Page 102 of Crossing Arizona

Swallowing hard, I wipe my eyes. “Yeah, well… maybe.”

The word tastes foreign, like hope dipped in fear, but it’s there.

Mom smiles softly as she ruffles my hair. “It’s not a weakness, choosing to face it instead of letting it drown you. It’s strength.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. For the first time in years, the idea of talking doesn’t feel like admitting defeat. Maybe it’s time to let someone else help carry some weight.

For both my daughter and myself.

Because if Xed is trying to be better for her—for us—then so can I.

No matter how long it takes.

Chapter forty-one

“Come on, Fungus, hurry!”

Hannah’s hand feels small in mine as we make our way through the crowded stadium in Denver. She’s been chattering non-stop, the excitement bubbling out of her like we weren’t just parted for seven months. Like I haven’t spent over half a year missing her so much it hurt to breathe.

She tugs on my arm, pointing toward the field. “There he is! Daddy’s warming up!”

When I follow her gaze, I see him.

Matty.

The sight of his thick frame sends a familiar ache through my chest.

The stadium lights shine down on him, and for a moment, I hate how good he looks. Confident, sure of himself, as if he hasn’t shattered me. As if he didn’t leave me behind to pick up the pieces when he left.

“I miss you so much,” Hannah had said on the phone last week. “Daddy’s playing a game soon, so please come.”

It was the first call I’d gotten from her in months, thanks to Val. Part of me wonders if she actually wanted to see me or if Matty put her up to it, but I cut that thought off at the knees.

Better. I’m supposed to be doing better. Hannah wants me here and I’m worth it. I’m worthy of her love.

Matty’s dad, Wayne, stands to hug me when we get to our seats, squeezing me tightly.

“It’s good to see you, son,” he says, patting me on the back. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Not totally a lie. It’s all okay.

Monotonous. Tedious. Boring.

Lonely.

Hannah laughs, waving furiously at her dad, oblivious to the storm in my head. He hasn’t noticed us yet, too busy throwing warm-up passes with his teammates, his movements fluid. He looks happy. Free.

I wonder if he realizes I’m here to see her, not him. I just need my heart to get the same memo. Because no matter how happy I am to see her, sitting here feels like opening a wound that will never close.

I’ve tried to forget him. Move on, go about life like every part of who I am wasn’t created to exist in Matty’s world. Work, NA, therapy, sleep. That’s it. It’s been a fucking nightmare loop.

When the game starts, Hannah cheers like crazy, adorable in her little Cardinals jersey. I sit stiffly, clapping when I’m supposed to, but my eyes keep drifting back to Matty. He runs the field like he owns it, weaving between defenders with the kind of focus that’s always made him a monster on the field. It goes on for far too long, both teams battling head-to-head.

The stadium erupts when he scores a defensive touchdown in the second quarter, putting his team ahead, and Hannah jumps up, screaming. Matty pulls off his helmet, scanning the crowd as he jogs back to the sideline, and when his eyes land on us—on me—they freeze.

For a moment, it’s like the noise of the crowd disappears. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I hate how his gaze lingers and how it makes me feel like he’s trying to reach for something that isn’t his anymore.

If it ever was.