Whether for a girl or for grades or because they’d gotten sucked into the same partying that had nearly destroyed Cody. He wasn’t there just to teach them how to win football games. It was his job to teach them about life. The way his coach, Jim Flanigan, had taught him.
He was about to turn in when he saw that Cheyenne had posted something a few minutes ago. She was doing so much better than any of them had expected. Her situation was very serious for a few weeks after the accident. But once she began talking, it became evident that her personality was intact, her ability to reason and remember and feel — exactly as it had been before her injuries. But her physical body had been a mess of broken bones and nerve damage.
After two weeks in the hospital, she’d been moved to an inpatient rehab facility in Indianapolis, where Cody stopped in to see her at least once a day. She was making tremendous strides — and once already he’d visited with a group of his players. They all knew about the accident, since it had happened during practice. Cody felt it important to keep them up on her recovery. Especially since he and the team had been praying for her every day.
He clicked her name and went to her Facebook page. Her status read: Thank You, God, for Cody … he’s been there for me every step along the way. Literally … I couldn’t have done this without him.
A smile tugged on his lips and he looked for a long time at her picture. It was a snapshot of Cheyenne and Kassie — the little girl Chey had visited so often, who had died of leukemia. The girl’s loss was still hard for Cheyenne, and the photo was a way of keeping her memory alive. But tonight Cody couldn’t take his eyes off Cheyenne, the love in her eyes, the peace on her face. She was a very special person, and no matter what happened between them in the months to come, Cody definitely had feelings for her.
Cody clicked the like button on Chey’s status and then went to his own: Football meeting tomorrow after school … Oh, and Cheyenne is walking twice as fast now as she did when she arrived at the rehab center. Keep praying!
He was about to sign off, when he went to Bailey’s page. His eyes scanned her update, and he felt himself grow utterly still. Tomorrow night she would begin her role in Hairspray … her first night on Broadway. Bailey was working for her dreams, realizing them. A hundred people had commented beneath her update, congratulating her and promising to pray. But what about him? Had he let her know he was proud of her or that he cared about this milestone in her life? No … he’d done nothing at all. Nothing kind, no brief conversation where he might tell her how happy he really was for her. He was right about his decision to let Bailey go. He couldn’t be her friend, couldn’t stand by while she moved onto a life without him, while she dated Brandon Paul. But alone in his room he realized again how his actions must’ve looked to her. Almost like that of an enemy. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Because his silence would always say more than his words ever could.
Five
BAILEY COULDN’T STOP SHAKING. SHE WAS READY TO WALK TO the theater, and what little dinner she could force herself to eat she had already eaten. Her dance bag held her shoes and a change of clothes, water bottles, and her makeup. She stepped outside her room and walked down the hall.
Bob and Betty were finishing tea at the kitchen table. So far Bailey loved everything about them. They shared a love Bailey wanted to learn more about, and once the madness of her daily rehearsals settled down, she planned to do just that.
“You look like a vision.” Betty was on her feet. She walked to Bailey and touched the side of her face, her arm. “You shine with the love of God, Bailey Flanigan. Something tells me you won’t be in the ensemble for long.”
“Thanks … that means so much.” She gave an exaggerated exhale. “Especially right now.”
“You’ll be fine.” She gave Bailey’s hand a quick squeeze. “Well, Bob,” she turned to her husband. “Let’s pray for her.”
“Definitely.” He came to them and put an arm around each