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The sentence actually makes me laugh through the tears.
“He’s questioning the same thing about you.”
“I-I’m not mad at him, Pickle. I’m not mad. Colin is not angry with him. H-he helped you. He helped you when Colin lost it. He helped you.”
“You’re not scared?” I ask softly, cocking my head.
I thought for sure Colin would have some serious issues after the incident that could have had him spiraling in the presence of Lake. Months of fear stemmed from Eric’s situation and his broken trust in me. I imagined this would be similar, even though it wasn’t nearly as traumatic.
“I’m no coward, Pickle. And neither are you. W-we rise in disparity and a-adversity. We always have. We just have another flat. Another flat.”
I study him for a moment, blanketed by his words yet entirely confused by them. It’s true, historically. When faced with obstacles, we shift gears, redirecting and powering through until the next roadblock. Maybe we just have another flat.
“Flat tires happen to everyone,” he continues. “Cars always break down. Crash. Start fires. Break down. It’s the team that gets the racer back on track. The team. It’s the team. Team. Team.”
I bite back my tears. “What if the team tears apart, Colin? What if they don’t want to be a team right now? What if one of them decides to go off on their own, worried they’ll bring the team down when that’s not the case at all?”
I’m sure I’m confusing Colin more than ever with my ranting, but my heart aches for him in a way that won’t resolve. How can you be there for someone who just simply needs time? It’s a tug of war that cuts into your soul, and I don’t know how much more my soul can take.
“There’s a reason a team becomes a team, DD. They trust each other. They rely on each other. Trust. They trust each other to fall back when they need to, and someone else fills in. Everyone has their roles. Role on a team.”
My tears fall and I lose the fight with my emotions. Falling forward onto my forearms against the wooden table, I let it all out. I release everything my heart has been holding onto, crying for everyone. I cry for Lydia; I cry for Colin; I cry for Lake, and I cry for me.
I get out a rush of overwhelming emotions like a tidal wave finally breaking and feel Colin’s hand on my back.
He doesn’t see me like this often and I don’t want to scare him or set him off with my lack of control over my emotions. I take a deep breath, attempting to rein in my agony, wiping my face off before standing and giving him a big hug.
He wraps his arms around me, patting my back with both hands before he whispers, “Just another flat. A flat. Trust the team.”
His words, while not entirely making sense, make me think. Colin rarely comforts me, and it’s my own fault for that. I hold in all of my struggles and pain, trying to shield him from all of it when, in reality, he’s been there through it all, silently watching. Knowing.
I take this hug, embracing it, holding onto his words. Colin is comforting me right now.
I can only hope he’s strong enough to handle my flat.
60
Lake
Theplayclockhasthree seconds left and counting. Hansen makes the snap, and the handoff is mine. I cradle the ball in the crook of my arm, running through the mess of men blocking. Swiveling through them, I take off in a sprint. Five yards becomes ten, and then ten becomes twenty. I see a defender coming at me from the corner of my eye. As he grabs for my ankle, I spin and step out of his hands, taking another three long strides before finally getting tackled by another player.
“Damn, Deck!” Candy yells, approaching me from across the field after the whistle blows. “I haven’t seen you move like that since...shit, ever! You’re killing it today, baby!”
He slaps the top of my helmet, screaming out his praise as I toss the ball to the referee, rushing back to the new line of scrimmage.
Sweat drips from my brow, my legs aching from the obvious overuse in my first game back since my injury. The screams from the crowd and the echoing of the roars from the fans are making it hard to hear the play call, but one look from Candy and I know exactly what to do.
For you, Mama.
We break from the line, and I dart out past my defender. Cutting into a slant, I turn just as the ball is approaching. With a quick catch, I grip the ball to the crook of my arm again. Everything happens in slow motion. I take three more steps, seeing a blocker come at me. Pushing off the ground, I hurdle the man, barely clearing him as he dives to tackle. My feet catch the ground and I take off. With the end zone in sight, I take those last few strides, hoping she’s watching from heaven, proud of her baby boy.
Tears fill my eyes as I kneel in the end zone, completing the touchdown. The roar of the crowd vibrates around me, electrifying my veins in that all too powerful way. I say a silent prayer, my hands shaking as I touch my forehead, then make the sign of the cross over my chest. The boys charge me, lifting me up as they continue to celebrate.
I’m back.
But nothing is the same.
I head back over to the sidelines as the kicking team comes in. Coach slaps me on the top of the helmet.
