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ACL tear.
My hand finds coverage over my mouth as the reality that this article seems to possess sinks in. A truth I never knew existed. Does everyone else know about this? I look back down at the screen.
Warren Park was rushed out of Emirates stadium earlier this week after facing what appears to be a career-ending injury. A spokesperson for Park outlined that the EPL star is currently in hospital seeking treatment for what appears to be an ACL tear in his right knee. Is this the final straw for Park, who was in line for making Team England ahead of the World Cup? He may have won the game, but at what cost?
The words alone haunt me, leading me to believe that the real story itself is far more chilling. When was this released?
I seek out the publication date at the top of the webpage, when suddenly an extensive groan prompts me to dart my attention back up.
“Shit, Coach, are you okay?” I watch as Green rushes to Warren’s side—who's on the ground wincing in pain.
“What the hell happened?” I don’t realize that I’ve tossed my laptop to the side and rushed onto the field before it’s too late.
“Coach… he just dropped to the ground after passing me the ball,” Hart explains as I make my way across the field.
“Get Alf!” I hear Warren call out, demanding of Wilks. “Get him now!”
“Fuck, I’m on it, Coach.” Wilks scurries to get up, only stopping when he sees me fall to Warren’s side.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay? What did you do? Do you need me to call you an ambulance?” I throw an abundance of questions in Warren’s direction as he sits up on his elbows, brows furrowed while shooting me a glare.
“I’m fine!” he’s short with me. “Now, can someone please get Alf. I need him to help me,” his demand is asserted back over to Wilks, who stumbles back and onto his feet. Only before he can take a few steps away, my next question seems to halt him and everyone else in place.
“Is it your knee?”
A simple question that somehow elicits a disturbingly eerie level of silence amongst the players—one I can’t quite wrap my head around.
“Did she really just ask that?” I hear a player whisper from behind me, prompting a series of “shut ups” to follow.
Yet, it’s not the universal gossip that fazes me the most. It’s the way I watch Warren’s face fall flat, and I’m struck with the realization that perhaps everyone knows about Warren’s past, and the reason why I’ve never heard of it is because no one speaks about it. The look on Warren’s face confirms that that thought is right on the money.
Shit.
“Can someone help me up, please?” Warren lets out a pained sigh, reaching his hand out. Wilks is the first to help lift him up, followed by Hart, who joins in from behind.
“I’m sorry, Warren,” I can’t help but apologize as I find myself standing up alongside him, unsure exactly what I’m apologizing for but seeing this as an ample opportunity to do so. “What can I do to help?” I eagerly offer. “How about I get you some ice? Oh, I know. I’ll go get Alf. You wanted Alf, right?”
My endless array of offers only prompts an even icier look as he limps off the field with the boys. “No,” he tells me, giving me no indication of exactly what that response was directed to.
“Well, what can I do then?” I kick myself for continually asking as Wilks and Hart both shoot me a look that says, “Stop talking.” “I just want to help, Warren.”
“If you wanna help…leave me alone.” He shakes his head, nearly through the tunnel.
TWELVE
D E L A N E Y
Growing up as an only child,I quickly realized that entertaining myself was the only real way to save myself from dying of complete and utter boredom.
Mom and Dad worked extensively. Dad more than Mom—but Mom always found herself wrapped up in something that consumed her time. Shopping, wine nights, gossip. You name it, she was involved in it.
Mom and Dad never spent much time together when I was a kid, and come to think of it, they never do much now, either. Frankly, I’m surprised the two of them were able to come together long enough to produce me, and even then, I sometimes wonder where the hell I came from.
I’m nothing like them.
I’m convinced their marriage was one of convenience. Dad knew he was coming into money. I mean, he grew up wealthy, but the reality was, he’d always known that the day Gramps passed away, he’d become an even wealthier man.
Why do I mention this?
