I Hate Football Players 3 | 18+

Chapter 112: Ellie

At the moment I found out my dad died, I'd thought that day was the worst one of my life. I was sorely mistaken and the days that followed were much, much worse. Once I returned to Seattle, I found my college life completely self-centered and inconsequential. The emotional baggage of guilt, remorse, and self-deprecation grew the more I unpacked.

I am the worst daughter in the world.

After Mom's insistence that Jake returned to USC for his Black Friday game, Logan welcomed me with warm, open arms at SeaTac. With the frenzy our family turned the hospital lobby into from the news of Dad's death and my rushed efforts back to California, I hadn't informed Logan. Thankfully, Jake apparently texted him from the San Jose airport with a heads up of what returned back to him.

Within Logan's first embrace, I collapsed under the way his scent and warmth wrapped around me. His loving presence blurred both the airport activity around me and the traitorous thoughts that crept in the more time I'd thought about Dad's passing and haunted my brain until it throbbed with headaches.

Words abandoned me and my ability to coherently speak them vanished with my father's passing. Guilt consumed me until my throat choked itself off, parched my vocal chords, and strained what little voice I had left. At the airport pickup, Logan seemingly understood, just kissed me a few times, offered his condolences, and thankfully hadn't dwelled on any particular topic too long.

The ride back to our apartment was quiet but, for the first time since last night's awful progression of events, peacefully quiet. Unfortunately, the night's events unfurled as I recalled them to Logan.

Under the hospital doctor's urges, we stood up but I found my feet unwilling to budge. I felt traitorous, like I'd given up on Dad when in reality the doctor assured me he'd passed without pain or resistance roughly twenty minutes after Jake had left for the airport for me. Despite his reassurance, the image of my father as I walked out of his hospital was one I knew was permanently ingrained into my memory.

Once Mom, Jake, and I were escorted out of Dad's room, we were mauled by the rest of Mom's family. I felt suffocated and nearly crushed under the emotional weight from all the condolences and apologies, plus the physical hugs and kisses from my aunts, uncles, and cousins who'd loitered in the lobby.

"I'll take care of the arrangements, get him transported." My Uncle Anthony rested a hand on Mom's shoulder. "Does he have a family plot?"

"In the Salvatore's family site," she muttered, her cheeks blotchy and eyes tired and heavy. "His family is all cremated. He... wanted to rest next to me but I'll get the will."

"Reception is Friday night, funeral mass is next Saturday at noon," I muttered to Logan, who looked at me with relief in his eyes. "Wake at Uncle Anthony's is at three, I think."

"That's our bye week, baby." He exhaled sharply and his shoulders relaxed. "If you want me to skip practice on Friday and film on Sunday -"

"No," I interrupted and palmed my forehead, which throbbed from the flight back up here and lack of sleep. My voice croaked and squeaked as I spoke, but I pushed out, "C-can you be with me during the funeral and wake? I'd... appreciate it."

Logan's voice unnecessarily carried the situation's weight for both of us. "Baby, I'm not leaving your side unless you ask me too."

A sledgehammer of guilt crushed my heart and how little I deserved any kindness, from anyone but in particular Logan because he'd encouraged me to reconcile with Dad and I refused due to convenience. The view of his handsome face blurred under a fresh crop of tears that sprung up and my raw throat burned as I swallowed. Since my words evaporated, I lifted Logan's hand, pressed a kiss into the back of it, and held it against my chest.