Page 94 of Colliding with Ten

“For what it’s worth, you’re already worth knowing without football.”

He didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice was lower than before. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Why from me?”

“Because you don’t say things you don’t mean. I figured that out since we met.”

I smiled, turning onto my side with the phone warm against my cheek. “Is that the only worry concerning retirement? Or is there more to it?”

“There’s more.”

“Tell me.”

A long breath came through the line. Whatever was on his mind must have gone unspoken for a while.

“I want a ring before I’m done, and this is the year to win. The roster’s the best it’s ever been, and that doesn’t last. Two years, maybe three, before somebody gets traded or a contract gets too expensive to keep. If we don’t win now, I don’t know when we get another shot at it.”

“Okay.”

“So every decision I make, I’m making with that clock running. Whether to push through soreness instead of resting it, or take the hit for the extra five yards instead of sliding early. But if I get injured again, reporters will start writing the same story about me being injury-prone. Guys in the locker room will start thinking about moving to a different team. And when the team starts losing, it’s my fault, because I wasn’t on the field to prevent it.”

“That’s a lot to carry by yourself.”

“It’s not by myself. It’s fifty-two other guys.”

“You just described a scenario where the season rests on you not getting hurt. That’s not fifty-three guys. That’s one guy, in his head, holding up something much bigger than him.”

His end was silent.

“Football’s a team sport, Lennox. A loss isn’t only yours any more than a win is.” I hesitated, but then said it anyway. “AJ’s team blew that Thursday game back in October. Two drops that weren’t his, a missed field goal that definitely wasn’t his, and I watched him take it on himself. It’s not just you. It’s something a lot of football players do.”

“AJ said that?”

“No, he doesn’t talk about it, but I live with him.” It had been years of me watching him do it. “You’re allowed to get tired, Lennox. Or get hurt. Be able to rest without feeling like you failed everyone who was counting on you. You’re allowed a life without worrying whether it would cost the team a game.”

“That’s easy to say.”

“None of it is easy. I’m not telling you to care less or work less. I’m just saying you’re not the only reason it works or doesn’t. You don’t have to be a superhero worrying about it collapsing the second you take a breath.”

He was quiet for a long time. I wondered if I’d overstepped.

“Nobody’s told me that in a while,” he said finally. “Usually, people tell me the opposite. That I have to be that guy, because I’m the one they built the team around.”

“I’m not the team. I don’t need you to be anything except who you already are.”

He was already what I wanted him to be. A man whose eyes lit up when talking about galaxies and who didn’t hesitate to help when I was on the verge of a meltdown over a hair crisis. He didn’t have to earn a place with me. He already had one.

“I don’t know how to just be a guy who plays football instead of the guy who has to make sure everyone else’s job still exists.”

“I don’t know if you’ll ever find the answer to that, but you need to know you’re allowed space to rest and heal, too.”

He gave a long exhale, the tension leaving him.

“I needed that.”

I smiled, feeling lighter too. We went silent for a bit.

“It’s late,” I said, reluctantly.