Change of Hart(5)

“No,” Jax said, suddenly seeming sad. “We were supposed to go to a game, but we never did. And now I don’t get to watch you on TV anymore.”

“How come?”

“My mom doesn’t watch football so she doesn’t know when any of the games are,” he replied with his eyes downcast.

“Why don’t you ask your dad?” I asked hesitantly.

Jaxon sniffed and kept looking at the floor. “He died. So I only get to watch football when my Pee-paw comes over and turns it on. But he doesn’t come over very much anymore.”

My heart broke. So this was the life change Lindsay was talking about.

Jaxon looked up suddenly. “I told my mom, all I wanted for my birthday was for you to come to see me. She said you didn’t know us and wouldn’t come. But I told her you would. I told her! How did you know it was my birthday?”

I smiled at his question. And maybe a little at his ability to move on from what was obviously a difficult topic, to something as fun as his birthday, with ease.

“Actually, Jaxon,” I said, leaning closer to him, “I didn’t really know it was your birthday.”

“You didn’t?” he asked.

“No. But something made me feel like I really needed to come to your school today. I just had a feeling that I needed to meet someone special. And here you are!”

Jaxon beamed. “Did you know you are my hero, Mr. Hart?”

“I am?” I asked with a smile. “How come?”

“Well, you know you play really good football.”

I chuckled. “So I’ve heard.”

“But my dad used to say you were really nice.” I tilted my head, taking in everything Jaxon said. “He said you helped people who were sick and you were nice to kids. He said if I was gonna grow up to be a football player, he wanted me to be like you.”

My jaw dropped and I looked over at Lindsay. She smirked and shrugged at me.

I cleared my throat. “It sounds like your dad was a really nice man,” I said.

“Yeah,” Jaxon said, looking at the floor again. “He was. I miss him.”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself to say the words I hadn’t said out loud in years.

“My dad died, too,” I said.

Jaxon looked up at me with wide eyes. “He did?”

I smirked at him. “Yeah. When I was about your age. Maybe a little older. I was in third grade when he died. It really sucked.”

“Yeah,” Jaxon said. “It really sucks.”

We talked for a while longer about our dads and football and his teacher, Mrs. Arrevalo, who he said smelled like cheese. Mrs. Teske snickered at that one. Adam took some pictures and promised to email them to the school.

This time, when Jaxon went to hug me goodbye, I got down on my knees to hug him back. As he wrapped his little arms around my broad shoulders, I heard him loud and clear . . . “This has been the best day ever, Jason. I love you.” Then he turned around and literally skipped out of the room.





“Thirteen, fourteen, come on, Deuce! One more!” I shouted. “Fifteen. Nice job.” I grabbed the bar and helped guide the weights back onto the rack. Fifteen bench presses may not sound like a lot. But when you’re pushing three hundred and twenty pounds to the sky, it feels like way more.

“Thanks,” Deuce said, sitting up and wiping his face off with a towel. “This workout is killing me today. You’d think I’d never bench-pressed before.”

I barked a laugh as I adjusted the weights.

“It’s all that home cooking you’re getting now that you finally made an honest woman out of Vanessa,” I reminded him.

Deuce stood up and threw the towel into the bin by the wall.

“Don’t I know it,” he said. “If she had told me what a good cook she was when we first started dating, I would have married her two years ago.”

Michael “Deuce” Johnson was my teammate and best friend. We were both traded to the team at the same time four years ago, and we immediately clicked. We were so much alike in personality, our teammates joked that if we weren’t different races, we could be mistaken for brothers. With his dark African-American skin tone and my lily whiteness, I personally thought we looked like an old Benetton ad whenever we took a picture together. Except for our height, we couldn’t be more different physically. He had black, shoulder-length dreads. I had cropped black hair. His eyes were dark brown. Mine were blue. His build was muscular and cut. I was shaped more like a square.

Deuce and I worked out together every day of the week except Sundays. And during the season, we saw each other on game day Sundays, too. The only time in four years that we didn’t see each other every day was a couple months ago when he got married to Vanessa and took her on an extravagant honeymoon to Bali.