California Sunshine

“You don’t know what day it is?” I ask Bats in surprise. He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Anniversary?” Bats shakes his head. “Event you don’t want to be at? Or an event you wanted to be at?”

“Wanted to be,” Bats answers. That beautiful smile disappears as his entire demeanor deflates. “The NFL draft.”

Pieces start clicking into place. It’s Bats’ story to tell, though. I remain quiet in anticipation, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Or at least, I hope it’s reassuring.

“You know I played linebacker at Syracuse.” I nod, having gotten that piece of information back at Mission Creek. “I came off the bench freshman year, but I got a lot of playing time. By the time training camp came around for my sophomore season, I was a starter. Made third-team all-conference that year.”

I know a little about football. Not much, but all-conference sounds impressive. “So you were pretty good, then?” I hedge.

A hint of a grin tugs at the corner of Bats’ lip. “Heading into my junior season, coaches were talking about draft potential. Guiding me on things I needed to do to determine not if I could make it into the league, but how high I could get drafted.” His eyes glaze with a far off look, as if he can still see that future dangling before him, just out of reach. Tension bleeds down his arm and into our grasp. I give him the minute he needs. Hopeful he’ll return the favor when it’s time to tell my story.

After a long, quiet minute, I squeeze his hand, pulling his attention back. “So what happened? Why aren’t you at the draft?”

Bats turns his gaze back to me, like he’s remembering that we’re on a trail in Southern California, and not a field in upstate New York. “Midway through the season, we were playing North Carolina State. I was having the game of my life. No runners were getting past me. I’d broken up so many passes, they’d even stopped throwing in my direction. If there had been any doubt before, this game was making it pretty clear that I had a future beyond college.”

Bats’ gait grounds down to a halt. I halt with him, waiting with bated breath for him to continue, though not demanding. I have to let him tell his story as he needs to. He takes a long breath as he braces himself for what’s coming next.

“Early in the third quarter, they lined up in a passing formation. Something in the way they shifted reminded me of a play I had seen in the film package. I called it out, moving toward the end of the line as they snapped the ball. The runner started toward the other side of the field, but sure enough, the guard on my side pushed one way, the tackle pushed the other, and the runner switched directions, heading for the hole they made. I rushed in, hitting him before he could reach the line of scrimmage. And then . . .” Bats’ jaw locks tight. His eyes close, trying to turn away from the replay in his mind. With effort, he lets out a long exhale, like he’s doing yoga. Breathe in the good, release the bad. The longer his exhale persists, the worse I fear the next part. “And then Jeffreys, one of our defensive linemen, knocked his guy on his ass . . . And onto me. Three hundred pounds came crashing down right on my right knee.”

I suck in a sharp breath. My mind paints a picture I don’t want to watch, causing me to wince at the unimaginable pain it must have caused him.

The hot springs lie not far from where we’re standing. It’s late on a Sunday, but there’s still a half dozen people in the water. Fellow hikers relaxing after a long day on the trail. Grinder passes us, snagging our towels. “I know the rest. Nova and I will find a place to spread out.”

We say nothing as Grinder and Nova head for the shoreline about fifty yards ahead. “I’m guessing it was pretty bad?” I say, turning my attention back to Bats once we’re alone.

He nods, letting out another deep breath. “I was taking classes in sports medicine with an emphasis on fitness, therapy, conditioning, that sort of stuff. I had done well in my anatomy class, so beyond knowing that my knee was dislocated, I was pretty sure which tendons had snapped or torn before I got the MRI. It was two months before I could start rehab. My season was over.”

“Just your season?” I wonder. Like me, they had finished college right before coming here. “If you had been a junior, that would have been more than a year ago. What happened after that?”

Bats runs a hand through his hair as he gets a far off look again, but this time he doesn’t need my encouragement to continue. “I did my rehab and worked my ass off in the weight room. By the time training camp came around, Coach thought I still had a shot. If I could put together a good year, I could get an invitation to the combine, show that my knee was good, and still get drafted. Probably a lower pick than I would have gone for if my junior year hadn’t gone awry, but if I could make a team . . .” He sighs and shakes his head. “All I needed was a chance.”

“Did your year not go well?”

“Quite the opposite. The season started out great. As if the NC State game never happened. Until I pulled a tendon in week four. It was the same one I tore the year before. It only kept me sidelined for a few weeks, but by the time I was ready to go again, my backup had taken off, and I lost the starting position. If you don’t start, you don’t get an invite to the combine, which means you don’t get drafted. Just like that, I was done.”

A sadness fills his face and his shoulders slump. Saying all of this, it makes the loss real for him. Perhaps in the same way, talking about Bryce will make it real for me. Tonight, we’re both being forced to not only face, but accept an awful truth. Lucky for him, he’s got two good friends to help him through it. Maybe he’ll let me borrow some of that strength.

Bats nods toward the guys, still waiting for us by the shore. “The three of us have been hiking for years. We’ve done some portions of the Appalachian Trail. It crosses New York and Connecticut near our families’ homes. We’d talked about thru-hiking it before, but football always got in the way. The guys saw I wasn’t doing well after the season. That’s when Grinder got online and got us the permits to come here. Fresh trail, fresh start sort of thing. You know?”

I nod, understanding than he knows. Before the end of the night, he’ll know how much we have in common. How much I want—no, need—a fresh start too.

***

I don’t swim for long. The day’s journey, along with Bats’ story and the growing dread of having to tell my own, leave me drained. I retreat to the warmth of the hot springs and let the warm water ease some of my tension, while the guys mess around in the pool below.

It doesn’t take long for Nova to join me. He settles in next to me, pulling me onto his lap, but not pressing for anything further. “Hey, you,” he says, his eyes searching mine, gauging my emotions.

“Hey,” I say back, my voice already heavy for what’s to come. “What brings you up here?”

Nova’s smile is as warm as the water we’re sitting in. “You gave me some pretty tempting options this morning. I don’t suppose enjoying you wiggling your bikini-clad ass on my lap is still an option?”

I let out a small laugh of amusement. “Maybe.”

Nova reaches up to peel a few wet strands of hair off my forehead, tucking them behind my ear. “Well, you are in a pretty cute bikini.”

“And I am on your lap,” I say, letting my hand drift up to run along the hard planes of his chest. How nice it would be to let him distract me, but my mind keeps drifting back to the promise I gave Bats.

“Maybe you should tell us about Bryce first?” he suggests.

I let my hand trail down the front of his body until it’s beneath the waterline. “Hmm. Is that really what you want me to do?”

Nova groans, liking my option, until he wraps his hand around mine, lifting it out of the water and placing a soft kiss on the back of it. He tilts his head back and calls out, “Bats.”

Beneath us, Bats pauses from where he’s wrestling with Grinder. The big guy nods and signals for Grinder to follow. Grinder looks up at me, our eyes meet for a moment, then he turns away. “Come on,” Bats tells Grinder, and they both swim over to climb into the spring.

While the guys settle in, I retreat further into Nova’s embrace, drawing strength from his gentle hold. “So . . . story time, huh?”

Nova places a soft kiss on the top of my shoulder. “Take your time, Lizzy,” he tells me, but the tone of voice says, “I’ll hold you together.”

Past Nova, Bats looks at me the same way I did earlier. Letting me know he’ll wait for my story as long as I need him to. That he’ll listen to every word I need to get out. “These guys knew my story,” he says, nodding toward Nova and Grinder. “So I never realized I needed to tell it. It was . . . refreshing.”

“Did it help?” I ask with a little hope.

Bats shrugs. “Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe. But it’s a first step. One I needed to take if I’m going to get over what could have been, I guess.”

I know what he means. If I ever want to move on from Bryce, not just ignore what happened, then I need to take that first step. Why not here and now? I suck in a deep breath of my own, mimicking Bats’ attempt at calming himself. And then I let it out. All of it.

“I met Bryce Griffon during my sophomore year at Portland State,” I begin, drawing deep calming breaths as I need to. Nova rubs slow, comforting patterns on my skin as I talk. “We went on some hikes together through the university hiking club and hit it off. He was attractive and charming and nothing like any of the guys I had been interested in before. I was certain there was no way he’d be interested in someone like me.”

“What kind of guys were you interested in before?” Nova wonders aloud.