Page 70 of First Down Promise

I bite back a laugh. “Yes, but that’s beside the point.” I clear my throat and fiddle with the hem of my sweatshirt. “Okay. Um, what happened to your parents?”

Josh’s smile fades as my question sinks in. “Oh, shit.” He grazes his fingers over the leather steering wheel.

“You don’t have to answer.”

“No, it’s okay. We haven’t talked about it, and we should because this is getting serious.” He turns toward me. “Let’s get the hard one over with. My mom was a narcissist, to say the least. She was really hard on my sisters, made them dress like her, and made them keep their hair shoulder-length until they were eighteen.”

“Why?”

“Because my mom had really long hair, and I think she felt threatened. My sisters are beautiful, and thank God, the three of us look like Dad. Anyway, she was weirdly overbearing and loving with me, though. Like in a smothering way. And the house was always more peaceful when Mom wasn’t home.” He sighs as I keep my attention on him. “That was rare, since she didn’t work. My oldest sister, Janie, got out the minute she turned eighteen. Then Josie did the same thing. I was only fifteen, and my dad left, too.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel. “He said he’d come back for me, but he never did.”

“Why didn’t he?” I ask.

“I don’t know, but I was by myself with her until I graduated high school. I tried to transfer schools my senior year and live with Janie and her fiancé—my brother-in-law now—in Houston. But I couldn’t do it without parental permission. It ended up being a blessing in disguise. I got a football scholarship to A&M, but Mom wanted me to pass on it, stay home, and work in the oil fields like Dad. I took it and never looked back. I was still in Texas, but a seven-hour drive from my hometown,” he replies. I release a breath and resist the urge to touch him in case he needs a little space.

“What happened to her?”

His shoulders sink.

“My freshman year at A&M, she wanted me to come home for fall break even though it was only a four-day weekend. Hardly worth the fourteen-hour round trip, and she would never put up the cash for me to fly to Midland. I had a game that weekend, too. I just couldn’t make it work.” He rests his elbow on the center console and rubs his temple. “She was found dead that weekend. Sleep meds, anxiety meds, and alcohol in her system.”

“Josh… I had no idea.”

“Yeah. I didn’t know she was hurting.” His voice catches, but as he stares out of the windshield, I can’t quite make out his expression. “There wasn’t a note. It could have been an accident or on purpose. No one will ever know. God, it’s been twelve years.”

“How did you get through that?”

“I had a good coach at A&M. He passed a couple of years ago, but I think he knew what kind of mom I had. What’s fucked up is my sisters didn’t go to her funeral. Both of them said they were glad she was gone.”

“Were you?”

“God, no. She was a lot, but she was still Mom. I’m not mad at my sisters, either. Not now, anyway. They had it worse than I did growing up.” This whole time he’s had this history, and I’ve always talked about how amazing my parents were.

I drop my gaze to my hands. “I’m really sorry.” His hand splays across my back.

“Why?”

“Because my family—”

“Abby, look at me. You had amazing parents.” I study his dark eyes. “I try to see the best in everything, and my dad hurt me when he left. But I know what kind of dad I want to be because of him.” Something about the word dad sticks with me.

“What happened to him?” I ask quietly.

“Still completely MIA. I look him up every so often to see if I can find anything, and as far as I know, he’s still alive somewhere,” Josh replies. “I’m guessing he went to Oklahoma or New Mexico because of oil. He might have also gone to sea to work on an offshore rig. Oil’s all he knew. Like I only know football.”

“That’s not true, Josh. Are you mad at him?”

He shakes his head. “When I was fifteen and sixteen, yeah, but then I was just disappointed. Now I’m numb,” he answers.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know any of this. Do the guys?”

“Dane does. Pete and Coop know pieces.”

It occurs to me that if we ever have kids, they won’t have a single grandparent, and I wrap my arms around myself. Pete and I had the best grandparents on both sides. I’ll never forget the cruises, weekends at Grandma’s, or fishing with our grandpa in Florida. They’re gone now, too, but no matter how famous Pete gets, he’ll always be Grandpa’s buddy with mosquito bites on his legs and those damn Velcro sandals on his feet.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sure it’s not easy,” I say.

Josh gives me a faint smile. “No, it’s not. My dad’s a good guy, too. He taught me how to throw a perfect spiral, but I think so much time went by that he wouldn’t know what to say now.”