Better than Perfect (32 page)

This team . . . these
assholes
. . . are fucking up my chance. I sit on the bench, seething from every pore of my body as the players put in 110 percent for Butter even though he sucks.

“Fitzpatrick, get your butt over here!” Coach Dieter yells from across the field. “The rest of you, take a lap around the field, then you're dismissed.”

I grab my helmet and walk over to the coach. “I didn't come here to be sidelined.” I can't hide my frustration.

“Listen, Derek, despite what happened on the field I can tell you've got a good arm.”

“If the team'll back me up—”

“They won't.” He takes his hat off and leans forward. “I can tell them until my face is blue, but for some reason the guys don't trust you. My boys'll take a hit to protect Butter even if it means breakin' their bones to do it. You need to earn their respect and loyalty. Once you do that, we've got a real good shot this year. It's up to you. You up for the challenge?”

“Yeah, Coach.”

“Good. Now go do damage control and fix whatever drama is happening off the field, then meet me back here for practice Monday morning.”

In the parking lot, Salazar is about to get on his motorcycle. He stiffens when he sees me.

“I'm tryin' to get Ashtyn back,” I tell him.

“Good luck with that,” he says with a shake of his head. “Not gonna happen.”

“Dammit, Salazar . . .” Time to let it all out, because there might not be a second chance at this. “I love her.” I open my arms out wide. “Why do you think I'm doin' all this? It's for her, it's for us, it's for me. Shit, I don't know. Maybe you're right and I'm the biggest asshole who ever walked the earth. But you know more than anyone how she feels about me. If I have a remote chance of winnin' her back . . . I've got to do this. Hell, I don't blame you for wantin' to beat the shit out of me. She wants a winning team, Salazar. I want to help give that to her. Help me give that to her.”

He lowers his head and sighs. “You hurt her, Fitzpatrick. She cried in my arms like a fuckin' baby, man. She's like a sister to me and I will
not
let you hurt her again.”

“I don't intend to. I hate to ask you this, but I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I need to borrow tapes of every game Fremont's played for the past three years.”

“Every game?” Victor narrows his eyes like he did that first day we met. He looked at me like I was the enemy on a rival team. “Should I trust you?”

I look him straight in the eye and say, “No. But I'd really appreciate it if you did.”

I take a deep breath as I sit in front of the coaching staff at Northwestern. It's considered the Ivy League school of the Midwest and one of the best football programs. I attended a seminar about the school and took an all-day tour of the campus. It's beautiful here, right on the shores of Lake Michigan. I can't help but wish Derek were here to say
you can do this
.

Derek. As much as I try to push the memories of us together to the back of my mind, I can't. He's become a part of me, whether he feels the same about me or not. When I close my eyes and think about him gently touching my face, running his hand through my hair, or just holding me because he knows I need to be held, I actually feel a calmness I haven't felt since my mom left.

I want to fly to Texas, grab him, and tell him how much I want him to choose me. But if I do, I won't be letting him choose his own path. I don't want to ever feel like I forced or coerced him to
be with me. He obviously wasn't ready for a commitment, at least with me. I just want him to be happy. If he's happy without me in Texas, I need to be okay with it.

Who am I kidding? I'll never be okay with it, and I miss him so damn bad. He's my best friend, the one who taught me that I'm worthy of being loved. He made me feel confident that my mom was the one who was losing out.

For the first time in my life, I actually believe it.

“While we're impressed with your performance last year and you received a wonderful recommendation from Coach Bennett at Elite and Coach Dieter at Fremont, we're just not ready to offer you any kind of assistance or a scholarship,” the coach says. “We have a lot of kickers to consider, Ashtyn. You're on our watch list, but to be honest, there's a bunch of players ahead of you and we want to be realistic. But we thank you for your time and interest in Northwestern. It's a great school, and we'd love to have you as a student here.”

I nod, thank them for considering me, and the meeting is over in a matter of minutes. Once I'm back in the elevator on my way down to the first floor, a deep pang of sorrow settles into my chest at the realization that one door is closed.

They don't think I'm good enough.

When the elevator opens, I hear a familiar cranky old lady say in a commanding voice, “I'm telling you that I don't need an appointment with the coach! I need to see him now.”

Derek's grandmother is wielding her umbrella like a sword in front of the doorman's face. The woman looks ready to slice the
doorman in two, or at least whack him on the head if she doesn't get her way.

“Ma'am, it's against policy to let you in the elevator without an appointment.”

“You are
obviously
a nincompoop when it comes to recognizing authority,” Elizabeth Worthington barks out, frustration and agitation laced in her voice. “Now get out of my way so I can see my . . .”

Mrs. Worthington lowers her umbrella and clears her throat the second she sees me. “Hello, Ashtyn.”

Just being in the same room with the old lady, even when she's threatening someone, is supremely comforting. “Mrs. Worthington, what are you doing here?”

“This heathen doorman has vexed me to no end,” she says. She sighs in annoyance while she reaches into the purse hanging from her forearm and pulls out a monogrammed handkerchief. She dabs invisible sweat off her forehead.

It doesn't escape my attention that she hasn't answered my question. It's a habit she obviously picked up from her grandson. Or maybe it's hereditary, and they were both born with the trait.

But I'm not about to let her off the hook. “I thought you went back to Texas. What are you doing here?”

Mrs. Worthington places her handkerchief back in her purse and pulls out a clean one. “That, my dear, is a very good question.” She clears her throat again and says, “Quite honestly, Ashtyn, I heard you were here and I came back to be here for you. I've got a car outside waiting to take you home.”

Me?

She came here for
me
?

Nobody comes back for me. They leave me, just like my sister, my mom, and Landon . . . even Derek, the one person who mattered most. But this old, cranky lady with a bad attitude came back for me.

“Don't look at me like that,” she orders.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

The old lady pulls me aside and shoos the doorman away. She unfolds the clean monogrammed handkerchief and starts wiping tears from my face. “You're just a complete mess, and, well, you're pretty much hopeless and need guidance. I figure I'm the only one capable of turning you into a lady of any substance.”

I still her shaky hand as she wipes fresh tears falling from my eyes. “I love you, too.”

Her eyes are welling up as more tears stream down my face, but she blinks them back and composes herself. “Stop blubbering, because now you're turning me into a mess and I won't have it.”

“I'm sorry I called you a snob.”

“You didn't call me a snob.”

“I thought it.”

She purses her lips and taps her umbrella on the ground like a cane. “Well . . . truth is, I probably am a snob. Now let's get in my car and head back home, but first we need to eat lunch. I'm hungry.”

A limo is waiting outside for her . . . for us. I sit across from her and notice her smirking, that same smirk that Derek has when he's being mischievous.

Later that evening, Brandi and Mrs. Worthington go out for dinner while I babysit Julian. After I put Julian to bed and am in my room talking to Victor about my interview at Northwestern, Julian comes in the room wearing his little pajamas with cartoon characters on them.

“I can't sleep,” he says shyly as he stands next to my bed.

I hang up with Victor and look at my nephew. “Want to come sleep in my bed?”

He nods.

I lift my comforter and he climbs inside. He's sucking his thumb while his other hand wraps around me.

“I love you, Julian,” I say as I kiss the top of his head.

He takes his thumb out of his mouth and looks up at me with adoring eyes. “I love you, too, Auntie Ashtyn.”

I've never been nervous before a game. A calmness would come over me and I was able to block out all insecurities and self-doubt. I was able to focus entirely on the game. I had an overabundance of confidence that I'd win. And I did.

I never thought there was a chance that I would lose.

But now, as I walk up to the house and see the shed in the backyard, I think about the odds against me. The thrill of anticipation makes me sweat. What if I end up losing her? And as much as I keep telling myself I need to have confidence, I'm filled with self-doubt.

Everything I set up is in place, except for one thing.

I ring the doorbell, but nobody answers, so I walk into the house. Gus is sitting in his big leather chair, watching television. I sit on the couch, pick up the remote, and turn off the television.

Gus turns to me. “What do you think you're doing? I thought you moved to Texas with that bossy grandmother of yours.”

“I need to talk to you, Gus. It's important.” I put the remote back on the table.

The man sits up straighter in his chair and rests his hands on his stomach. “What do you want, Derek?” He glances at his watch. “You've got exactly three minutes.”

For a long time I didn't care what people thought. Suddenly everything matters. Even if Ashtyn doesn't think her father's approval is important, it is. Probably more than she wants to admit.

I wipe my forehead and take a deep breath. I rehearsed what I was going to say, but all those words are forgotten. I look at Ashtyn's father, always looking glum, and clear my throat. “I've developed feelings for Ashtyn, sir.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“For a while now.”

He gives me a hard, cold stare. “You asking for my approval?”

“Yes, sir. Not that I need it, but I sure would appreciate it.”

He looks me up and down, then sits back in his chair and sighs. “I haven't done right by her. If her mother was here, Brandi wouldn't have left and Ashtyn wouldn't have played football. I thought if I didn't make a big deal about it, she'd decide to quit. I failed.”

“You still have a chance to make it up to her, Gus. She needs you. She's a strong, independent girl who'll fight for what she wants, but you'd make it a helluva lot easier for her if you were
there to cheer her on. If you'd watch her, you'd see that she's a great football player. I cherish her, sir. More than anythin'. And I'm gonna be by her side whether you're there or not.”

Gus nods. I think I just got his approval, but I'm not sure. It'll have to be enough.

I go back to Victor's house and change clothes. It's time. It's the fourth quarter and it's the last play of the game . . . in the Super Bowl of my life.

Mrs. Worthington is the slowest eater I've ever met. She insisted we go to a grill across the street from Millennium Park for lunch. The woman takes a bite of her burger and chews until her food is completely decimated before taking another bite. She keeps glancing at her watch every two seconds, like she's timing her bites. I just want to go home so I can close my eyes and pretend Derek is coming back. I know it's useless.

“So I've decided to rent a house in that Godforsaken town of yours,” Mrs. Worthington says, then takes another bite.

Wait, I'm confused. “You're moving to Fremont?”

“I told you that you'd be hopeless without me.” She gestures to my ears. “You should listen better, or get those ears of yours tested. You're family to me now. Contrary to popular belief, I look after my family. No offense, but your sister's a flake and your father could use a little pep in his step. Y'all need a little Texas influence, if you ask me.”

This old lady is moving here to be with us, to keep an eye on us, and to make sure we're taken care of. Just the thought of it brings a tear to my eye. “What about Derek?”

She rolls her keen blue eyes that remind me of Derek's. “My grandson is a wild card. I can't keep up with him. One day he's moving to Texas, the next he's going back to California. For all I know he'll end up here in Chicago.”

I don't tell her that's not about to happen. It hurts like crazy to admit it, but Derek made his decision to leave and he isn't coming back. I give her a small smile.

She checks her watch again. “I've got to go to the ladies' room. I'll be right back.” She takes her purple sun umbrella off the back of the chair.

“Do you need help?” I ask, wondering why she'd need her umbrella to go to the restroom.

She waves the tip of it in my direction. “I might be an old lady, but I can surely get to the restroom without an escort.”

I've already learned that arguing with Mrs. Worthington is useless. She heads to the restroom and I stare down at my burger. I ordered the one made with meat from grass-fed cows. Derek would be proud of me for my healthy choice. He has no clue how my life has been altered because of him. Everything I say or do brings up a memory of the time we spent together. Will the gnawing pain in my heart ever go away, or will I have a gaping wound in it the rest of my life?