loves my daddy. She always will. She loved him pretty and she loved him ugly, and there’s no coming back from that.

  “You gotta quit with the cigarettes, Mama,” I tell her tightly, desperate to change the subject.

  She smiles sadly. “I did once. I gave them up for you when I was pregnant. I didn’t start again until you were five. It was like coming home.”

  “It’s bad for you.”

  “Life is bad for you, baby. All of it is killing us slowly.”

  “Still.”

  “Leave me this vice, Butler,” she tells me firmly, but not without affection. “A woman can only cut so much out of herself before she disappears all together.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The coaches gave me a week off when I told them about my father.

  I only took three days.

  When my plane lands in Eugene, it’s raining. It’s colder than it was in Rock Hill. Grayer. I’m getting used to it, though. It doesn’t mess me up like it did when I first got here. I’m adapting, finally.

  Before I left, Mama gave me the number for Wyatt’s sister, Lucy. She wants me to call her to get to know that side of my family and find out more about my daddy. I don’t know if I’m gonna call, but it’s nice to have the number.

  She also spent hours on the phone with our insurance. When she was done, she gave me the name and number of a therapist here in Eugene. She said she won’t keep paying my car insurance unless I go. It’s an empty threat but I’ll go anyway. I won’t be the only guy on the team seeing a shrink and it might not be the worst thing in the world to have someone to talk to.

  I talked to Weiss on the phone last night. I gave him my flight information and he promised to be there to pick me up. But when I get to baggage claim, he’s not there.

  Brooklyn is.

  It physically hurts to see her. I feel like someone is stabbing me through the chest with a burning hot poker. I don’t know what it means or how to feel or how to react.

  All I know is that my heart hurts and she looks beautiful.

  She doesn’t say anything when she sees me. She doesn’t ask how I am or if my flight was okay. She walks to me slowly, her arms open.

  I fall to my knees in front of her, collapsing against her, crying my fucking eyes out.

  “It’s okay,” she promises. “It’s okay.”

  The airport buzzes busily around us, but I can’t hear it. The noise in my head is gone, every question and doubt silenced as she holds me, rocking me slowly from side to side, cooing gently in my ear.

  It’s okay. It’s okay.

  And I believe her.

  ***

  “Do you want me to take you home?” Brooklyn asks as we pull out of the parking lot. “Or do you need some time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  My voice is hoarse. Rough from crying like a baby against her chest. I should be embarrassed by that but it was such a relief, I feel like it saved my life. I let out everything that was bottled up inside me and now I feel empty, wasted, but clean. I feel free.

  “I don’t want you to go,” I tell her.

  She glances at me quickly. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

  “Why?”

  Brooklyn frowns. “Butler.”

  “I’m not trying to be an asshole. I’m honestly asking so I know what’s going on. Why would you stay? Why are you here?”

  “Because you need me.”

  “Take me home. I’m good.”

  “Will you stop?”

  “What are we doing, B?” I ask, exhausted. “Am I allowed to say it yet?”

  “Say what?”

  “I love you.”

  She flinches. “I guess you are.”

  “That’s your answer?”

  “It wasn’t a question.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Yes.”

  My heart explodes painfully in my chest. “Seriously?”

  “Very seriously. Yes,” she replies quietly. “I love you.”

  “Are you still mad at me?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, what are we doing?”

  “We’re going home,” she tells me simply. “I’m going to unpack your suitcase and you’re going to take a shower, and then we’re going to make dinner together. And if you want to talk about your dad, we’ll talk about your dad. If you don’t, we won’t. We’ll watch The Bachelor with Weiss and Eustis instead.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we’ll go to bed.”

  “And you’ll stay?”

  She looks at me sideways. “Do you want me to?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Yes. I want to stay with you. I want to sleep with you. Only you. I want to wake up with you as often as I can.”

  “Then what?”

  She giggles at how relentless I am, shaking her head. “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to eat breakfast with you.”

  “I want to eat breakfast with you too.”

  “I want to destroy Arizona.”

  “I want to watch you destroy Arizona.”

  “Will you wear an Oregon jersey to the game?” I ask.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “What if we make it to the National Championship?”

  She considers carefully. “Fine. Yes. If you go to the National Championship, I will wear an Oregon jersey.”

  “My jersey?”

  She smiles. “Yes. Your jersey.”

  “We’re gonna win.”

  “I believe you.”

  “And the next year, I’m gonna get drafted.”

  “I know.”

  “Will you go with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  Brooklyn stops, stunned. Her mouth opens and closes twice. She takes her eyes off the road just for a second to see if I’m kidding.

  “I’m serious,” I tell her, my voice deep with meaning. “When I get drafted, wherever I go, I want you to go with me. I want you to be my wife. And I know you’re nineteen and you wanna be free and a ring would make you feel trapped. I get that. We don’t have to get a ring and make it official yet. We have years to get there, but I want you to know that’s where I’m headed. I want that, all of it, with you.”

  She breathes in and out slowly. She reminds me of the ocean. Of the fresh salt air and the measured rise and fall of the tide. I can count on Brooklyn. She’s consistent and kind – everything I’m not. But she can teach me. If she’s willing.

  “Do you want that too?” I ask gently. “With me?”

  Brooklyn smiles. “I do.”

  PROLOGUE

  “Hey, babe.” I nod to the TV. “It’s your boy.”

  She rolls her eyes, pretending to be annoyed with me.

  She should be, but she’s not.

  “He’s not a boy anymore and he was never mine,” she reminds me.

  Jessa sits up excitedly, her brown curls bouncing as she fires an accusing look at her mama. “You know Seth Varinaitis?!”

  Brooklyn shakes her head. “I met him once, in college.”

  “But you know him?”

  “Not even a little.”

  Jessa falls back on the couch, disappointed.

  “Why are you sad about that?” I ask, poking her with my foot. “You had six pro players at your birthday party this year.”

  “Your daddy was a pro player,” Brooklyn reminds her.

  “For, like, six years.”

  “Six more than you,” I mutter.

  She turns her glare to me. She’s thirteen and always glaring these days. “Seth has been a quarterback for twenty years.”

  “Sixteen, and the lifespan of a quarterback is longer than anyone else in the NFL. They don’t take hits nearly as often. He gets to sit back there in the pocket while the rest of us get hammered into the ground.”

  Wyatt throws a pillow at Jessa. His little toddler arms aren’t strong enough to get it very far, but what it lacks in distance it makes up for in precision. It hits her right in the face. “Daddy worked harder!”

  “That’s my boy.”

  “Wyatt, don’t throw things at your sister,” Brooklyn scolds halfheartedly.

  “Whatever,” Jessa pouts. “Daddy might have worked harder but Seth is more famous. He’s still playing. Daddy’s just a construction worker.”

  “Contractor.”

  “Whatever.”

  Brooklyn looks at me over our children, across our living room. Over the small distance between us that spans decades of marriage, kids, struggles, and joy.

  Fucking kids, she mouths to me.

  I shrug, like ‘what are you gonna do?’

  She rolls her eyes, turning back to the TV. I watch her watch the man she once knew saunter across the screen, but she’s not there with him. Not now and not then when she was nineteen and she was in the back of his car with his hands on her body, because he was never hers and she was never his. She belongs to me and our kids and herself that’s so invested and so in love with this family that it doesn’t hurt the way she once thought it would. She’s not lost with us, looking for an escape or a memory of what she used to be.

  Here, she is home.

  Today, she is thirty-three.

  Thanks for reading nineteen! I hope you loved it.

  Please enjoy your FREE bonus novel,

  Rookie Mistake (Offensive Line #1)

  ROOKIE MISTAKE

  An Offensive Line Novel

  By Tracey Ward

  ROOKIE MISTAKE

  An Offensive Line Novel

  By Tracey Ward

  Text Copyright © 2016 Tracey Ward

  All Rights Reserved

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author, except as used in book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, events or incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to places or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Chapter One

  TREY DOMATA

  SCOUTING REPORT

  Position: Quarterback

  Height: 6-4 Weight: 224 Age: 21

  Born: Oahu, HI

  College: UCLA

  High School: Pearl City High School

  Draft Declaration: November 28th