So the Spartans would blitz often and hard, Gabe decided. If they could penetrate the Wildcats’ offensive line at least once every set of downs, maybe get a few sacks, they could rattle Newcomber, make him hear footsteps even when there weren’t any coming. With so much pressure on their quarterback, the Wildcats would have to go to their running game, which would be easier to defend against because they didn’t have much of a runningback.
Gabe rubbed the stubble on his chin as he watched another impressive pass. The only other way to compensate for Newcomber would be to cover the Wildcats’ receivers and try to pick off a few passes. Interceptions could turn a game around quicker than anything. But—he used his remote to rewind the tape so he could take another look at a leaping catch by Wildcats’ receiver Luke Friedman—their receivers had too much speed. The Spartans didn’t have what it’d take to shut them down. Not from what Gabe had seen of his defensive backs. He was better off working with the weak side defensive end—
The telephone rang. Gabe gave it a quick, impatient glance. He didn’t want to be disturbed right now. But he thought Mike might be trying to reach him, and consoled himself with the fact that they could strategize together.
Pausing the tape, he rolled over to the counter. “Hello?”
“Hi, son.”
His father. Gabe dropped his head in one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. He would have been more careful about snatching up the handset if he’d anticipated a call from Garth. Several months ago, Garth had promised to give Gabe time to adjust to the recent changes in their family. Other than a few messages relayed through his mother, he’d respected that promise. Until now.
“Sir.”
His father hesitated, as if disappointed by Gabe’s formality. But, a heartbeat later, he recovered and barreled into a conversation. “Your mother told me the good news.”
“What good news?”
“That you’re coaching the Spartans.”
Since the accident, Gabe had heard a great deal of false cheer in his father’s voice. After the pride that had always been there before, he hated it. But today Garth seemed genuinely pleased.
“It’s only for one season,” Gabe said.
His father didn’t let that dampen his enthusiasm. “So what’s the team like this year? You got any talent to work with?”
In the past, Gabe would have told Garth about Kenny Price’s raw ability. He would’ve mentioned that they had a strong offensive line, not much in the way of defensive backs, a runningback that could be faster with some practice, and a few good receivers. But he and his father weren’t close anymore. After what Gabe had learned nearly a year ago, he didn’t even want to talk to Garth. “A little.”
At his short, abrupt answer, an awkward silence ensued.
“Gabe, please,” his father said at last. “Isn’t there some way we can put the past behind us?”
“The past, Dad? The past is now part of the present and the future, isn’t it? I take the chance of running into Lucky every time I drive into town. Through her, I have a new niece. She’s also married to my best friend. How do I put that behind me?”
“Accept her and adjust!”
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. “I prefer to mind my own business and stay away from the mess you’ve created.”
“Come on, Gabe.”
“It’s my problem, Dad,” he said. “Forget about it.”
“I can’t forget about it. You’re still angry.”
His father had that right. Gabe knew he’d probably be angry for the rest of his days—angry with Russ for sending Hannah into such a panic the night she crashed into him, angry at Hannah for passing that damn truck on a curve in a snowstorm, angry with his father for hiding his secret for so long then letting it out when Gabe needed him most. Gabe had gone from MVP of the NFL to a crippled man living in a cabin; his father had gone from someone who’d been admired and respected by the whole community to just another schmuck who’d cheated on his family.
“Can’t you forgive me?” Garth asked.
“I forgive you,” Gabe said immediately. He had no desire to hurt his father. But his trust was destroyed and he no longer had anything to give. He was struggling too hard to hang on to the hope that he’d walk again, when he’d seen so little progress over the past three years.
“Then, will you come to dinner on Sunday night?”
Gabe envisioned sitting at the table with Reenie shooting meaningful glances his way and pointing out all the things he could still do, even in a wheelchair. His mother, at the other extreme, waiting on him hand and foot as if he could no longer do anything. His father pretending that life was good now that the family was complete again. Hell, maybe Lucky would even show up.
The thought of facing that situation made despair inch closer—and Gabe immediately shied away. “Sorry, I’ll be busy getting ready for our first game. It’s in a little more than a week.”
His father didn’t respond for several seconds. “I miss you,” he said at last.
Suddenly, Gabe’s chest constricted and his eyes burned. He missed his dad, too, but he missed the Garth he used to know. He missed striding up to his sister and throwing her over his shoulder to swat her butt when she provoked him too much. He missed his mother calling to let him know when she needed something in the house repaired and his father was too busy to do it.
He missed the world as it used be. And he didn’t know how to find his way back to the happiness he’d once known. He wasn’t even sure it was possible.
He glanced down at his legs. “I’m afraid some things are irreversible,” he said and hung up. He refused to think any longer about his father, or Lucky, or the accident. He had things to do.
But as Gabe rolled back to the living room, he realized he’d lost his appetite and wasn’t interested in watching tapes of high school football anymore.
Turning off the television, he headed outside to his shop, where he blasted his stereo and poured all his energy into sanding a cedar chest. By the time he quit, it was getting dark, and he was almost too exhausted to wheel himself into the cabin.
THE TELEPHONE WOKE Gabe just as the sun was coming up. He squinted against the light streaming through the window above him and looked around to discover that he’d slept on the couch last night.
“Shit.” He hated waking up this way. After he’d been released from the hospital, he’d seen little point in living, much less performing the daily conventions of living. He hadn’t bothered to shave, change his clothes, clean his cabin, or do anything else, really, except lie in front of the television. Once in a while, he’d open a can so he could eat, but he hadn’t even done that with any regularity.