Wildflowers and Wide Receivers

1. Jonah

Chapter 1

Jonah

2 Years Later

S weat rolls down my back as I stand under the free-frame squat rack and begin my third set. It’s March, we’re in the offseason, and I’ve stuck to my plan of hitting the gym and training hard. I’ll be starting my fifth season in the league and, including the trade, soon to be fourth with the Tampa Tarpons. Do I do a lot of squats? Yes. Any athlete will tell you that the movement of the squat strengthens the tendons, muscles, and ligaments in the legs. This one exercise lowers the chance of injuring the knee or ankle, both of which I can’t afford to have happen, and as a wide receiver, my position leaves me highly susceptible to both.

Tyler stands next to me. He’s equally as sweaty as I am, and his near-black hair is plastered to his face. He’s there for a spot if I need it, but I don’t, and neither does he. He’s a tight end for the Tarpons and, ultimately, my person. Since day one on the team, we’ve practiced, worked out, studied film, and roomed together when the team won’t allow us singles. We also spend a lot of time with one another outside the organization. He’s my best friend, and I wouldn’t have it any other way—even if he is a big clown, always forgets something, and eats way too much of my food.

I rip the set off, one through twelve, and the bar clunks loudly as I drop it back onto the rack and breathe in the scent of rubber and metal. At least it seems loud since the gym is fairly empty. Most of the team likes to come in earlier in the day, but with Vivi’s busy school and dance schedule, the calm around lunchtime works best for me.

“How’s my girl doing today?” Tyler asks as I move out from under the rack. He wipes a towel over his face, then grabs a standard-issue green-and-orange Gatorade bottle and squirts water into his mouth.

“You know you ask me this every day, and the answer is always the same.” I chuckle, eyeing him as I grab my towel and run it over my shoulders and head. The bar was heavy today, and the burn in my shoulders lingers just like the burn in my legs. “Plus, you just saw her last night.”

“Yeah, I know, but something exciting will happen one day, and you’ll want to tell me when I ask.” He grins.

“Well, today is not that day.” I pick up an identical bottle to his and take a long pull of water.

A little over two years ago, my brother and his wife tragically and unexpectedly died, leaving me their five-year-old daughter, Vivianne, or Vivi as everyone calls her. Everyone except for me. To me, she’s Wildflower.

It was New Year’s Eve, and their car was struck by a drunk driver while driving home from a late dinner. We were told that they died instantly, but on more nights than I care to say, I’ve lain in bed and wondered if that was true. Because what if it wasn’t? What if they lay there, one not moving but the other still watching? Was there panic? Was there pain? And would that pain be the physical kind or the emotional kind, knowing what is happening and what they were leaving behind?

I know I shouldn’t have these thoughts. They aren’t healthy or relevant anymore. It’s not like I can change the outcome, but I do. I can’t help it. I tell myself that everyone has these thoughts about their loved ones who’ve died this way, and somehow that makes it okay. At least for me, but then I worry about Vivi having these thoughts, too. The only comfort I have is knowing that she didn’t see any pictures of the wreckage, and she was too young to ask anyone to describe the details of the accident.

“You never know. There’s still plenty of time left,” Tyler says, breaking me from my thoughts. “So what’s for dinner?”

I almost laugh.

At twenty-four, I became a full-time parent. As Vivi’s godfather and with the legal wishes in my brother’s will, it wasn’t contested by anyone on our side of the family, which is just my uncle or his sisters-in-law, who weren’t that involved with them anyway. Not that I ever would have said no; Vivi was the light to my brother’s life, and in front of God at St. Timothy’s Cathedral and all their friends, I vowed to be there for her for every moment needed, so that’s what I’m doing. Especially since he can’t be now.

“I’m making a chicken noodle soup in the slow cooker. Lots of vegetables and a salad. Maybe some peanut butter bread or cheese toast for her, too.”

“Sounds delicious.” He grins. “I’ll be there at six.” He whips me once with his towel and walks off toward the locker room.

I follow, shaking my head.

“When are you going to start contributing to the food bill?” I call after him. It’s become a running joke that I repeatedly ask him. He eats with us at least five nights a week before heading out to wherever or with whoever.

“I’m not.” He laughs as he strips off his shirt.

“Bro, I’ve seen you eat. You should definitely be contributing,” Sully chimes in. He’s just come from the cold tub, so his skin is red, and my junk shrivels at the thought of having to sit in it.

Sully is a defensive captain. He’s our lead defensive tackle and shares that spot with Miles, our middle linebacker. Sully is quite possibly the nicest guy I know, and instead of just sticking to his side of the team, he goes out of his way to be friends with us all.

“Sully, you’re one to talk. We’ve all seen what you put down at that Brazilian steak house you took us to earlier in the season,” Tyler fires back. Sometimes I feel bad for the steak house. Considering it’s unlimited food, it’s become our go-to spot, and we can put down some food. But word has gotten out that we can be seen there, so I’d like to think we’ve increased business for them, too, as fans always show up just hoping for a sighting or an interaction.

“I’m not arguing that. Linemen eat differently,” he says, dropping his towel and his wet shorts to put on dry clothes. “I’m just saying, buy your own food for a change or contribute. Jonah is taking care of our girl, and you’re freeloading.” He winks at me.

As much as he’s a nice guy, he’s also an instigator.

Tyler scoffs. “It’s not freeloading if he invites me over.”

Sully looks at me. “Did you invite him over?”

“Nope,” I answer, stripping out of my wet clothes and wrapping a towel around me.

Tyler’s jaw drops as he looks at me. “Bro, why are you doing me dirty like this?”

I chuckle. He’s so easy to rile up.

“Just saying.” I shrug. “Maybe one night I’d like to come home to a home-cooked meal, too.”

Tyler studies me for a moment and then looks back at Sully, who’s stepping into a pair of joggers. “Fine. Point made. Once a week, I’ll bring dinner to your house for the three of us.”

“Now we’re talking,” Sully says, grinning.

“I said the three of us. You’re not invited,” Tyler tells him while scowling, and Sully laughs. It’s one of those laughs when you can’t help but smile and want to laugh too.

“We’ll see,” he taunts, wiggling his brows.

After Vivi came to live with me and the prepared meals from my teammates' spouses stopped arriving, I had to learn how to cook. Like really cook. Sure, I knew how to use a blender and a grill, smoothies and chicken all day long, but to no one’s surprise, that is not the diet of a five-year-old girl. I’d also convinced myself that if I was giving her good, solid, healthy meals, her emotional recovery would waver toward the better side. But so far, her shine is still the same—as dull as the day we finally said goodbye to Boston.

It took three weeks to have the funeral, pack up their belongings, and sell the house. Three weeks to make it seem as if my brother, the best person I’d ever known, never existed, and three weeks for Vivi’s personality to close in on itself. Where she was always a curious, bubbly, and happy child, she’s now composed, quiet, and in many ways emotionless. Even after all of the therapy, which is still ongoing, and fun activities, I keep waiting for her to snap out of it or finally have that emotional break, but so far, she hasn’t.

“I’m thinking of taking the boat out this weekend. You and Vivi wanna go?” Tyler asks as he grabs his bag from his locker and pulls on a clean shirt. Instead of showering, I know he’s going to head home to drop off his car and then go for a run down Bayshore Boulevard. I swear he loves fresh air and the water more than anyone I’ve ever met, and it’s the perfect time of the year in Tampa for that.

“No big plans?” I tease.

His dark brown eyes connect with mine, and he gives me this look that says I’m crazy. I can’t help but crack up while moving my bag to the chair in front of my locker.

Tyler doesn’t do serious, and he’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that spending excessive time with someone gives false hope. Hope he wants no part of. He loved a girl all through college, but that didn’t work out. Now he’s so casual there’s almost no point to his social life, and as for me, I don’t have one at all. Not that I need one. Right now, I’m where I’m supposed to be.

“The only plans I want are sweeping my little sweetheart away on the boat to go see if we can find some dolphins.”

I smile at him. “I’m sure she’ll love it. Count us in.”

Vivi might be mine, but Tyler has made himself a steady constant in her life too, and I will forever be grateful to him for that.

“Perfect.” He slings his bag across his chest and heads for the door. “See you for dinner,” he calls out over his shoulder while tossing up the “peace out” sign as he walks out.

“You tell me when he’s bringing dinner, and I’m definitely coming over,” Sully says, smiling conspiratorially.

I laugh. “I will.”

After taking a quick shower, I’ve just returned to my locker when I feel the haptic vibration of my watch on my wrist. Looking down, I see that the school is calling. Uneasiness instantly sweeps through me, and my stomach drops out because why would they be calling? It’s stupid that unexpected phone calls give me a flash of anxiety, but after John, I can’t help the momentary irrational panic that ensues. Trying not to let myself get too worked up, I dig my phone out of my bag and take the call.

“This is Jonah.” I hate my shaky voice.

“Mr. Dallmann, this is Ms. Rice from Vivi’s school.” I start pacing on the pewter carpet in front of the cherrywood team lockers.

“Yes, how can I help you?” I ask. I can’t see Vivi being bad or getting into trouble; she’s nearly perfect. So maybe she got sick?

“Well, it seems Vivi had an accident today . . .”

Accident.

The word rings through my ears, and I stop hearing anything else she’s saying. Accident, that’s what they told me about John. They said there had been an accident.

“What?” I pause, feeling fear’s fingers wrap around me and start to squeeze.

“It’s nothing serious, but we will need you to come pick her up. She hurt her ankle, and it’s quite swollen.”

I let the words register and sink in.

Her ankle.

If emotions were tangible, mine would be like a balloon that grew larger with every passing second on this call. Only it pops just like that, and relief rushes over me like a cool breeze.

Will it always be this way?

Will I always have this type of reaction?

“How?” I ask, tossing my water bottle into my bag and zipping it up.

“I believe she tripped on the stairs and stumbled.”

Stumbled? She’s so graceful and coordinated, this surprises me.

“Is she okay?” I think about her being in pain and crying, and it makes me want to damn near burst out of my skin.

“Yes, she’s fine. Just upset about how this will keep her from going to dance tonight.”

I almost laugh. Almost. Of course that’s what she’s worried about.

“Alright. Thanks for calling. I’m on my way.”

With my bag in tow, instead of heading for my SUV, I detour to the offices of our sports medicine staff. One of the athletic trainers will know what to do.

Pushing through the double doors, I find Ryan sitting at his desk in the back of the room. He’s been a trainer with the team for at least five years, so he should know a lot of different people in town.

“Hey, Jonah. You okay?” he asks, scanning me to see if he can spot an obvious injury.

“Yeah, I’m fine. But I just got a call from Vivi’s school. I guess she’s hurt her ankle. What should I do?”

“Did they say how bad?” He frowns as he leans back in his chair and tilts his head.

“No, just that I should come pick her up. Where should we go?” I mean, it’s a legitimate question. Should I take her to the emergency room, an urgent care, call her pediatrician, or a specialist? I have no idea.

“I’ve always heard great things about TBPO, Tampa Bay Pediatric Orthopedics. I know a lot of the high school athletic trainers refer their kids there. There’s a female doctor there, Dr. Black. She’s young and new, but Vivi would probably like her best. Just call and see if you can get her in this afternoon.”

“Perfect. Thank you,” I tell him, taking a step backward toward the door.

“No problem,” he says, calmly smiling. “Let me know what she says, and if you need to bring her in, I’m here too.”

“I appreciate it,” I say to him as I turn and start jogging toward the parking lot.

Turns out, I’ll have something to tell Tyler about after all.