From The Ashes

“They’re counting on me not to sue them,” he replied, heading for the stairwell to the second floor.

“Well, if it isn’t true, you ought to. It says right here that you’re depressed over your retirement from football and that you’re suicidal.”

“It’s fiction,” Brian said. “I’m fine. Ignore it.”

He put his foot down on the first step, somehow missed it, and stumbled before completely losing his balance and hitting the floor.

Irritated and humiliated, Brian lifted his head and sat up while Nonnie said, “Oh, my goodness. Are you okay?”

In the next second, Gramps was looming above him with his hands on his hips. “Don’t coddle the boy. If nothing’s broken, get on your feet.”

“Just give him a minute,” Nonnie said, leaning over and coming into his line of vision.

She had that same look of concern on her face that she’d had ever since Brian had told them that he was losing his sight. He managed a smile that hid his irritation with himself. “I’m fine.” That phrase was getting to be old, he thought as he stood.

I’m fine—there’s nothing to worry about…if you don’t include the fact that I’m scared spitless.

“Really,” he added. He turned his head, taking in his grandparents. Nonnie gave him an encouraging smile when he looked at her, and Gramps did his usual glower. “I’m going to change my clothes, then go work out for an hour.”

Once more he headed for the stairwell, this time grabbing the banister before putting his foot on the first step.

“You’re too hard on him,” he heard Nonnie say as he went up the stairs.

“Not hard enough,” Gramps replied.

Nothing new in that conversation, Brian thought as he reached the top of the stairs, making sure that he turned his head so he could see the doorway at the end of the wide hallway. Since the day he had arrived in their home when he was six years old, Gramps had been saying basically the same thing. Every day since then, Brian felt as though he hadn’t measured up and as though his grandfather expected him to be as big a screwup as his mother had been. He knew the story because Gramps had repeated it often.

She had been a party girl who liked the fast life—fast boys, fast cars, fast times made even more so by her drug use. The last time Brian had seen her, she’d been strung out on crack. He hadn’t needed his grandfather’s warning to make a vow that he’d never use, never be involved in that life in any way at all. He didn’t want that for himself, and he didn’t want anything to do with people who were part of that life. Somehow, though, his Gramps kept expecting that the sins of his mother would become his, as well.

Brian’s wish now was pretty much the same as it had been then—find a way to make his grandfather proud of him.

Brian pushed open the double doors that led to his suite just as the BlackBerry in his pocket began ringing.

“Ramsey here,” he said.

“Brian, it’s Dwight,” came his manager’s voice through the receiver. “How are you?”

“Fine.” That again.

“I just wanted to let you know we have things all set to shoot the last commercial for your sponsor. I just emailed you the information.”

“When and where?” At last, Brian thought, some good news. Finishing his endorsement contract with the National Milk Association was one of the things he most wanted before the holidays began.

The minute the final commercial was accepted, he needed to break the news to them about the reasons for his sight loss. Since there was a strict morals clause in the contract related to drug abuse, they needed to hear the sorry truth from him rather than it coming through a tabloid story. Though he’d been clean for years when he had signed the contract, he’d had a change of heart in thinking his previous behavior hadn’t mattered. It did, and he didn’t want any negative fallout to come near them even though his attorney and manager had both advised against making any confessions until after all the terms were fulfilled. His attorney assured him that he was legally in the clear. Maybe. But Brian didn’t feel morally in the clear.

“The ad company is working on a hometown angle,” Dwight said, interrupting Brian’s morose thoughts. “So you don’t have to travel.”

“More good news,”

“I set it up for Monday and Tuesday of next week since I figured you might be traveling on Wednesday.”

“Where would I go?” Brian asked, pressing the speaker button on the BlackBerry so he could continue to talk to Dwight while he punched in the button for the calendar to see if he had appointments he’d forgotten about. He squinted at the display, which looked fuzzy to him. He looked away, then back, the display coming into focus. No appointments on Wednesday.

“Aspen,” Dwight drawled. “It’s Thanksgiving, and I thought that’s where you always said you’d spend Thanksgiving after you retired.”

He was surprised that Dwight remembered. Thanksgiving in Aspen had been Erica’s dream, though. Not his. “No, I’ll be right here.”

This was the first Thanksgiving in years that wouldn’t be spent in practice or as a game day. And the date had arrived unnoticed. He wondered if his grandparents had planned anything. He hadn’t eaten Thanksgiving dinner with them in years.

“I’ll call you back in the morning as soon as I have times nailed down,” George said.

“I’ll talk to you then,” Brian said, disconnecting the call and slipping the phone into his pocket. He crossed the room so he could look through the window at the view of Mount Evans, taking in everything he could about this vista. The shape of the peak and surrounding Front Range ramparts. The brilliant hue of everything the sun touched.

Sighing, he turned away to take in the sitting room and his bedroom beyond. The purchase of this home that provided the kind of luxuries he’d always imagined having should have been the culmination of a dream. Instead, he felt cheated.

Once, he would have kicked off his shoes and left them lying on the floor as he crossed the sitting room. He didn’t take them off until he had gone through the bedroom and into the closet. He put them on the rack next to the others, then sat on the stool in the middle of the room, propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head against his hands.

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