It became a ritual.
Every morning, I’d wake up to the sound of my phone pinging on my nightstand. Bleary-eyed from not sleeping, I’d reach for it and stare at the words waiting for me. They were different each time, but they came in like clockwork every single day.
Good morning.
I’m still here.
I hope you breathe a little easier today.
Don’t give up on us.
You looked beautiful yesterday.
It will all be okay, Julep. Trust me.
Each time, no matter what the text said, it would elicit a sharp pain through my chest as I hugged the phone and closed my eyes. I’d hold it there like it was him, trying not to cry and usually failing.
I never answered.
“I feel stupid for ever thinking I could be happy,” I admitted to Mary one night while we watched TV. “For ever thinking what we were doing wouldn’t have to end.”
“You can be happy, Julep.”
“Just not with him,” I said.
She frowned, leaning her head on my shoulder. “One day he will thank you for doing what he wasn’t strong enough to do.”
That didn’t make me feel any better.
Days swirled into weeks, the icy rain and snow battering New England making my body feel just as cold as my heart.
All the while, Holden respected my wish for space.
Other than those texts, he left me alone. He didn’t sneak over when Mary was at work, and he didn’t beg me to come over late at night. Even at the stadium, we avoided each other, not even sharing so much as a longing glance across the room.
My father was watching our every move.
He seemed satisfied, happy that we’d listened to him. He was even easing up on Holden a bit, handing him the reins on the field and letting him call the shots as the team got closer and closer to the bowl game.
And for me, to show that he was serious about what he said, he’d talked to my mom.
I knew he’d talked to her because one Saturday morning when I was trying to distract myself with a tough pole session, she called me.
I almost didn’t believe it was real when I saw her name on my screen, an old photo of us when I was fourteen lighting up the room. I had braces and braided pigtails. She had her arm around me. We were both in swimsuits, the sprinklers going off behind us. We’d been running through them all morning.
“Mom?” I asked when I answered, and instinctively, I thought something was wrong. Why else would she call?
“Hi, Jujubee.”
The nickname warmed my heart as much as it sent a knife spiraling through it.
“Is everything alright?”
“Of course,” she answered, as if she was confused as to why I would think anything could possibly be wrong. She hadn’t called me since Dad and I moved here.
“Okay.”
Silence.
“Your father has been telling me how good you’re doing,” she said. “I… I’m really happy to hear that.”
“Thank you,” I said, but the words were shaky, my eyes glossing with tears just when I thought I couldn’t cry anymore.
I wasn’t doing good at all.
“I was thinking, and… what if you two came home for Christmas? Your dad will only come for a day or two I imagine, with the game coming up. But… you and I can spend a few days here before we meet him in Texas.”
Texas was where the playoff game was on New Year’s Eve.
“You want me to come?”
“I do,” she whispered. “And I… I’m sorry, Julep. For how I’ve handled… well, for how I’ve handled life since Abby died.”
“I made you this way.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did,” I said, swallowing the knot in my throat. “I killed her. And then I turned into a monster. If I were my mother, I would have turned my back on me, too.”
“Oh, sweetheart…”
One lone tear rolled down my cheek, and I just let it fall.
“You didn’t kill her.”
“That’s not what you said before.”
“Well, I was wrong. I was hurting and wanted someone to blame when the truth is it was an accident.”
I shook my head. “It was my fault.”
Mom was silent for a moment, and then she said, “Did you know your dad and I used to do cocaine?”
I blanched. “You what?”
“We started dating in the late 80s,” she said, as if that explained it. “We would go to concerts all the time — Aerosmith, Kiss, Poison.” She laughed softly. “We were young. We felt invincible. Just like you and Abby did that night.”
Another tear slipped free.
“You were kids, Julep. Neither of you even considered the possibility of an overdose. And in a different situation, one where that drug hadn’t been laced? You both would have been fine. You would have had a great time and laughed about it for years to come.”
“But it was laced,” I croaked.
“It was. And it’s tragic that it was. But that doesn’t make it your fault, and it doesn’t make you a bad person. I know I didn’t help with making you see that,” she admitted. “I’ve been fighting through my own demons. I failed you as a mother, and for that, I’m sorry. But I’m here now. I’m here now, Julep, and I want to make things right.”
I thought of Holden’s uncle Kevin, how he’d talked to me when we were alone that night at his house. I heard his words echoing, his reminder that our parents are humans who make mistakes just like we do.
“I thought maybe we could do something for her,” she said after a moment. “A garden at the church, or a fountain, something to remember her by. Something you and I do together.”
I winced at the word together. It was so beautifully painful to hear.
“Come home for Christmas,” Mom said after a moment.
My heart warmed at the thought.
“Okay.”
Holden
It had been the most miserable holiday season of my life.
Every morning, I woke up with a pit in my gut and texted Julep, hoping this would be the day she answered.
She never did.
I could feel her giving up. I could feel her slipping away. And there was nothing I could do about it.
I promised her space, promised her time. And I held true to that. Even when everything in me begged me to break, I stayed strong. I resisted the urge to call her, to run to her, to so much as even look at her when we were at the stadium.
The only thing that saved me from depression was football.
I threw myself into preparing for the bowl game, waking up even earlier than usual and getting to sleep as early as I could each night. Even then, I’d usually lie awake tossing and turning and trying not to call Julep.
But at least I was trying.
I ran every morning. Then, I hit the weight room. Film came next, and by that time, we were going into practice. I focused on the team, on my players, ensuring each and every one of them was keeping a clear mind as we barreled toward the playoffs. I spent extra time after practice working with those who needed it, stuck around longer to make sure they all were passing their finals, and by the time classes ended, I was purely focused on the bowl.
We stayed on campus even after classes ended, practicing up until the day before Christmas Eve. It was only then that Coach released us for the holiday. We’d meet back here on the twenty-sixth.
And four days later, we’d fly as a team to Texas.
In a way, I was thankful for Christmas break, for getting away from the Pit for a few days and spending time with my uncles. It killed me being so close to Julep, right across the street, and yet feeling like she was on the other side of the world. I didn’t know which tortured me most — the late nights of not sleeping and wanting to sneak in through her window, or the long days at the stadium where I had to physically fight from looking at her.
The only silver lining was that her dad had stayed true to his word.
He had no intention of benching me and playing Russo, not when he was satisfied that I’d left Julep alone like he’d asked. It was almost like he finally found an ounce of respect for me. He started letting me take control, started leaving it in my hands to call the plays as I saw fit. He let me step up with each player before and after practice, finally allowing me to act as the captain I’d been trying to be all season.
It killed me that I had to give up Julep for him to see me in this way.
“You look like you could use a little rum in that eggnog,” my uncle Kevin said, nodding to the cup in my hands as he flopped down on the other end of the couch. The fire crackled under the mantel, stockings hung, and Nathan hummed along to “Merry Christmas Darling” by the Carpenters as he wrapped Joanne’s gifts and put them under the tree.
“I probably could, but no alcohol until after we win the championship.”
“Coach’s orders?”
“My orders.”
He smiled. “Sounds like the QB1 I know and love.”
I tried to smile in return, but it was impossible. I pulled out my phone and stared at the text I’d sent Julep.
Merry Christmas, gorgeous. I miss you.
I’d written it out and deleted it at least eight times before finally sending it, deciding I didn’t care if it was vulnerable. But now that it’d gone five hours without being answered, my stomach soured every time I glanced at the words.
I had no idea where her head was at or how she was feeling.
But something told me she was letting go.
“Staring at the text won’t make her answer.”
I sighed heavily, tossing my phone face down on the cushion between us. “I know.”
“I’m sure she’s thinking about you, too.”
“Glad one of us is.”
He nudged my knee with his fist. “Come on. That girl is just as crazy about you as you are her and you know it.”
“I thought so, but… I don’t know. She hasn’t talked to me, not once, not even a single text since that night.”
“She asked for space.”
“And I’m giving it to her.”
Uncle Kevin arched a brow.
“Mostly.” I bristled. “All things considered, I think my willpower has been remarkable.”
He chuckled then, sipping his hot cocoa and licking the leftover marshmallow it left on his top lip. “Just focus on the game, okay? On your team. That’s what she would want.”
“I am.”
“And let her focus on her family.”
I sighed, nodding. “I’m trying.”
Uncle Kevin patted my leg, then moved down to the floor with Nathan to fix a bow he’d tied. Apparently, it wasn’t good enough, and he eyeballed Kevin as he fixed it — though not like he was annoyed. More like he thought it was adorable, like he knew his spouse well enough to know he’d be going behind his back fixing bows for the rest of their lives.
My chest ached because I could picture something similar with Julep.
Was I insane? It felt that way. It felt as if I was a madman. How was it possible that this time last year, the only thing on my mind, in my heart, was football? The only thing I could dream about was winning the championship and getting drafted into the NFL?
Now, every waking thought and every sleepless night was wrapped up in her.
The day after Christmas, I showed up bright and early for practice, and I wasn’t the only one. Half the team was already there, and all of us felt the approaching bowl game like an earthquake rumbling in our bones.
We boarded the flight to Houston on December thirtieth with clear eyes, steadfast and ready.
On New Year’s Eve, when we made our way onto the freshly painted field for warmups, we all buzzed with an uncontrollable energy.
This was it. This was our moment.
This was what we’d fought for all season long.
We were one win away from the championship game, two wins away from taking home the title. We’d come too far to let anyone take what was ours now, and I ran over my speech in my mind as we finished our warmups and jogged toward the locker room for pre-game.
Julep stepped in front of me before I made it to the tunnel.
I slowed my pace, stopping a few feet from where she stood. My stomach tightened, chest aching at the sight of her. She looked as strung out as I felt, and yet somehow more beautiful than I’d ever seen her before. The setting sun cast her in a warm golden glow, one that sparked her brown eyes to life.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if she wanted me to speak at all. So, I just stood there, helmet in hand, wishing I could reach for her, and using all my strength in that moment not to.
For a long moment, she just stared at me, her eyes flicking between mine as she held her chin high. Then, she took one minuscule step toward me, sucking all the air out of the stadium when she did.
“Good morning. I’m still here, too. Every breath burns without you,” she said, her voice wavering a bit.
My throat tightened with pain, even as relief washed over me.
She was answering my texts.
“I haven’t given up on us. You’re crazy if you think I’ve looked anything close to beautiful in this mess of a state I’ve been in. I do trust you.” She paused, smiling, and then whispered. “Merry Christmas.”
A breath of a laugh left my nose.
“This is your win,” she finished, letting those words hang heavy between us. “Go fucking get ’em, Cap.”
And then she jogged through the tunnel with my heart in her hands.
